One Tempting Proposal (26 page)

The drawing room door slid open and her father stepped inside. “I believe my daughter has asked you to leave, Lady Naughton. Good day to you.”

Her father came to stand beside her, not touching her or reaching out to comfort her, but positioning himself close enough that Alecia could see the seriousness in his eyes.

She said nothing more but dipped into an obsequious curtsy before striding for the door.

“If you're lying, Lady Naughton, trust that I shall uncover it. And know that you are misguided on one point.”

The diminutive woman paused, back straight, neck taught, never turning her head to look back, but clearly interested enough in the rest to wait to hear what Kitty's father would say next.

“Wrexford did ask for my daughter's hand in marriage, and I gave my consent three days ago.”

Alecia departed without another word, slamming the drawing room door behind her to mark her exit.

Kitty turned to her father. “He asked you three days ago?”

“In earnest, yes. I'd suspected his first request wasn't quite what it seemed.”

Her scheme had not gone to plan. Indeed, none of it had worked out as she'd hoped. Hattie and Ollie weren't married, and she still didn't know her sister's true feelings about any of it. They'd barely exchanged two words since the incident at Wrexford House.

Yet she didn't regret a moment of her time with Sebastian. All but those last moments when she'd torn it all apart.

“He truly wished to marry me?” She knew it was true. He'd said as much himself, but hearing the words from her father's mouth seemed a reassurance she sorely needed.

“Yes, Katherine, though I am not certain of his intentions now.” He raised a hand and she thought he might touch her, embrace her, and she stilled. Instead, he reached inside his waistcoat pocket and removed a letter. “He and his sisters are departing for Cambridgeshire this afternoon. The three o'clock train.”

She snatched the folded paper from his hand, noting her name addressed on outer flap. “How could you keep this from me?”

He lifted his head in the aristocratic haughty way she'd seen all her life. “I thought it best.”

Kitty moved past him, rushing for the drawing room door.

“Where do you think you're going?”

She pulled the door open, not stopping as she called back her answer. “King's Cross Station.”

 

Chapter Twenty-Six

“W
HICH TRAI
N IS
it?” Hattie trailed along behind her as Kitty moved through the throng toward the schedule board. Her sister had found her in her rooms, frantically changing into a traveling dress and out of the simple wrap gown she'd worn in the morning. Hattie had listened to her plan, tried to talk her out of it, and then insisted on accompanying her to the station.

“Platform three!” Kitty called back, though when she turned, panic welled up when she didn't immediately see Hattie in the crowd.

“Kitty, I think they're over here.” She turned at the sound of her sister's voice and saw her gloved hand waving to draw her attention. Pushing to the point of rudeness, she made her way through a cluster of passengers waiting to board and drew up near Hattie.

“I think I just saw Lady Philippa get into that carriage.” She pointed at one of the first-­class carriages near the end of the train from where they stood.

Kitty grabbed her sister's hand and started along the platform, but halfway toward the first-­class cars, the train released a cloud of steam and began its metallic grinding groan into motion. Running in her skirts was impossible, even if the platform had been clear of family members waving a final good-­bye to loved ones.

The train moved toward them and Kitty stopped, realizing they were too late to board, but still might see Sebastian and his sister as their carriage window passed by. As the first-­class cars approached, she uttered a little prayer under her breath. That she might see him, that he would look at her with something other than disappointment and disdain.

Light filtering through the station's high windows glinted off the glass of the closed carriage windows, but as the carriage drew near, she could see the unmistakable curve of an angular cheek, full lips, and dark waves against a blue dress.

“It's Pippa,” Hattie shouted over the noise of the train as she tugged excitedly at the sleeve of Kitty's gown.

Before Kitty could open her mouth to call, she heard Hattie's usually quiet gentle voice cry out.

“Pippa!” They both began shouting as her carriage passed, and Kitty swallowed a painful lump when, across from Pippa, she glimpsed the wide printed span of a newspaper splayed open before the face of a gentleman with large wide hands.

Finally, when the carriage had just passed them, Pippa turned and spied them through the glass, her eyes huge, as she lifted a hand to wave. When the train car rolled past, all the air seemed drained from the world. Kitty sagged and reached up to grasp her chest, where that pain from the garden incident began to twinge.

Then she felt Hattie tugging at her sleeve again. “Kitty, look. Is that the duke?”

A man's face,
his
face, gazed back at her from the spot where Pippa had sat. He was too far away for her to read anything in Sebastian's eyes, but he'd looked for her. Pippa must have told him she'd seen them, and he'd cared enough to have one last glimpse of her.

“Come, Hattie.” She turned and marched back toward the ticket booth. When she didn't turn toward the station's exit, Hattie called from behind her.

“What are we doing?”

“We're going to Cambridgeshire.” She had to see him, speak to him, explain her behavior. Even if he wouldn't forgive her, she needed to see him just once more. And she also owed Pippa an apology.

“Kitty, we can't. We haven't any clothes. And we haven't been invited.”

She swung back to face her sister, whose hat had gone askew, her neatly arranged hair disheveled. Kitty reached up to settle her sister's hat.

“If they turn us away, so be it. But I must try. I need to see him one last time.” She cupped her sister's smooth cheek. “I can go on my own. Just tell Papa you lost me at the train station.” She tried for a grin but her face felt stiff and wouldn't obey.

“I'm going with you. You started all of this because of me. I'm not letting you finish it alone.”

F
OR ALL THE
hours on the train, and the carriage ride from the station, his mind whirled with questions. Why had she come to the station? Why hadn't she answered his morning letter? Why had she refused to see him when he'd called so late he'd almost missed the train himself?

“Ah, the duke has returned to Roxbury.” Teague, the estate's butler, led a small army of staff out of Roxbury's grand front doors to welcome them. The footmen and maids turned their attention to trunks and luggage, while Sebastian escorted Pippa inside.

“I received your telegram and have prepared a small luncheon. I thought you might be peckish after your journey, Your Grace.” Teague's enthusiasm actually made it feel like a homecoming, and Seb thanked him for his efforts.

A half an hour later, after he and Pippa had taken time to change and wash off the dust of travel in their rooms, they gathered again in the morning room. They filled their plates from a spread on the sideboard, though Seb found none of it appealing. His stomach turned at the very notion of eating. But he smelled the divine smoky aroma of coffee and spied a small silver pot at the edge of the table. The staff had remembered his preference for coffee over tea, and he silently blessed them for it.

Pippa seemed to have an appetite and Seb allowed her to tuck into her meal before speaking.

“How did she look when you first glimpsed her through the window?”

Pippa lifted her napkin and wiped her mouth. “Desperate.”

Seb frowned, and Pippa sighed and lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Not quite an eye-­roll, but almost.

“Oh, don't look so confused. Kitty looked desperate to see you. She'd come all the way to the train station to see, perhaps to stop you leaving, for all I know.”

Hope flickered, that pitiful little ember of future happiness he still clung to.

“Why don't you telegram and ask Aunt Augusta to visit her? I'm not sure why Kitty ignored your notes, but perhaps she'd speak to Aunt Augusta. There
is
still the matter of your betrothal to settle.”

The sourness in Seb's belly swelled, bile rising up in the back of his throat. Mention of his aunt brought up images of Alecia and her vile attempt to manipulate him. But then he turned his attention to the heart of the Pippa's question. His betrothed.

Kat was that still. He had not ended it. She hadn't sent word of her desire to do so. And she'd come to the train station. He still wasn't certain what it meant, what she'd intended to say to him, but he'd seen her face from a distance—­the frown marring her brow while the bud of a smile bloomed at the edges of her mouth. Misery merged with hope. A fair picture of his own state of mind.

“And there is still the matter of her attempt to wound you, Pippa.”

“I am
not
wounded. For goodness sakes, she merely pointed out a fact that I'd been silly enough to think I'd concealed.”

She was right, and what had passed between Pippa and Kat wasn't truly what held him back. Pippa had forgiven her, and he'd known from the moment it happened that Kat regretted all of it. What held him back was simpler. Primal. Fundamental. What held him back was fear. With matters unresolved between them, he could still hope. Yet with matters unresolved between them, he couldn't have what he needed most of all. Kat in his arms and in his life.

Pippa had been watching him and threw down her napkin. “I've changed my mind. Don't involve Aunt Augusta. You should send a telegram directly to Kitty.”

“Should I?”

“Yes, because if you don't, and you continue with that miserable look on your face, I'll write to her myself.”

He stood and leaned over to kiss his sister's cheek. Pippa gasped and lifted a hand to the spot, then began rubbing furiously to wipe his kiss away as she had as a child.

“Thank you, Pippa.”

Striding back to his study, he considered what to say in his telegram. Though an expedient form of communication, telegrams required a message to be concise. He couldn't say much, and yet brevity didn't match the jumble of what he wanted to convey to Kat. He needed her with him. Loved her. The further he stood from the debacle in the garden, the more he saw it as her misguided attempt to help her sister. The woman was deft at coming up with plans that never worked out as she hoped they would. The false engagement, the attempt to make Harriet jealous, if that's what it had been. From the start, Kat had been guided by a desire to help her sister, just as he'd wished to assist Ollie. He couldn't fault her for that loyalty.

Half an hour later, slumped in his study chair, he found himself trapped in the inertia Pippa warned him about. Too much thinking led to inaction. And inaction wouldn't get him face-­to-­face with Kat again.

He reached for his fountain pen and began scratching out the message he'd send to Kat via telegram.

So intent on finally taking action, a knock at the door made him jump.

“Your Grace, you're wanted in the entry hall.”

Just a few more words and he'd have the message complete, ready to be taken to the station and transmitted on the telegraph. It could be delivered to her within hours if he hurried.

He replaced his pen and sighed. His half-­finished message stared back at him. “Is there something amiss in the entry hall?”

“Unexpected guests, Your Grace.”

Unexpected guests? Ollie said he might catch tomorrow's train and come for a visit, but he couldn't imagine who he might bring with him. Then the queasiness bubbled up in his stomach again. What if he and Harriet had decided to elope after all? Clayborne would have the constables at Roxbury's doors next.

He followed the maid down the hall and could see three feminine figures standing in front of the still open front doors. Pippa stood with her back to him as she spoke to their guests, and he glimpsed the dark silhouettes of two women in the light pouring into the hall through the open doors.

He picked up his pace, moving past the maid, and caught a scent on the air. Lily of the valley. Sweet, fresh, and mingled with the richer scent of Kat's skin.

Pippa turned to look at him and stepped back to allow him a direct view of Kat standing in front of her. His sister lifted her hand as if presenting him with a prize.

“And here she is. Your telegram must've traveled at triple speed.”

“I hadn't sent it.”

Pippa smiled at that. “Then it's destiny.” She lifted her brow, as if shocked by her own fancifulness, and reached for Harriet's hand. “Would you like some tea, Hattie? We still have lunch laid out if you'd like something to eat after your journey.”

Hattie nodded and grinned. She followed Pippa out of the entry hall, only turning back once to glance at him and then her sister.

Kat looked tired and disheveled, strands of hair falling down over her shoulder, her bodice askew, and a smudge of something on her cheek. She looked marvelous to his eyes.

He widened his stance to keep himself steady. The relief of seeing her again nearly buckled his knees. Her scent made his mouth water. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, love her, but he held back. If he touched her now, he wouldn't listen rationally to anything she said or be able to tell her what he needed to say. If he touched her, he'd never want to let her go.

She ducked her head. “I know it's rude to push in when we weren't invited.”

He took a step closer. She hesitated a moment and then did the same.

“There's an unsent message on my desk asking you to come. I thought on it too long and didn't get it sent off in time.”

He took another step and could feel the warmth of her body. He breathed deep, savoring her scent.

One more step and he closed the distance between them, reaching up to slide his hand against her cheek.

“W-­were you considering not sending it?” She stumbled over the question and he missed the confident lilt he usually heard in her voice.

He stroked the smudge at the arch of her cheekbone and felt her shiver reverberate up the length of his arm.

“I was considering how to fit everything I wished to say to you into a telegram.”

She tipped her face, nestling against his hand.

He lowered his head and felt her breath wisping against his face.

“Say it now.”

Before he could speak, he had to kiss her. Brushing his mouth against hers electrified him, all the weight and worry of the past days slipping away, and he slid a hand around her waist, fitting her body against his.

Then he pulled back, lifting his head to gaze at her. “I love you, Kat.”

“And I love you.”

He knew he was smiling like a fool because he felt it, not just in the muscles of his face, but in the buoyant lightness that welled up inside him.

“Kat . . .” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and slid out the flower ring. He'd forgone the box and kept the band tucked in safe, close to his heart, since the day he'd purchased it for her. “I want to marry you.”

She gasped at the sight of the glinting ring, and he took the pleasure breaking across her face as the answer he longed for her. But when he dipped his head for another kiss, she lifted a finger to his lips.

“But I act too often on impulse.”

As he had when he'd just kissed her, embraced her. He lifted his mouth from her finger. “Impulsivity isn't always uncalled for.”

She almost grinned at that and seemed to lift onto her toes for another kiss, but then held back.

“My plans, which seem masterful in the making, never come to good.”

He slid his other hand up her back to pull her closer. “Scheme less. Kiss more. That's my new philosophy.”

He bowed his head to nuzzle her neck, and she moaned, sliding a hand under his jacket to press her palm over the spot where his heart thrashed in his chest.

Turning his mouth to her cheek, he grazed her lips to kiss her and the minx pushed at his chest and reared back.