Page 39 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
His heart wrenched in his chest. If Mrs. Greaves, the housekeeper, was lowering herself to cook the meals for his sisters, that could mean only one thing: they’d had to let the cook go. He ran a hand over his face. Dear God, he had nearly ruined everything this afternoon in kissing Katrina. What the devil was he doing? His sisters were counting on him. Everyone at Ramsleigh Castle was counting on him.
But no, he was lusting after Katrina. He was a damn selfish bastard.
Placing the letter down on the desk with care, he set his jaw and purposely reached for the next. If there was anything that could cement his determination to keep his course, it was a letter from Lord Cartmel, as the sharp, angular scrawl across the front declared.
The baron’s letter was short and to the point.
Ramsleigh.
As you receive this you will have been on Synne for nearly a sennight, and I pray you have not forgotten your reason for being there. I have begun talks with our solicitors to expedite matters—should you succeed in what you were sent to accomplish in distracting my son from thoughts of that woman. My daughter and I await your return to London with the news we hope to hear.
Yrs,
Cartmel
Sebastian’s fist closed around the expensive paper, crushing it in his grip. He wanted to cast it into the fire, to see the man’s words consumed by flame and turned to ash.
Instead he forced his fingers open and smoothed it on the desk, tucking it into a drawer along with the letter from his sisters. Better to have these physical reminders of why he was here. And as he readied himself for bed, and his thoughts turned once again to the feel of Katrina in his arms and her mouth under his, he knew he would need them.
The moment they entered the Beakhead Tea Room the following afternoon, Katrina was busy searching for Mr. Kendrick. Lady Tesh’s casual mention of the visit of that man’s granddaughter had reminded her that he was on her list of hopefuls. And after her misstep at the beach with Sebastian, something Katrina’s threadbare reputation could ill afford, she had come to the sobering conclusion that she did not have time to lose if she was to find a husband and claim a semblance of respectability again. Especially as their arrival at the Beakhead seemed to herald the hasty exit of several patrons, each one casting a dark look Katrina’s way as they did so.
But the elderly gentleman was not to be seen. Had she missed him? Or was he among the seemingly growing multitude who were now trying to avoid her at all cost? Panic reared in her breast. She did not have many chances to socialize, especially now that half of Synne was shunning her. The last thing she wanted to do was to wait a week to see Mr. Kendrick and ascertain his interest in her—much less if he was even willing to be in the same room with her.
They were shown to their seats then. As Adelaide, having taken their order, was making to walk back to the kitchens, Katrina reached out for her. Adelaide, giving her a quizzical look, leaned in close.
“Has Mr. Kendrick and his granddaughter arrived today?”
The curious look on Adelaide’s face increased. And no wonder, for Katrina had never been close with either of those people. As a matter of fact, she had been more than happy to join in with her friends when they had discussed their distaste for the man’s all-too-obvious attempts to find a very young wife—which would be wife number four, if memory served—to sire his still-needed male heir.
“No, dear,” Adelaide answered, lowering her tone to match Katrina’s. “I haven’t seen them yet.”
“Miss Denby,” Lady Tesh said, her voice ringing through the room, “you shall see Miss Peacham tomorrow for your Oddments meeting; please let the woman see to her business.”
“I’m sorry, Lady Tesh,” Katrina mumbled as, face flaming, she turned back to their party and Adelaide, bobbing a quick curtsy, hurried off.
“Oddments, eh?” Mr. Bridling asked with interest. “And what, pray tell, is an Oddment, Miss Denby?”
“I am. That is,” Katrina stuttered as she busied herself settling Freya on the chair between her and Lady Tesh, “my friends are. Or, rather, that’s what we call ourselves. Because we are… well, odd.”
“I would never in my life give you such a moniker, Miss Denby,” Mr. Bridling said gallantly.
She managed a smile at the man. He was young, yes, and spirited. But he was nice and had never been anything but kind to her. “That is sweet of you to say.”
Adelaide returned then, busying herself in setting a teapot and cups down before them, drawing Lady Tesh’s and Mr. Bridling’s attentions as she told them of the newest pastries she had concocted. As they talked, Sebastian leaned toward her. Though she didn’t so much see it as feel it, in every nerve in her body, the magnetic pull of him calling to her.
“For once I have to agree with Bridling,” he said, his voice low. “You are not odd, in any sense of the word.”
“I daresay most of society would beg to differ with you on that, Your Grace,” she mumbled.
The noise he made could only be construed as rude. “I think both you and I can agree that society can go hang.”
Despite herself she sputtered on a laugh. When her eyes met his, she saw the wry humor in their gray depths.
“Come along, Miss Denby,” he drawled. “You have to admit that society has not done either of us much good in the past.”
“No,” she agreed, “you’re right in that. It has given both of us nothing but headaches.” She sighed, picking at the tablecloth with her nails. “It really is too bad that one cannot live on scandal, or we would both be quite well-off.”
“Rich as Croesus.” He smiled, a weak thing, before it fell away completely. “Have you not kept in contact with any of your old friends?”
