Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
Except that it wasn’t. In the golden light of a single torch flickering through a jumble of wisteria leaves, his shadowed gaze drilled into her.
Things were no different than they’d been ten years ago. The situation may have changed, but he enjoyed the freedom of his acclaim while she remained imprisoned by her fate.
Voices drifted closer. People were coming. Captain Warre cursed and pulled her deeper into the arbor.
Through the leaves, she saw two men stop near the front of the arbor. “...Holliswell has his way, Dunscore will be off the market,” one of them said.
She stood perfectly still, listening, alive to the press of Captain Warre’s every fingertip against the small of her back.
“Ingraham,” he whispered near her temple.
The other man chuckled. “In the market for that, are you? Can’t say I blame you—Dunscore is no mean estate.” In the shadowy light, Captain Warre’s expression turned murderous.
“I’d never have to bow out of a game again,” the first man said.
“And you’d go home to the spiciest quim in London. Wouldn’t mind a piece of that for myself.”
Captain Warre’s hand tightened against her back.
“...think she’s better than Miss Betsey at Mrs. Blake’s?”
The other man snorted. “Gawd, you’re a cheap one. Tell you what—when I’m Earl of Dunscore, I might be persuaded to turn a blind eye if you want to have a go.”
“I’m going to kill Ingraham.” Captain Warre’s voice was deadly in her ear.
“Shh!” A sick feeling curdled her stomach.
“...knows what the committee will recommend.”
“If somebody marries her, be nothing to recommend. Won’t take away a man’s rightful property. Besides, we’d start another war attainting a Scot’s estate of that size.” His voice grew fainter. They were walking away.
“I’d lay money old Rayford will— Hell, there’s the wife. She’s spotted me. Devil take it, she’s waving me over.” The sounds of the party swallowed their conversation. Katherine stood with her heart pounding and Captain Warre’s fingers biting hotly into the fabric of her gown. Her own fingers dug into his shoulder.
He turned his head, and suddenly she was inches away from those murderous green eyes. “Ingraham is a dead man.”
It struck her that he was the only person here except for Phil who looked at her and saw the woman she had become.
Tell me what else to do. How to convince them.
“They can’t possibly believe I would consider marriage,” she managed harshly, hoping he wouldn’t hear the fear in her voice.
“Not to the likes of Ingraham.”
“To anybody.”
He cursed under his breath. “Katherine, surely you realize—” His eyes met hers, those eyes that were green like the Mediterranean on a stormy day. They flicked to her mouth. Darkened.
“Realize what?” His sword handle pressed into her, jabbing through her stays. Beneath her fingers, his shoulder felt like rock.
“That it may become inevitable.”
Her hands tightened on him. “It can’t.”
“Katherine—” Whatever he’d been going to say died on his lips. He touched his mouth to hers, and she was lost.
She opened her lips and tasted fire. Touched his face and wanted to melt into him. He turned her in his arms, and already she felt him losing control again.
Oh, God. They couldn’t do this here.
Voices. More people were coming.
But she couldn’t stop touching him. His face, his neck, his shoulders. She clung to him as if she were drowning, lost herself in the taste of him and the strength of his arms around her.
No. They couldn’t—
Voices!
She tore herself away, but not soon enough. Holliswell and a lady had already stepped into the arbor, laughing. He stopped short when he saw them, and the laughter died on his face.
Damn, damn, damn.
Captain Warre took a measured step away and offered the slightest bow. “Lovely evening.”
Holliswell returned the bow while his calculating gaze shifted from her to Captain Warre. “Your lordship. Cousin.” His smile was a razor’s edge. “Excellent to see you are enjoying the party.”
Katherine reached deep for an air of disdain and somehow clothed herself with it though everything inside her throbbed and ached from Captain Warre’s kiss. She glanced at Holliswell’s companion and curled her lip ever so slightly. “Likewise, Mr. Holliswell.”
Holliswell’s companion looked aside awkwardly and, when Holliswell stalked away, followed him into the shrubbery.
* * *
FOOL. KATHERINE STORMED up the staircase after the garden party, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand. Fool!
She should have returned to the crowd the moment she realized Captain Warre had followed her. Should never have let him stand there touching her. Should have at least pulled away before he kissed her. Could she have been any more reckless? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen what he was going to do.
And now—
“Lady Dunscore.”
Katherine’s head came up sharply as she reached the landing. “Why are you still here? You’ve been dismissed—more than once.”
“Miss Germain has left.” Miss Bunsby said shortly, holding out a letter for Katherine to see.
“Left.” Good God. What had Millicent done now? Katherine hurried up the rest of the stairs and snatched the letter from Miss Bunsby’s hand, quickly skimming the contents.
Gone. Home to Bedfordshire to live with her brother Gavin.
Gavin. Millie didn’t even like Gavin.
But Millie was free to make her own choices now. A lump tightened Katherine’s throat. Phil was recapturing her London life, India was languishing in her father’s custody, William was off doing who knew what and now this. The life she’d built with people she loved—people who knew her, who respected her—was as good as gone.
She swallowed, hard, and fixed her gaze on Miss Bunsby. “You will pack your bags this instant and leave my house, or I will have you arrested and we shall see how your impertinence fares in gaol.”
“That is hardly the most efficient course of action under the circumstances.” Below, a footman emerged. “Well?” Miss Bunsby called down.
“Madam. Your ladyship.” He looked from Miss Bunsby to Katherine and back to Miss Bunsby. “I couldn’t find any,” he told her.
“Find what?” Katherine demanded.
“We live in the biggest city in England—perhaps in all the world,” Miss Bunsby called impatiently. “Do not tell me there is nobody who knows how to make kesra.”
“Kesra—” Katherine started.
“Go back out,” Miss Bunsby directed, “and do not return until you find someone.”
The footman’s mouth tightened, but he turned on his heel and left. At that precise moment, Anne’s voice drifted from the pink rooms. “Miss Bunsby? Miss Bunsby, where are you?”
Katherine rushed to her daughter’s room, crouching down to where Anne sat with her mandolin on the floor and cupping Anne’s face in her hands. “Dearest, are you all right?”