Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
had hoisted his flag on her mast, and all of society knew he had conquered her. Now he was her captor. Her liege lord. The past days’ delight was gone, as there was no delight in being someone’s spoils. She may as well have been a cask of Italian wine or a bolt of Ottoman silk.
She would show all of London she was nobody’s captive. Not anymore.
“The blackguard. Not—” Phil pointed her finger at Katherine “—that I think you should move out, because I absolutely do not. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t deserve it if you did. No—you must punish him some other way. Something that will bring him crawling on his knees to declare his undying love.”
“He has no undying love to declare,” Katherine said shortly, even as her imagination played out the scene Phil described, and she found herself wanting very badly to hear such a declaration.
“Breaking your heart with his deception—”
“He has not broken my heart.”
“Darling,” Phil said in that you-can’t-hide-anything-from-me tone, “do you think I can’t see?”
“Lust. William said so.”
“Ha! And what would our dear scoundrel William possibly know about matters of the heart? Tell me you didn’t listen to him. I assure you, lust does not cause the heartache I see in your eyes right now.”
“Whatever I may have felt for Captain Warre died the moment I learned of his betrayal,” Katherine said, and wished to God it was true.
Phil rolled her eyes as the carriage slowed to a stop on the busy street in front of Madame Bouchard’s shop. “You love him, and there’s no sense denying it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Katherine made herself laugh even as invisible hands wrung another drop of pain from her heart. “I can be grateful I never succumbed to that frippery, at least.”
“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Phil laughed, and then added, “You aren’t really going to move out.”
“I am. Just as soon as I’ve shown him the consequences of his lies.” It would break Anne’s heart. Katherine’s fingers tightened into the coat, and she wadded it in her lap. During the journey from Dunscore, Anne had already begun calling James “Papa.” It would be cruel to drag her away from James now.
But it would be more cruel to keep her with a man who viewed the two of them as little more than chattel.
* * *
HALFWAY THROUGH THE fitting at Madame Bouchard’s, Katherine got an idea. It was a perfect, vengeful idea that made her heart race, then ache with satisfaction, then grow strangely numb. James thought he could control her? She would show him he could not.
The moment she parted company with Phil and returned home—flush with success at having arranged a costume that would have everyone from London to Venice talking—she put her plan into action.
“You mentioned that if there was ever a way you could right your wrongs against me, I had only to ask,” she told the Duke of Winston a short time later, seated in the entirely red first floor drawing room of his town house. “I require your assistance.”
One dark brow ticked downward. “A matter with which Croston is unable to assist?”
“Very much unable.”
“You have only to name it, Lady Croston.”
She smiled past the hurt. James and all of London would see exactly how she took to captivity. “I want you to pretend to have an affair with me.”
The duke barked a laugh. “You’re trying to get me killed. My apology wasn’t enough? You hope to lure me in so Croston will cut me down?”
She smiled. “Not at all. If you’ll recall, you did offer to expand my horizons.”
“Then perhaps Croston has done something unforgivable, and I am to be your revenge on him.”
Precisely. Making her point to James by flirting her way outrageously through London might have been ideal, but the chance was too great that someone would take her attentions seriously. As ridiculous as it was, Winston was the only one she could trust. And his reputation made him the perfect partner in revenge.
“So many questions, Your Grace.” She laughed. “I would not have expected you to be so scrupulous.”
“Strictly self-preservation. I’m no match for Croston with a sword. And much as it pains me to say it, I doubt I’m a match for you, either.” He assessed her through those devil eyes. “So you propose what? Dances together in public, walks in the park, carriage rides—”
“No carriage rides.” God save her, carriage rides were the last thing she wanted to think of.
He smiled wickedly. “Must I reassure you that my carriage is very...comfortable? But I believe I’ve conveyed that fact to you already.”
“I’m not interested in the comfort of your carriage. Dances, yes. Walks in the park, certainly. And I suppose you could linger in my box at the theater.”
Now he laughed. “A sham affair, indeed. And my answer, dear Lady Croston, is no.”
“No?” The word shot out with all the sharpness of an on-deck command.
He only smiled. “No,” he repeated.
“Not so much on the blackguard side of things, after all,” she said angrily.
“Not so much on the suicidal side of things. Tell me...” He closed the distance between them and took her chin in his fingers. “What has that arrogant bastard done?”
She chose not to turn her face from his grasp. If James were here now and saw Winston touching her like this, blood would spill.
She smiled. “That, Your Grace, is none of your concern.”
“If you’re asking me to take part in this sham, I daresay it is. Bloody fool hasn’t taken a mistress already, has he?”
“No.”
He lowered his voice. “Is he demanding...eccentricities?”
“No!” Not that she knew precisely what he meant, but—good God.
And then, “The vote.” His eyes narrowed, and she could see he’d finally guessed. “When I came to your house the other night, it was the first you’d heard of the committee’s conclusion.”
Anger flared fresh. “You extricated yourself quite neatly.”
“I’m normally quite adept at escaping conflict,” he said. “He didn’t bother to tell you.”
Stonily she looked a him.
The duke cursed and let his hand fall. “Where is he now?”
“At Croston.”
His lips thinned, but he looked at her askance. “Are you determined that it would be entirely a sham?”
“Entirely and completely.” Her heart beat a little faster. He was about to change his mind. Her thoughts raced ahead to the theater, the park, the Pollards’ grand masquerade. James would get wind of her dalliance through the grapevine, and when he did, it would cut him to the bone—just as he had cut her.
“I’ll do it, then,” he said, with a mix of resignation and relish. “If only to teach Croston a lesson about leaving his property unattended.”
“His property—”
“Now, now, darling.” The duke touched her cheek and smiled. “Any more of those combative looks and I may have to put an end to our torrid affair.”
* * *
HER CAPTIVITY. JAMES slouched in a chair in the library at Croston with his shirttails untucked and his feet propped—shoeless—on a