For Love of the Duke(100)
“Lovely creature,” Harry said, a wry twist of humor to his words. He took Katherine’s hand and bowed over it.
She discreetly pinched the soft flesh of his palm. “Do be kind, Harry. She’s my sister. And she loves me,” she said, pulling her hand back.
Harry motioned to a passing servant and retrieved a glass of champagne. He took a long swallow and peered out at the dancers, who performed the lively steps of a country reel. “It would seem we’ve earned Society’s censure again, this evening.” His tone hardly sounded repentant.
Katherine followed his gaze to the stern matrons who peered down their noses at her and Harry.
“Should we wave and smile?” Harry proposed.
She swatted at his arm. “You’ll do no such thing.”
He sighed. “You are a spoiler of good fun, Kat.”
She hardly cared for her name being dragged through the gossip columns as had happened since she’d made her entrance into Society as a married woman. The gossips had speculated as to her swift and secretive marriage to the Duke of Bainbridge. Then there had been the gossip as to her appearance in light of her husband’s absence. Then the rogues and their vile intentions had descended.
Harry had kept ranks with them for a very brief moment, before becoming her confidante and ultimately, her protector from the lascivious gentlemen desiring a place in her bed.
Katherine searched the crowd, beset by an odd disquiet.
“Are you looking for someone in particular, sweet Kat?”
“Do hush,” she scolded from the side of her mouth. “Don’t be gauche.”
He staggered back a step, a hand to his breast. “You insult me, Your Grace. Next, you’ll be leveling the same harsh insults as your sister.”
Her lips twitched with a distracted sense of mirth.
The orchestra concluded the country reel to a smattering of polite applause from the dancers who’d just concluded the set. They began to pluck the strands of the forbidden waltz.
Harry held his arm out. “A waltz, Kat?”
An odd hum filled the already noisy crowd of guests. She glanced around disinterestedly at the nobles staring toward the center of the room. Katherine placed her fingers along Harry’s coat sleeve. The hum increased in volume like a million honeybees swarming upon the lavish ballroom.
The crowd parted for her and Harry as he escorted her onto the rapidly filling dance floor. All the while, the lords and ladies looked at her, tittering behind their hands, and then off to the entrance of the room.
A sense of disquiet filled her, and she glanced around, but with her height, remained unable to see that which had attracted the tons notice.
Katherine positioned her hand upon Harry’s shoulder, even as he placed his upon her waist.
Harry grinned down at her. “It seems we’ve attracted even more than usual interest from the…” His words died, his smile slipping to a single, indecipherable line.
She wrinkled her brow. “What is it, Harry?”
His hard, hazel stare remained frozen on the entrance of the room.
“Harry?” Katherine shifted in his arms, as she attempted to see what had garnered his attention. “What do you…?” She blinked. Her hands fell uselessly to her side, as she took a staggering step away from Harry.
Her heart threatened to beat a painful path right out of her chest.
Jasper.
She’d dreamed of him for so long. Conjured him at those loneliest nights in her dreams, only to wake and find her bed frigidly cold. And now, with all her most desperate yearnings, had imagined him here.
The crowds hushed whispers faintly registered.
Mad Duke.
…His wife.
Earl of Stanhope.
Except, if the stoic, fierce-looking midnight devil with a day’s growth upon his strong cheeks were merely an object of her imagining, how did those around her also note his appearance?
Katherine swayed. She would have knocked into a waltzing couple, but Harry reached out to steady her.
Shocked gasps, delighting in his bold handling of her, filled the room.
Katherine ignored them. She walked from the dance floor, Harry forgotten, and froze beside Lady Harrison’s enormous Doric column, attempting to steady her too-fast breaths. She folded her hands behind her back and borrowed support from the pillar.
His harsh, angry emerald gaze searched the crowd, and then because for all that had come to pass between them, there would always be that inextricable pull that had drawn them together since the fateful day of the Frost Fair, he found her.
Their eyes locked. The graying, plump hostess appeared at Jasper’s side. She opened her mouth to speak, and Jasper started forward, leaving the older woman gaping like a fish tossed ashore.
Oh God, he is here.
Why is he here?