The Scandalous Love of a Duke. Jane Lark

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      “Katherine…” John’s pale eyes shone as he looked at her.

      She had thought him vulnerable at the funeral months ago, with no evidence to pin the thought against. But today she could see it clearly.

      There had been a desperate desire for acceptance in his eyes when he had pressed the bonnet on her, and there was insecurity in them now. She could see nothing of the arrogant man who’d jumped down from his curricle less than a week ago. This was a different person. The boy she had known and the young man who had left for the continent, grown up.

      “John,” she said in a low voice, “I do not understand what is happening? I can be no one to you.”

      He took the full cup she held out. “You are wrong. You can be everything to me, Katherine.”

      She felt the earth shift beneath her feet but she did not know what to do. So she turned away and sought her cup.

      “I have never felt this way for anyone before, Katherine,” he said behind her. “I have no idea what it is, or how to progress, all I know is, I wish to be in your company constantly … ”

      Her heart pounded. It was John saying this to her.

      She was about to turn back, when she heard the front door open. Her cup wobbled in its saucer as she jumped.

      “Sir, the Duke of Pembroke is here.”

      Her father.

      She set her cup aside and moved before the hatbox, her heart thumping even harder.

      “The Duke of Pembroke?” Her father’s voice rang along the hall. Then his brisk footsteps could be heard.

      She did not look at John.

      “Your Grace.” Her father appeared at the open parlour door.

      “Papa.” She moved forwards, knowing she must look guilty as she tried to ensure he would not be able to see the box resting in the chair.

      There was a question in his eyes.

      John set his cup down and crossed the room, offering his hand. “Good day, sir.”

      Her father accepted it and shook it briefly, before letting go.

      “I called to accept Mrs Spencer’s invitation to your gathering for Jenny, sir,” John progressed. It was a lie of course.

      Her father was stiff and silent. He looked at Katherine again. “I am sure your mother will be pleased, Kate.” He did not sound pleased.

      Katherine bit her lip. He seemed to have sensed there was something odd going on, but then she was acting as though she had something to hide. Did she? There was the bonnet, but… what else…

      Her heart thumped as her father’s gaze passed back to her.

      “Katherine?”

      “John also brought word from Phillip, father.” Now she had lied too.

      Her father’s eyebrows lifted and then he looked back at John. “I was sorry to hear of your grandfather’s passing.”

      John nodded. “Your son does well in town, sir.”

      “He does…”

      Their stilted conversation passed over Katherine’s head as she watched John change back into the Duke – untouchable, unreachable, distant and withheld.

      When it ran dry, John turned to her, his eyes cold and direct. “As we still have the sunshine, even though it’s a little blustery, I wondered if you would care to walk in the garden with me.”

      She looked at her father. There was still a question in his eyes which said he was unsure what to do. “Shall I leave you two young people to stroll then, Kate, and retire to my study?”

      She nodded.

      “Your Grace,” he said to John, bowing.

      “Sir,” John responded.

      Once he’d gone, Katherine turned to John. “You are shameless, the way you manipulate people.”

      He merely laughed as she moved to ring the bell for Hetty to collect the hatbox.

      She turned back and faced him. “I cannot believe you have persuaded me to accept your gift against my better judgement, and I still do not know what you wish in return for it.”

      “A moment of freedom, Katherine, or however many you will give me.”

      “Miss Kate?”

      Katherine spun about to face Hetty, certain she was entirely pink. “Take this up to my room please, and would you fetch my spencer and bonnet, and my gloves.”

      “No,” John interrupted.

      Katherine turned.

      “Hetty, is it? Your mistress needs none of that, it is cooler today, she need not fear the sun.”

      “I have a fair complexion, Your Grace.” His boorishness annoyed her.

      “Then a parasol will suffice.” His pale eyes glowed, daring her to challenge him.

      She did not, and once the maid had gone, he whispered, “I want to touch your skin.”

      Was this the price of her bonnet?

      Her heartbeat thundered, as she realised she wished to be touched. She had always known she was base and sinful and weak, John was only proving what she knew, and if any man were to touch her, then let it be John.

      Hetty was back in a moment, bearing the promised parasol, and Katherine accepted it with a brief thank you, realising her hands shook when she did so.

      John smiled when she turned. His eyes said he needed her.

      Her bare arm trembled when he took it.

      He opened the French door and together they stepped outside. His grip was gentle. She felt cared for.

      There was a little wilderness of wild flowers to the right of the garden, and he led her there as she opened her parasol and rested it on her shoulder. The chill summer breeze caught at her skirt and wrapped it against John’s leg.

      He let go of her arm and instead raised his so she could lay her fingers on it. She felt firm muscle beneath the cloth of his morning coat. There was strength, security and support.

      “You say you wish for freedom,” she said quietly, “but I still do not understand what you mean, John.” She was being gauche and provincial again.

      “Just your company, Katherine, and perhaps your kisses.” His other hand covered hers as it lay on his arm. “We will be discreet.”

      Discreet? Was she agreeing to an assignation then? “You make it sound as though СКАЧАТЬ