Page 74 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
Not at the cost of herself. ‘Not like that, John.’
His gaze held hers, his hand still holding her wrist. ‘I would not cast you off,’ he said. ‘You can trust me. I will keep you for the rest of your life if you will let me? We could raise a family.’
Katherine felt the bitter taste of his words. It was a vile thought.I am not a whore. Am I?But she was in his room, and she had come to him.
A chill swept through her.
‘Let me go, John.’ She tugged against his grip.
His eyes were hard but his hand released her. ‘When may I see you then? When I am here next?’
Her heart thundered. No. It could not continue. She had learned her lesson. He thought her a whore while she had offered love. She took a step back and then another, her pace increasing with each one. She was ready to run. ‘No, John. I think now it is over, as it should have been. You were right, there is nowhere this can go.’
‘Katherine?’ His hand lifted as though to reach for her again. She turned and fled, racing out of his room as she heard him call again. ‘Katherine, wait!’
When she reached her room she threw herself on the bed and cried her heart out. Was this how her mother felt too when it was all over? Was this why she had taken her own life?
John dropped back to sit on the edge of the bed and his hand swept through his hair. What the hell had just happened and what on earth did she mean about being frail like her mother?
But her words had made him see with intense clarity what a blind idiot he had been. He had offered a gently bred, innocent woman probably the biggest insult of her life. Spoilt was not the half of it. He had treated her like the women he had learned to abhor on the continent. At that moment, he despised himself.
He got up, dressed and went out to the stables, catching the grooms off guard, but his stallion was ready in moments and he took the animal out for a long hard ride. It was not the sport he would have chosen this morning but he could not be idle.
By the time he returned, the breakfast table was only half full of guests. Most of his extended family had already left. Eleanor informed him that Katherine had left too, and she complained she had been very quiet this morning.
No doubt Katherine had slipped away as quickly as possible, to avoid him.
What the hell did she think of him? He should have turned her out last night. But what had been done could not be undone.
He thought of writing to her but what could he say? Saying sorry would hardly suffice. Of course a marriage offer would put it all to rights, but she was the natural daughter of a milkmaid with an unknown father, and he was a duke. The two did not mix. She would never cope with the public responsibilities of a duchess. She would be too out of place.
He realised then as he walked through the hall into the privacy of the library that he was actually weighing the idea up and considering it. But he could not do it. Looking up, he stared at his grandfather’s portrait, the old man’s barbs were too deep in his blood. Even John’s contrary nature could not quite go that far – just as becoming his mistress was a step too far for her.
They were at an impasse then.
There was no going forward and no going back.
He glared at the portrait, holding the old man’s gaze.
John would leave for London today. There was no point in staying here.
22
John was bored in town, despite being busy, and the issue with Wareham still irritated him. No new evidence had come to light and Wareham had left Ashford within hours of John. It seemed not only was Wareham being followed, he was following John.
John had former soldiers on Wareham’s heels now, employed via Mr Harvey, because he feared Wareham might be more dangerous than anticipated. The man had made no further blackmail threats, though, not yet. But why would Wareham publish whatever secret he held? The instant he did, it would lose its value. It was only valuable unsaid.
He had rented rooms in the Oxford Hotel in Park Lane. No doubt spending John’s stolen inheritance. John was impatient to trap him, yet he wanted to trace the invisible account before he confronted Wareham.
There was another thing John was impatient for; he did not care about the blackmail, but he wanted to know the secret Wareham knew. Harvey had sent scouts out to trace John’s mother’s absent history.
But while he waited for news, his thoughts continually turned to Katherine. She haunted his waking and his sleeping thoughts. He could concentrate on nothing but her. She was always in his mind. She would not be forgotten. Often, even at the oddest moments, when he was speaking in the House of Lords, dining with his peers at White’s, or attending some formal dinner or dance, she would spring into his thoughts. A single image or a sudden memory; Kate smiling or dancing at her sister’s assembly; her touch on him; the sound of her voice; her sigh of impatience or her cry of pleasure – her eyes.
At night in bed, he could feel her, visualise her. He would relive every moment of the night they had spent together. He wanted and needed Katherine Spencer with a physical and mental obsession that dulled his appetite and gave him sleepless nights.
But with their impasse it was impossible. He had to conquer this craving. Yet that was easier said than done. He felt empty without her, hollow, it was as though she had taken something from him, and it hurt like hell.
I miss her. He was standing at the edge of Lady De Clare’s long ballroom, watching the dancers, without watching them at all. His world seemed so damned meaningless and empty without Katherine in it.
