One Tempting Proposal (21 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-One

S
EB'S THOUGHT REGARDING
the equation hid, dodging every attempt to grasp it. Finally he caught it by its tail and rushed to scribble down the one bit of coherence he'd managed all morning, but he pressed the nib of his pen too hard, splattering ink on the paper, the blotter, and his shirt cuff. Staring down at the ragged hole where his captured thought should have been, he ground his teeth and flung the damned writing implement at the pen rest, missing it entirely.

With the movement, a twinge came, deep in his chest. His rusty tattered heart protested like Victor Frankenstein's monster for being brought back to life.

He stared across his study at the unlit fireplace. The marble mantel and looking glass above faded, and she was there. Kat, gloriously nude, every inch of her luminous skin exposed. She wanted him to see her, she'd said, and he'd never seen anything more magnificent in his life. And not because she'd been some ephemeral nymph, some flawless goddess he could never deserve. She'd been solid and warm in his arms—­smooth flesh, lush curves, tantalizing angles—­and she'd tasted of vanilla and lavender.

What a brave woman, so determined to gift him with those moments of intimacy and pleasure. And Kat had given him more than a memory he'd never forget. She'd given him a revelation—­about himself, about his bruised heart. He'd wanted her in that moment like he'd never wanted anyone or anything. And he knew, acknowledged to himself and to her, that he loved her. What he hadn't confessed, what he'd only realized as Kat stood before him, is that he'd never felt it before—­desire that bowed and strengthened him in the same moment, certainty that she would be his and he would be hers and there'd never be another.

What he'd felt for Alecia hadn't been love. Obsession, madness, youthful preoccupation—­whatever it had been, it didn't approach this. His feelings for Kat had crept upon him so softly he hadn't time to fear or deny them. They were as much a part of him now as his limbs or the blood pumping in his veins.

When a knock sounded at the door, he realized he'd clenched the scribbled paper in front of him into a crinkled ball.

“Come in.”

A young housemaid pushed through the door and curtsied. “Your Grace, forgive the interruption. There's a lady to see you.”

Kat. Thank God. He could reassure her, soothe whatever fears had precipitated her hasty departure the night before. He still couldn't reconcile the uncertainty he'd seen in her eyes as she walked out the door with the love she'd confessed moments before.

“Thank you. Please show her in.”

“Oh, forgive me, Your Grace. I asked her to wait in the drawing room.”

Perhaps the drawing room was best, especially if Kat had any regrets about what had passed between them in his study.

“Very well.”

He licked his lips and clenched his fists as he followed the maid down the hall. Sniffing the air, he expected to detect one of Kat's floral brews, but he only smelled starch and the mild sweetness of a bouquet of hothouse roses artfully arranged in a crystal vase on the entryway table.

“Your Grace, forgive me for calling unexpectedly.”

Not Kat. Not the woman he longed to see. Seb's shoulders sagged and a dull ache thumped at the back of his head.

Archie Naughton's governess stood in the center of his drawing room, pressing her hands together, a frown twisting her face and carving lines across her forehead. The matter of the boy and Alecia's claims hadn't slipped from his mind, but last night and this morning, Kat monopolized every thought.

“Please have a seat, Miss Perkins.”

The middle-­aged woman twisted her head one way and then the other, as if uncertain which chair to choose, before finally perching at the far edge of the settee. Her jerky uncoordinated movements didn't match the woman he'd met the previous day. They indicated nervousness, or fear.

“What brings you to Wrexford House?”

A long pause followed while the woman stared at her clasped hands, then glanced up at him before ducking her head again.

Seb still couldn't quite forgive her for not being Kat, nor for reminding him of the unresolved matter of Alecia's claim that he'd fathered her child.

“Miss Perkins?”

She finally met his gaze, her mouth trembling, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I will lose my place over this, so I beg you to understand if it's difficult for me.”

She'd come to him and believed it would lose her the post as governess to Archie. Pinpricks rushed across his skin and he stifled a shiver. Only Alecia had ever inspired a dark sense of foreboding in him.

Miss Perkins struggled to swallow, as if she'd just downed a loaf of bread whole, and reached inside the pocket of her skirt. The document she pulled out looked old, with foxing on the paper and wear at the edges. She handled it with care as she flattened it on her lap and then lifted it out to him.

His hand shook as he reached for the paper. It looked to be a page from a family history or genealogical record of the Naughton family. Archie's name was listed near the bottom, with birth date and year recorded as tenth of June, 1883. The boy would turn nine in a few months, and he'd been conceived two years after Seb had last seen Alecia before the encounter at his aunt's ball.

“My father is in jail.”

The non sequitur caught him off guard, tangling his tongue and scattering the words he'd been about to say.

“He's a screever, a forger of documents.”

Seb shook his head slowly, aware that his mouth hung open and he must look a fool. He had no idea what the woman was on about.

“I thought it very kind of Lady Naughton to employ me and overlook my father's transgressions. She entrusted me with the care and education of such a fine young boy.” Her voice broke at the mention of Archie and she inhaled sharply through her nose as if bracing herself.

“I will miss him more than I can say, but I can't be a part of Lady Naughton's scheme.”

Like one of Mr. Turner's vivid paintings, the details of Miss Perkins's tale were hidden among the brushstrokes, and he began to glimpse the framework of one of Alecia's snares.

“She asked you to alter this document?”

The woman shook her head so fiercely, Seb feared she might sprain something. “Not me, Your Grace, never. But she believed, given my family history, I would know someone who would. And not to alter that one but to forge a new one.”

He traced the writing where the boy's name and birth date were listed, pressing his finger to the last numeral in his birth year. A different number there might have changed his life, the boy's life, and destroyed the Naughton family.

“And the rest of her scheme? She forges a new document and then what? Ruins her marriage, destroys her reputation, injures her child. For what?”

“She said you would give her money. I'm loathe to say it, but funds are not plentiful in the household. Both master and mistress spend freely.” The governess released a breath, perhaps relieved by the confession and yet she held her stomach, as if all the whole matter left her queasy. “Lady Naughton says she should have been your duchess.”

Seb narrowed his eyes and Miss Perkins shrugged. Apparently, Alecia's rationales sounded as mad to her as they did to him.

Another of her schemes. Another betrayal. He let the truth of it settle in his mind and waited for the rage he'd felt in the past, the bitterness that had been his companion for years.

It didn't come. He clenched his hands over the arms of his chair, irritated that the morning had not gone in another direction, that he resisted calling on Kat as he'd convinced himself not to do. Beyond irritation there was an unexpected pang of sympathy—­for Miss Perkins and the impossible situation Alecia had put her in, for Archie who'd unknowingly become a pawn to his mother's greed, and even for Naughton. Whatever the man's sins, he didn't deserve this.

“Lady Naughton intended to present you and your aunt with the forgery to convince you that Archie is your son.”

“Yes, I see.” Seb lifted the document to return it to the governess, but she shook her head in refusal.

“You should keep it, Your Grace.”

Keeping a piece of Naughton's family history didn't sit well with Seb, but the document might be his only evidence to refute Alecia's claim.

“Thank you. I shall keep it for now. What will you tell Lady Naughton about the forgery?”

Miss Perkins caught the edge of her bottom lip with her teeth. “I considered telling her I was accosted and the original document lost on my way to find the man.”

“Seems as good a tale as any. You truly fear she'll dismiss you?”

For the first time since her arrival, Miss Perkins sat up straight, gazing at him directly, regaining the poise he'd seen in her the day before.

“Despite my initial impression of Lady Naughton, I now find her to be quite unpredictable. And this plan to deceive you, with Archie in the middle, has soured me on the lady altogether. If she doesn't dismiss me, I suspect I'll have to leave.”

He understood her reasons, but he hated the notion of her departure and the disappointment of the boy who admired her.

“I hope you don't, Miss Perkins, for the lad's sake.”

For a long moment, Seb assessed Archie's governess and she took his measure in return.

“Seb?”

He turned at the sound of his sister's voice.

“Sorry to interrupt, and pardon me, miss, but I wanted to remind you of our trip to the gallery.”

He'd ruminated the morning away pondering his future with Kat, and completely forgotten that they'd agreed to all gather on the portico of the South Kensington Museum at noon.

Miss Perkins shot to her feet. “I should be going, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Miss Perkins.”

After showing the governess out, he headed back to his study but Pippa stopped him.

“Who was your lady visitor? And should a betrothed man have lady visitors?” she teased. He'd missed that light teasing note in her voice.

“She's the governess to Alecia Naughton's son.”

He expected her frown of confusion, but if they were to meet Kat and her sister within the hour, he didn't have time to explain. And more than anything, he needed to see Kat.

When Pippa didn't question him further, he moved to pass her in the hall. “We should prepare for the gallery outing.”

“Seb, wait. You look . . . altered.” She examined him closely, squinting as she studied his eyes.

“Do I?” Seb felt a bit like an animal at market, and Pippa looked as if she might ask to inspect his teeth.

“What's happened to you?”

Lady Katherine Adderly was the simplest answer, but saying as much would only lead to more questions. A flurry of them, he suspected.

Then, without him saying anything, Pippa's brown eyes rounded and she reached out to squeeze his arm so hard he winced.

“Oh my goodness! I can't believe it, and yet I can see it written all over your face.” She held her breath a moment and then gushed, “You
have
fallen in love with her!”

Falling didn't seem the right word, though Pippa was usually the one to argue semantics. If anything, his feelings for Kat had buoyed him up, reviving him, giving him an eagerness for the future he hadn't felt in years.

“I do plan to ask her to marry me.”

Pippa crossed her arms and glowered as if was a fool. “Haven't you already done that?”

“You know our engagement was contrived. We're past the point of falsehood now, and I'm finished with pretending.”

He didn't need his sister's approval, but he wanted it. Though she was eight years his junior, he trusted Pippa's judgment. At least with everything but her taste in men.

Seb crossed his arms, mirroring her stance.

“Are you waiting for my blessing?” she asked.

He thought back to Pippa's displeasure when he'd told her of his plan to feign an engagement to Kat. Observing their truce at the dinner table had given him hope, but the two women had few other opportunities to speak and come to know each other.

Romance was never a topic he'd broached with Pippa. He'd never even spoken openly about recognizing she'd developed feelings for Ollie. It seemed more of a sisterly topic of conversation, though he suspected Pippa didn't talk about matters of the heart with anyone.

“What is it you see in her?” There was no judgment in her tone. She was testing his precepts, forcing him to defend his reasoning.

Her judgment would have been easier than questions, and with her usual impatience, she gave him no time to answer before proceeding to her next ones.

“I may have changed my views about Kitty, but tell me why you wish to marry her. As much as I hate to admit it, her odious father did have a point. You encountered only a handful of women at Cambridge and the season's just begun. Why chose so quickly? Perhaps she's simply the only woman with whom you've had reason to exchange more than a few polite words.”

“Why do you love Ollie?”

She took a step away from him and pressed her arms more firmly against her chest, turning her head down to study the carpet.

He hadn't meant to corner her or expose a truth that caused her pain, but her questions had come too fast and they'd implied too much doubt about his feelings for Kat not to spark frustration.

“I'm sorry, Pippa.” He tipped back his head and sighed. “I'm happy to answer your questions, each and every one of them.”

Stepping forward, he lowered his arms, eager to make peace with this sister.

“But there's more to choosing who we love than logic.” Mercy, he almost sounded fanciful.

She finally turned her gaze on him in a pointed glare.

“Then perhaps we should look to logic more often and avoid the pain of terrible choices.”