Chapter Fifteen
Kate was out in the garden when he found her.
She had avoided the dining hall altogether, slipping out the front entrance and walking around to one of the outbuildings to get her implements.
By the time Grayson arrived, she had already dug up a large pile of weeds, her anger fueling her efforts with the shovel and trowel.
She saw him, of course, but, taking a cue from his behavior, barely glanced at him while jabbing violently at the earth. She fancied an especially hard clod to be his heart—if he possessed one.
“What the devil are you doing?” His voice was rougher than usual, and Kate took some slight pleasure in his strained tone.
Was the great Wroth angry? She smiled sweetly. “I am working, as I do almost every day. Yesterday put me behind, what with the nuisance of that ceremony, you know.” She had the satisfaction of knowing she had upset his equilibrium, at least, for when she looked up, he was glaring at her fiercely.
“You know very well that you no longer have to act the servant. Leave that for someone else and get properly dressed. We are going to London.”
Kate bent to dislodge a particularly large specimen. “No,” she said, straightening again. “You are going to London. This is my home. I live here.”
“No longer. You are my wife now.”
Am I? Am I really and truly your wife? Kate thought. But she kept her query to herself, refusing to let herself feel anything except annoyance. Her other emotions ran too deep and were too painful.
“By law, you must obey me.”
Kate loosed an unladylike snort of laughter. “I’m afraid you married the wrong woman if you want that, you arrogant, pigheaded bully!” She tossed the epithets carelessly at his head while leaning on her shovel.
He ignored them, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Then stay, but don’t expect me ever to go with you. There is nothing for me in London.” Because of him, there was nothing for her anywhere, but Kate would not admit it. She heaved a fat clump of weeds onto the stones with more force than necessary and watched them break apart.
“Do not push me, Kate.”
Kate stilled, her fist closing around the handle as she met his gaze evenly. “And what will you do? Beat me into submission?”
His eyes flashed, his mouth tightening in a swift response that reminded her how dangerous it was to bait him. Yet she held her ground, knowing that if she gave way now, she would lose herself forever.
“I think you know that I would never strike you,” Grayson said, the words clipped, as if bitten off through gritted teeth. “But I could easily drag you off to London as you are. Would you like to make your first appearance in society dressed as an urchin?”
“No, but I’ll warrant that you would like it even less,” Kate said. “You would be the laughingstock of the ton, for people would say what a pity it is that the great Wroth cannot control his wife.”
For a moment, Kate thought she had goaded him beyond endurance. His eyes narrowing, he took a step toward her, and she saw him draw in a deep breath, as if he were going to explode. But then he growled out a low laugh, dispelling the illusion that he was anything other than composed.
He walked casually around the pile of garden debris, a picture of male grace, before stopping beside her. “But, come now, poppet, you do not want to be viewed as a hoyden. Your reputation is assured. Why destroy it now, when you can take your place as a marchioness?”
He was tempting her again, with his velvet voice and the power of his personality, directed solely at her, as though she were the center of his life. As with his marriage proposal, he would make it all sound too logical to refuse. Kate swallowed hard and looked away.
“Come,” he urged. “How long has it been since you’ve visited London? I’ll show you the sights— the Thames, Vauxhall, the theater, Astley’s, Almack’s…”
No wonder he was such a good politician, Kate thought bitterly. He was so used to maneuvering people and swaying them to his indomitable will that, even knowing his methods, she found it hard to hold out against him.
“Surely, you are not going to let a bunch of sapskulls like Pimperington intimidate you. You are the most courageous woman I know, Kate.” The compliment was uttered in a soft, sober manner that dared her not to believe him. “You are not afraid of them, are you?”
He was making it into a challenge, and Kate lifted her chin in answer. She was not afraid of Pimperington and his ilk. She feared only Grayson and his power to hurt her further—if she let him. She would not.
“Come, Kate, you can do this.”
The particular phrasing startled her, and Kate glanced at him sharply, but his hooded gaze revealed nothing. Was he talking about more than the trip to London, or was she reading things into his words that were not there, imagining what she wanted to, as she had done before?
“I dare you.” His liquid tone caressed her, promising all sorts of things that had nothing to do with traveling. Obviously, he sensed that she was weakening. And yet, he was right. She had never turned away from a hardship.
But this… emotional test would be far worse than any of her struggles with Hargate or her uncle or Lucy.
Her very heart was at stake, and it already was sorely wounded.
Was his dare an earnest request to help him turn their soulless union into something more?
Could she make this marriage work somehow?
Gripping the wooden handle of the shovel so tightly it hurt, Kate stared down at the ground. In a life of challenges, this was the greatest she had ever faced. Could she do it? Could she make Grayson care for her?
“You can do it, poppet,” Grayson said softly.
Startled to hear him echo her own thoughts, Kate gazed searchingly up at him. For an instant something flickered in his eyes, a dark plea that reminded her of what they shared during the night.
Again she wondered if he was asking more of her than he would ever put into words. Foolish though it might be, Kate seized upon that glimpse and made her choice.
She let out a low breath. “All right,” she muttered, and was rewarded with Grayson’s most wicked grin. The rogue. He knew how to get his way, that was certain.
Now the question was, would she be able to get hers?
In the end, Kate left Hargate willingly, but with a heavy heart. Her home was to be closed up while everyone went to London, and she could not help wondering just how long it would remain empty.
Even the luxury of Grayson’s elegant coach, brought from Town especially for the journey, did little to lighten her mood, for the spacious interior seemed isolating.
Grayson rode outside, the servants followed behind, and Kate, alone, watched the life she had known disappear behind the curve of a hill.
Although only weeks had passed since her furtive visit to Grayson’s town house, Kate’s circumstances upon her return were far removed.
Instead of climbing through the study window, pistol in hand, she walked through the front doors, carrying only a fashionable reticule, and was introduced to the servants with much solemnity as the new marchioness.
Kate was uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many, all staring at her with interest. Although she knew that Hargate had once boasted such a staff, she could hardly remember those days and would have much to get used to during her stay.
To her annoyance, she had barely arrived before Grayson set a horde of modistes, led by a voluble Frenchwoman, upon her.
Apparently, her new position required innumerable gowns, all to be supplied as soon as was physically possible.
And while Mrs. Leeds would continue to provide what she could, these women would work at a frantic pace to please the marquess.
The whole business was exhausting, and by the time the group had packed up their fabrics and pins and measuring things and left, Kate was tired and out of sorts.
She tried to nap, but her strange surroundings kept her from sleeping, and soon she was roused by a young woman who claimed to be her personal maid.
Kate let the stranger dress her for an early dinner and followed one of the many footmen to the dining hall, where the long, gleaming table was set for two.
Everywhere, nameless servants attended her, observing her in a way that made Kate wonder how she had ever thought to assume the role of marchioness. And the few familiar faces were nowhere to be seen, Tom presumably relegated to the stables, Meg to the kitchen, and Badcock to his duties as valet.
Dinner was a stilted affair, and although the endless courses of delicacies would have tempted a saint, Kate could do no justice to the repast. Instead, she pushed a few bits of food around on her plate while sipping sparingly at her wine.
Grayson seemed to be as strange as the rest of the household, and the conversation that had flowed effortlessly between them during his convalescence was now strained and sparse.
When Kate excused herself from the table and the evening, pleading tiredness, he nodded his agreement. “I’m sure you are weary from the journey. However, it is still early by London hours. I think I shall look in at White’s.”
His eagerness to desert her chafed at Kate’s raw senses, although she was not sure what she had expected.
She felt as if her usual optimism had been left behind at Hargate and her grand scheme to win his affections was a hopeless venture, doomed from the start.
Too tense to argue with him, she let one of the footmen lead her back to her room, where she waved away the startled maid to attend herself.
Although more luxurious and well-appointed than any of those at Hargate, her new suite felt cold and lonely.
Everything was lovely and new, but nothing held meaning or sentimental value.
Kate laid out her mother’s silver brush and comb, but she had few possessions that would make this place feel like home.