For Love of the Duke(98)

Guilford lifted one shoulder in a far too-nonchalant shrug. “She’s become the toast of the ton.”

Jasper’s gut clenched. She’d always possessed a beauty that defied the mere physical type, the kind worn deep on the inside, and that emanated out like an ethereal glow that belonged to angels and the like.

Guilford fished into the front of his jacket and withdrew a neatly folded newspaper. He set it down on the mahogany desktop and took a seat.

Jasper’s eyes fell to the copy of The Times.

“They say she’s taken a lover.”

Jasper’s body jerked at the unexpectedness of Guilford’s statement. The air left him on a swift, noisy exhale. Oh, God, Guilford may as well have taken the medieval broadsword from the wall and hacked at Jasper’s heart. Jasper shook his head.

Lies. All lies. It couldn’t be true. Katherine was not the kind of creature capable of deceit and treachery. She’d not betray him. She loved him.

But then, you never reciprocated those feelings of love. She humbled herself before you, and you scoffed and jeered at every turn, until you drove her away.

Why should she have remained faithful?

“And what do you say?” His question emerged angry with all the same harsh bitterness he’d harbored deep inside since Lydia’s death. His breath froze as he waited with a kind of dreaded anticipation of Guilford’s response.

Guilford frowned. “I say if you truly care, you’d get yourself to London.”

Jasper growled. “Who is he?” He punished himself with the abhorrent images of Katherine’s splendidly naked body stretched out for some nameless, faceless bastard’s worship.

His gut roiled, until he thought he might cast up the contents of his stomach.

Guilford shifted in his seat. “The Earl of Stanhope.” He took a sip of his brandy. “You’ve been away from Society for some time.” He waved his hand. “There’s a scandal in the man’s past. He’s something of a rogue. Frowned on by Society’s most polite hostesses, sought after by Society’s most notorious widows.”

And Stanhope had set his lascivious sights upon Katherine.

Jasper picked up the pen on his desk and to give his fingers something to do he passed it back and forth between hands. That, or mount his horse, ride to London and use these same hands to bloody the faceless bastard senseless.

No, you gave her up. You let her go, a jeering voice taunted from deep within.

She’d given him her love, trusted him with her heart, and he couldn’t have been brave enough to give her the words she deserved, the words that lived inside him.

“Do you believe she’s taken him as a lover?” He grimaced. Even as he said the words, he dismissed them. Katherine possessed an honor and integrity not found in most gentlemen. She would not be capable of the deceit demonstrated by his parents.

Guilford lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I believe Stanhope’s determined. And she’s lonely.”

How could his friend be so nonchalant when Jasper hung on the edge of true madness?

That response did little to ease the tumultuous storm raging through Jasper. He wanted to flip his desk, storm from the room, and hunt down the Earl of Stanhope for daring to encroach on that which was Jasper’s.

“Have you,” he paused. “seen them together?”

Guilford looked away a moment. “I have,” he said at last.

The pen in Jasper’s hand snapped in two.

“I came upon them at Hyde Park,” Guilford went on.

Hyde Park belonged to Jasper and Katherine. It had been the place they’d gone in the quiet of the snow to share the Wordsworth volume. It had been the place Katherine had asked him to marry her and spoke of them having babes together with a shocking candidness.

And now, it was the place she visited with the Earl of Stanhope.

Guilford leaned back in his chair and hooked one ankle over the other. “What do you intend to do?”

Jasper’s jaw hardened. “I’m going to London.”

Stanhope and Katherine should be prepared…

The Mad Duke intended to fight for his wife.





~31~

London



Katherine stood with a glass of champagne between her fingers, enjoying one of the very small luxuries of being a married woman. She’d detested ratafia as much as she detested ivory and white satin.

“You do know you’ve scandalized Mother with your gown this evening,” a voice whispered close to her ear.

Katherine spun, to greet her sister Anne. A smile wreathed Anne’s cheeks; the faintest dimple indicated her pleasure. “Anne.”

Anne eyed her glass of champagne longingly. “I’d trade one of my hands to be rid of ratafia and free to indulge in champagne.”