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* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale walk towards the table full of his friends who were playing whist. As he leaned over to whisper into Winterbourne’s ear Lyonsdale’s black tail coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It was a pity the tails covered the outline of his muscular legs and his firm backside...
She could feel Lord Hartwick’s eyes on her. For the last five years he had never once attempted to hide his hatred of her. It was perfectly reasonable, considering what she had done to him. However, watching the drama unfold around her at the time had been so entertaining she refused to feel any remorse. Her only regret was that she had believed his father’s lies. He had told her that he would marry her if she helped him with his plan—a plan that she was certain had devastated the man’s son.
Why hadn’t Hartwick walked away when Lyonsdale left?
He tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and pulled back his shoulders. ‘He will never make you his duchess. I will see to that.’
Although he was splendid to look at, his confidence grated. ‘Do not imagine you will be able to dissuade him.’
‘But I find I rather like the idea, and I don’t believe it will take much effort on my part. I suggest you search elsewhere for that elevated title you so desperately seek.’
The foolish man thought he could best her. ‘I do not follow suggestions—least of all from you.’ She shook out her fan and pasted on a sly smile, glancing pointedly across the room at the woman she knew to be Hartwick’s current conquest. ‘You should tell your friend she should not wear emerald. The colour does nothing for her complexion.’
Hartwick turned his head and followed her gaze. His lips pressed together as he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. ‘Maybe in this instance you should follow my suggestion. I hear Ponsby is on his last breath. You might want to try him. You’d have better luck.’ He did nothing to hide the sarcasm from his voice.
Why would she want a decrepit duke when she could have a handsome, virile one? ‘It appears you are worried for your friend. Do you believe I will damage him?’
‘Your excitement is stirred by breaking people. You won’t be able to do that with him.’
‘You mean like your Lady Caroline? It’s a pity she is no longer with us. Your father enjoyed her immensely.’ She arched her brow and anticipated his reaction.
He brought his glass to his lips and his nostrils flared. ‘I see you have no remorse for your part in bringing an innocent woman to his bed.’
Why should she? The foolish girl hadn’t been forced to accept every glass of champagne Helena offered her. She hadn’t poured them down the girl’s throat.
Recalling that entertaining night brought a smile to her lips, and she leaned close to Hartwick, purposely pressing a full breast into his arm. ‘You might not want to discuss this here, where someone may overhear us,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘You don’t want them to guess the truth about her death, now, do you? Tell me...did she choose poison, or was it something more dramatic?’
His jaw clenched, and his athletic body stiffened against her breast. If they had not been in a drawing room, with a good number of the ton around them, she might just have provoked him enough to strike her.
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I do believe I have found a weakness of yours, Lord Hartwick. Everyone has at least one, and it is so delicious whenever it is discovered.’
‘I warn you—if you cause any problems for Lyonsdale you will regret it.’ He moved from her side, downed the remainder of his champagne, and strode across the room to join his friends.
It was amusing that he thought he could stop her. She deserved that title, and all the wealth and power that went with it. She should have had such an advantageous marriage the first time. Instead, due to one minor indiscretion, she had found herself married to a gambler and a drunkard.
Hartwick’s father had promised to make her his marchioness and laughed at her when she’d reminded him. No one made a fool of her. It would be her turn to laugh when she became Duchess of Lyonsdale.
* * *
Near a corner of the Langleys’ ballroom, in front of a large potted palm, Katrina was learning that she was not the only one who regretted dancing with Lord Boreham.
‘I do so wish I did not have to agree to dance with everyone that asks me.’ Lady Mary Morley pouted as she stood beside Katrina. ‘On that last turn Lord Boreham managed to elbow me quite hard in the stomach.’
‘How was that even possible?’ Sarah asked, staring at the area in question, which was covered in elaborately embroidered white muslin.
‘I can assure you it’s possible,’ Lady Hammond commented dryly while fanning herself. ‘He once knocked heads with me during a quadrille.’
They began to laugh, and Lady Mary immediately covered her mouth to stop herself. The diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the candlelight.
‘Surely there must be a way to avoid him,’ Sarah said.
Lady Mary shook her head. ‘Mother says one should have a full dance card if one is to be considered an incomparable, and if you decline even one offer to dance you must decline all the others.’
Katrina found that rule of social conduct one of the hardest to accept. She suspected she was not the only woman in the ballroom who felt that way. ‘That hardly seems fair.’
‘That might be. However, it is the way of things. Mother says if one is to catch a duke or a marquess one needs to rise above all the other girls vying for such a title and become an incomparable.’
‘And how does one become an incomparable?’ Sarah asked with amusement.
Lady Mary was not as naïve as she appeared. She tilted her head coyly. ‘I suppose if everyone knew the answer to that, no one girl would stand out.’
‘Well done, Lady Mary,’ Sarah said with a smile, glancing around the crowded ballroom. ‘And are there many dukes and marquesses for you to choose from?’
‘I’m afraid there are very few, and I don’t think I’d like to settle for an earl.’ She turned to her friend and offered Lady Hammond a genuine apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean anything against your Hammond.’
Lady Hammond waved her fan carelessly in the air. ‘I’d much prefer a young earl to an old duke.’
Both Lady Hammond and Lady Mary appeared to be a number of years younger than Katrina, and she wondered just how old the girl’s husband was.
‘Isn’t your father an earl?’ Katrina couldn’t help pointing that out to Lady Mary.
Lady Mary adjusted her bracelets. ‘He is. However, my uncle is the Duke of Ralsteed. I was born to be a duchess. I do not have to settle for an earl.’
Lady Hammond let out a delicate sniff. ‘You’d change your mind if Lord Hartwick made an offer for you. With his looks and those blue eyes, you’d forgive him his title.’
A blush spread across Lady Mary’s cheeks, making her appear even younger. ‘That might be true. However, my sights are focused on one specific duke—even if he does make me nervous.’
‘Being nervous around a man can be a good thing,’ Sarah offered helpfully. ‘It might mean you find him very attractive.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Lady Mary agreed, nodding vigorously before she caught herself. ‘I do think he is very handsome...except he is a bit old.’
‘He is the same age as Lord Hartwick,’ Lady Hammond said with exasperation.
Lady Mary looked as if she was fighting the urge to stamp her foot. ‘Well, he appears older.’ Stepping closer to Katrina and Sarah, she shook out her fan to cover her lips. ‘He comes from one of the most respected houses and has great influence in Parliament. His manner is very formal, and each time I am in his presence I find him austere and imposing. He seldom speaks. I don’t believe he needs to. He can fluster people with just the lift of his brow.’
He sounded like a bore to Katrina. ‘And this is the man you would like to marry?’
Lady Mary nodded again, with excitement in her eyes. ‘Just imagine the respect his duchess will be granted. And he’s rich. He is a man who does not need to marry an heiress. Should we marry, we might very well be the wealthiest family in Britain.’
‘Which would be wonderful,’ Sarah remarked, ‘as long as you can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.’
‘Sarah!’ Katrina chided her friend with what she hoped was a stern expression.
These two girls had been nothing but kind since being introduced to them by Madame de Lieven. They were eager to hear about America and about Katrina’s time in France. She didn’t want Sarah’s unchecked honesty to ruin a pleasant discussion.
‘I am simply stating that should a man be that...flinty, it might be difficult to stay awake in his presence,’ Sarah explained.
Lady Hammond let out a small laugh before she pressed her lips together. ‘I can’t imagine anyone falling asleep in His Grace’s presence.’
He was sounding more and more like everything Katrina didn’t want in a husband. She turned to Lady Mary. ‘But if you were married to him, eventually you would fall asleep beside him.’
The rosy colour drained out of the girl’s face and she glanced about the room, as if this fine specimen of an English nobleman might overhear them and curse them with an arched brow. ‘I could never do that. I am certain he would never approve.’
Yes, this duke was definitely someone Katrina was grateful would not be part of her future. ‘Could it be possible that you might forgo this favourable duke and marry someone for love?’
Lady Mary and Lady Hammond looked at one another with confusion. There was no way to know for certain, but from her perplexed expression Katrina would guess that Lady Hammond’s marriage had been an arranged one. There still might be hope for Lady Mary.
However, she now addressed Katrina as if she were a small child. ‘I imagine that is an American way of thinking. Why would I marry for love when I could marry a duke?’
She would never understand the English. But there was no sense in filling the girl’s head with romantic notions. Katrina had spent some time this evening in the presence of the girl’s mother. It hadn’t taken her long to see how determined she was to promote her daughter for an advantageous match. Good luck to the man who married into that family!
While Katrina had been contemplating what it would be like to be married to a man such as Lady Mary’s duke, the discussion had turned back to life in America. It was making her feel nostalgic for her friends back home. As Sarah was regaling them with tales of life in Washington, Katrina excused herself, to slip away for a few minutes to the ladies’ retiring room.
She was about ten feet from the end of the long hall when she almost walked directly into the last person she had any desire to see. It was that self-important Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s terrace, who appeared to be too proud to associate openly with an American.
She hadn’t been aware that he was in attendance, and he seemed just as surprised to see her. His green eyes widened momentarily with recognition, but as usual he said nothing—no greeting at all. Not one to be intimidated, Katrina looked directly at him and waited. Even without seeking an introduction it would be a great insult if he completely ignored her this time. Now she would see how high in the instep he really was.
This was the closest she’d been to him since the night they’d talked under the stars. He’d nodded acknowledgement to her one night at the theatre, but each time she’d seen him after that he had avoided making eye contact. A number of times she’d caught him staring at her, but he had always diverted his gaze so quickly, she’d been certain he must be giving himself a headache with each sudden shift of his eyes.
And now he was standing less than five feet in front of her, impeccably dressed in formal black evening attire, with candlelight shining on the chestnut waves of his hair.
Perhaps it was because they were so close, or maybe he had had too much to drink, but this time his gaze roamed over her body. The hallway was growing very warm, and she shook out her fan to cool her heated skin.
He gave her a polite nod. ‘Pardon me.’
That was it? That was all he would say?
It was quite obvious from his demeanour that he had no intention of saying more.
He must be great friends with Lady Mary’s duke.
They wouldn’t be able to continue down the hall unless one of them moved to the side. Katrina was tempted to take both her hands and push him over, but instead she inclined her head and swished around him, doing her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she’d got from hearing the rumble of his deep voice.
Chapter Five (#ulink_6acfec47-0656-5df0-be14-e9d5a1d5080f)
The next morning Julian could barely finish his paperwork. His attention kept drifting to the American. He’d been astonished at the sense of longing he’d felt when she had walked past him last night. While she hadn’t exactly given him the cut, her brief response to his apology for almost knocking into her for a second time had been anything but friendly. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the de Lievens’ ball. What could he possibly have done to warrant the daggers she had thrown at him with her eyes?
He was angry with this woman he didn’t even know for turning his life upside down. Thoughts of her popped into his mind at all hours of the day, and each time he saw her his body immediately snapped to attention. He hadn’t bedded Helena in weeks, and as of late his blood was only stirred by thoughts of the American. How could he get any work done?
He needed sex. His lack of release was playing havoc with his mind—that must be why he was so fixated on a woman he’d barely spoken to. He needed to see Helena.
Walking into the entrance hall of her townhouse, Julian handed her butler his hat and walking stick. The sound of footfalls on the wooden staircase caught his attention, and he watched Helena make her descent, her curves straining against a blood-red dressing gown. He should have felt like dragging her somewhere and bedding her for hours. He didn’t.
Perhaps it was because they were in a very public area of the house, with her butler not far away. Julian shifted his eyes to her drawing room door, giving her a wordless command. As they entered the sparsely furnished room Helena closed the door and locked it. She always had been good with discretion.
Before she could utter a word Julian pushed her up against the door and kissed her. He needed her to help him forget the American right now. But the kiss felt all wrong—awkward and unpleasant. He closed his eyes, willing his body to react. Her lavender scent filled his nose.
Why did it suddenly seem so overpowering and unappealing?
He pulled his head back and looked down at her inviting expression. She was one of the most beautiful women in England. Wasn’t she? He’d used to think so. His brow wrinkled as he studied her delicate features. The outline of her breasts was not even enticing him to undress her.
Helena slid her hand up his chest and combed her fingers through the hair by his temple. ‘We could retire to my bed.’
That would be the ideal place. However, he could barely kiss her, let alone bed her. He turned away from her eager expression and glanced towards the settee. ‘This room will suit our purposes.’ He placed distance between them and took a seat.
‘Would you care for some brandy?’ she asked.
His body was tied in knots of uncomfortable tension. If only he could relax... He nodded, and when she sat down he felt her right thigh push up against his left. He took a long draw from the glass. The warm liquid eased some of the tightness in his shoulders and he shifted his thigh so it was no longer pressing against her leg.
She sketched circles on his knee with her finger and avoided his eyes. ‘You are quieter than usual. Have I done something to displease you?’
‘No. I find I have much on my mind today.’ He forced himself to smile reassuringly. It was not her fault his body wasn’t co-operating. He took another drink.
‘What has brought you here? You’ve never called on me during the day.’
Unable to voice the real reason, he shrugged. ‘I needed to see you.’
That seemed to satisfy her, and she attempted to hold back a smile. ‘I see.’
She was giving him time to elaborate, but how could he? He had no idea why his body wasn’t responding to her. He kissed her again, more demandingly this time. In his mind he saw magnetic blue eyes and a warm smile—so he squeezed his eyelids tighter. He told himself that Helena could do amazing things with her mouth. It was no use. He wasn’t even remotely hard.
Julian released her and drained the contents of his glass. The burn washed away the taste of their kiss. This visit had been intended to cure him of the affliction brought on by the American. Instead it had made him want her more. He was out of ideas on what to do. He needed advice.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale swallow the remaining contents of his glass. When he was finished, the glass landed on the table with an audible thud.
He stood rather abruptly. ‘Pardon me, but I have matters I need to attend to today.’
Without giving her a chance to reply, he walked out of the room.
Picking up his discarded glass, she ran her tongue over the rim where his lips had been. He never called on her during the day. Surely this was the sign she had been looking for. She had finally caught him. This time all her plotting and planning would land her the title she so richly deserved. He might even have left to make arrangements about asking for her hand.
How she wished she could be there when her brother heard she would be the next Duchess of Lyonsdale! Her new title would trump his title of earl. Finally she would be above him. He and that puritanical wife of his would regret the day they had said they wanted nothing more to do with her when she had become obligated to marry Wentworth. They could beg all they wanted—they would never dine in Lyonsdale House!
She poured herself a small splash of brandy. No longer would she have to sell items from her home to purchase this fine vintage. It was exhausting, hiding her financial situation. Soon that would all be a memory. Soon she would dine at Carlton House with the Prince Regent and his set while she wore the Carlisle diamonds.
* * *
Not far away, Katrina was preparing herself for an onslaught of advice as she was escorted down the hallway of Almack’s towards the assembly room where Madame de Lieven was waiting. When she’d received her note, requesting a meeting regarding a matter of the utmost importance, Katrina had been curious as to what the summons could possibly mean. Could she be about to enter into a lengthy discussion about the consequences of not following the strict rules of English etiquette? Or was Madame de Lieven about to inform Katrina in person that she was revoking the vouchers she had granted?
Katrina wished she had someone besides her maid, Meg, to accompany her. Madame de Lieven was known to be quite commanding. There would have been safety in numbers.
Stopping before a set of double doors, Katrina raised her chin and took a deep breath, reminding herself to remain polite no matter what the woman had to say.
Light poured into the cavernous room from the large windows, brightening the white walls and gold trim. In the very centre of the room sat Madame de Lieven, at a white linen-covered table set for tea. Closing the book she had been reading, she motioned Katrina forward.
