Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (36 page)
“But I am not a proper Englishwoman,” Kate said with wide, innocent eyes, knowing she should have resisted temptation to indulge herself in a bit of scathing wit. After all, Lady Bensonhurst might be her patroness, but she was also, behind Kate’s back, her biggest detractor, and Kate was not fooled for a moment. Just the other day she had overheard Lady Bensonhurst exclaiming about Kate having had the audacity to stroll the East End waterfront and sketch sailors without their shirts.
Actually, those sketches were some of the finest Kate had ever done.
“A tart like that will soon fall, don’t you think so?” she had intoned. “If only Anne were not so fond of her and if only Lord Bensonhurst were not blinded by that red hair and those black eyes!”
“Dear, I do not think we could forget your Irish-American antecedents,” Cecilia was saying now, smiling the smile of an ice queen.
“And how is Lord Howard?” Kate smiled back slyly.
Cecilia’s smile vanished. “I beg your pardon?”
Kate knew that Lord Howard Dunross had crept into Lady Cecilia’s bed last night—and the night before that, as well. Of course, Lord Wyndham had been in Lady Georgina Cottle’s bed, so everyone must have had quite the jolly time.
“Lord Howard asked me to stroll with him after tea,” Kate lied. She smiled. “I thought, out of respect for you, I should decline.”
Cecilia stared at Kate, her winged black brows raised. Abruptly she turned her back on her and marched away with a loud huffing sound.
Kate managed not to laugh.
Lady Bensonhurst stared coldly. “That was extraordinarily rude.”
“I fail to see why,” Kate said, thinking that it was even ruder to make love so loudly that one kept the occupants of the adjacent chamber awake.
Anne’s mother turned to Anne. “You shall join us. Kate may do as she pleases.” Lady Bensonhurst followed in her friend’s wake. Her ample hips swayed from side to side, giving one the impression that she waddled like the ducks just now strutting upon the pond’s muddy shore.
“I do not want to go to town,” Anne moaned.
But Kate was frozen, her heart suddenly slamming in her chest, not hearing her best friend. Lord Braxton had just ridden a beautiful bay hunter into the group, clearly having just arrived from London. Kate placed her hand, which was shaking, on her breast. She had not known he was coming for the ten-day sojourn in the country. Oh, God. She could hardly breathe; she was ecstatic, she must not show her feelings, she did not know what to do!
She had not laid eyes upon him in months. His father had sent him to Charleston just after the Christmas holidays, where his family apparently had several properties.
“Kate? Are you unwell? Is something amiss?”
Edward had not dismounted. He was smiling, speaking with a group of young bachelors, some of whom, Kate knew, had horrid reputations as rogues about town. She could not look away from him. And then he looked up and saw her. Their gazes locked.
For a long moment, they stared at one another. Kate did not know who smiled first. But she was smiling, and so was he.
Then she looked away.
Edward had called on her twice in London since they had met at the Fairchild ball, but that had been ages ago—before his journey to America. He had taken her for a drive in the park, and to a country fair just outside of London, in a small village called Hampstead. Both afternoons had been glorious, and had passed far too swiftly. Unlike the past several months, during which he had been away. Never had time passed more slowly.
And at every fête and soiree that Kate went to in the interim since he had been abroad, she had her ears pricked wide, and she had learned that he was the premier catch in the land, and that just about every girl making her come-out last season had been hoping to snare him as a husband. He was twenty-six. He seemed in no rush to marry. He had never, since he had reached his majority, courted anyone seriously. And he had called upon no one else since he had called upon her before leaving the country.
“Kate! Is that Lord Braxton?” Anne asked, low but wide-eyed.
Kate followed her gaze and saw Edward, who had dismounted, approaching them. “Indeed it is,” Kate said, smiling as if she were serene, calm, and unmoved by his appearance at Swinton Hall. Kate hardly knew what to do. She twisted her gloved hands nervously.
He paused before the two girls and bowed. “Ladies.” His gaze was on Anne. “Lady Bensonhurst, I believe?”
Anne had not been home on either of the occasions when he had called on Kate. Now she lowered her eyes while extending her hand. “We have not been properly introduced,” she murmured demurely.
“I am happy to make the introductions,” Kate said, sharing a glance with Edward while Anne’s gaze was lowered. “Viscount Braxton, my dear friend, Lady Anne.”
He bowed over her hand, then took Kate’s, bowing over that. His clasp on her fingers was a warm squeeze, and it seemed overly long. “How lovely the two of you are,” he said, smiling into Kate’s eyes, not even looking at Anne. “When did you arrive at Lord Willow’s box?”
“We only arrived the day before yesterday,” Kate replied, trying to keep her tone even. How very hard it was. “And we shall be staying another week.”
“How fortunate for me,” he said, teeth flashing white against his swarthy skin. “As I, too, stay an entire week.”
Kate’s heart did a series of rapid somersaults. “How wonderful,” she whispered. “I had not heard that you were back, my lord.”
“I returned home but a few days ago,” he said, his tone as low, his gaze unwavering.
Their gazes held. Kate could not look away. She forgot about Anne, standing beside them. When would he kiss her? she wondered. He had almost kissed her that day he had driven her to the fair in his motor car. He would be in Swinton for a week. She would be there for a week. This then must be heaven. Surely at some time this week he would hold her passionately, the way she had been dreaming of being held and touched by him.
Surely this time, it would be their beginning, the beginning of something vast and magnificent, of something soul-shattering and eternal.
“Anne! We are to depart!”
“I am afraid I must go,” Anne said. She smiled at Edward and curtsied. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Lord Braxton.”
“The pleasure has been mine,” he said with a bow.
They both watched Anne hurry away, climbing into a carriage with her mother and Cecilia. As the carriage drove past them, Kate was aware of both ladies staring directly at her and Edward. Then they put their heads together, and Kate knew they were speaking about her, discussing her prospects of catching England’s most sought after bachelor, and dismissing the possibility as ludicrous.
“They are such witches,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
She was briefly horrified by the slip of her too bold tongue, but then she saw the laughter in Edward’s eyes, and she laughed, too. “They talk about me behind my back. I’m Irish, I’m American, and I am not fit to be in the present company,” Kate said without bitterness. She was smiling. “I would respect them more if they would speak openly. How narrow-minded they are.”
“Hypocrisy is an ugly thing,” Edward agreed, “as is such condescension. Unfortunately, I have found out that the wealthiest people tend to be the most judgmental. It is a shame, is it not?”
“Yes, indeed,” Kate said happily. “But I do try to feel sorry for Lady Bensonhurst. Clearly, in spite of her wealth and her position, she is very unhappy with her lot in life.”
“How astute you are. You do know that Lord Bensonhurst is quite the man about town?”
“I had guessed.” Kate smiled archly. “Does he really keep a French actress as a mistress?”
“I shall never tell,” Edward vowed with a grin.
“Ah, I can see the truth in your eyes. Well, then, we must feel sorry for Lady B. Not only must we feel sorry for her, we must hope that she continues to shop her life away. After all, that is the only satisfaction she seems to receive in life, is it not?”
“It is,” he said. “Many women would be happy with such an arrangement, a titled husband who goes his own way, not bothering them with his more pressing needs, but leaving them with a carte blanche for the shops and stores.” His gaze was searching.
“Not I! I care not one whit for shopping, and one day, I expect my husband to be as smitten with me as I am with him.” Kate smiled boldly.
Edward stared. “One day, beauteous Kate, you will undoubtedly have your wish.”
Kate felt herself blushing. “I do, perhaps, have odd expectations for a marriage. I fail to understand why more men do not take their wives seriously. Why bother to shackle oneself to a mate if one intends to go about life as if one were not so coupled?”
“Ah, well, we all have our duty to perform,” Edward said, holding out his hand. “We have titles to pass down—heirs to conceive—alliances to mold. Walk with me, Kate. Being with you again is like being let out of an old, musty closet and finding oneself on the seashore.”
“You are a poet, sir.” Kate laughed as they strolled through the picnic.
“Hardly.” Edward laughed as they left the meadow behind. A small trail led them through a cluster of birch trees and into another field. “But let me say again, dear Kate, that you are a sight for sore eyes. Your beauty ties my tongue in veritable knots.”
Kate knew she blushed. “You overpraise me, my lord. Do not forget, my tongue is too sharp, my freckles too dark, my nose far too Roman—I am hardly en vogue.”
Edward roared with laughter. He halted, as did Kate. The picnic party was no longer in sight. Ahead of them was a shimmering green valley, crisscrossed with stone walls. Beyond that, a series of stark hills faced them, covered in purple gorse. The sky overhead was perfectly blue, and the sun was shining, warm and bright, down upon them. “I like the fact that you are woman enough to know yourself, that you accept yourself with true grace.”
“Ah”—Kate smiled—“so you admit I am flawed.”
“I admit no such thing! I think your freckles endearing, your nose striking, and should you mince words, you would bore me as most of those debutantes have done before.”
Kate’s smile faded. As did his. A long moment passed. Kate said, “Has there been no one, then, in all these years, who has caught your eye and your heart as well?”
He hesitated. “Have you not heard, dear Kate, that my heart is cold, that I am an utter rogue, and that I will only marry when my father has either blackmailed me into it, or is on his deathbed and gasping out his last dying breath?”
“Is that what they say about you?” Kate gasped, genuinely appalled.
“That is what the mothers who have set their caps for me as the husband of their daughters say, repeatedly. No mother, apparently, accepts the rejection of her daughter with dignity and grace. My reputation apparently is so black that no woman is safe alone with me.” His golden eyes held hers. “Do I frighten you, Kate?”
“No.” Kate’s pulse throbbed. “You could not possibly frighten me. You can only intrigue me.”
He reached for her. “And you intrigue me. You have intrigued me from the moment I first laid eyes upon you. You are different from them all. But then, you know that, and you are proud of it, and that, perhaps, is the most wondrous thing about you.”
Kate’s heart felt as if it were expanding to impossible proportions. “You shall soon embarrass me, good sir,” she whispered.
“I don’t think so. I have missed you, Kate. I have thought of little else but you since we met.” His gaze held hers, darkening now with startling rapidity.
Kate’s heart soared with joy. “I have also missed you, my lord,” she whispered, “And I, too, shamelessly, have thought of little else.”
He stared. A scant instant later he pulled her into his arms, his mouth on hers. Kate returned his kiss with one of her own. She felt him tense and knew she had crossed the line, becoming impossibly bold. But then he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, bending her over backward, all hesitation gone. Kate’s lips parted; her fingers dug into his strong shoulders. The kiss lasted forever; but when it was over, it felt as if it had lasted mere seconds.
He dropped her arms, eyes wide, stepping away from her.
Kate stared at him with real shock, her heart beating so thunderously she thought they could both hear it. Now, for the first time in her life, she understood desire. “Oh, God.” She did not realize she had spoken aloud until it was too late, and she pressed two fingertips to her mouth.
He stared. And finally he said, “No woman has ever affected me as you have.”
She wet her lips. “Meaning what?”
His stare remained; it was unrelenting. “You haunt me, Kate, ceaselessly, day and night, night and day. My journey abroad felt endless because I yearned for you.” He paused then said, “We should not be alone together again,”
“No!” Her cry was sharp, startled.
Edward stared. “Do you know how dangerous it is for us to be alone together? The gossips already blacken me, and you as well. Should we be caught in such a compromising position, you would be truly ruined, my dear.”
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