She’d provide him his necessary heirs, and she…her heart fluttered rapidly with fast-growing hope, well, she would be spared marriage to Bertrand Ekstrom and free of her mother’s heavy hand.
Katherine could spend her days reading to her heart’s content, taking unchaperoned walks if she so desired, all without the stern disapproval reigned down by Mother.
Filled with a sudden excitement, Katherine raced over to her small mahogany desk and pulled out a thick sheet of velum. She reached for a pen and dipped it into the crystal ink-well.
Your Grace,
It occurs to me that I failed to obtain your copy of Wordsworth’s latest volume. I would ask if when the winter storm abates, that you meet me in the same spot alongside the Serpentine River.
Ever Yours,
Katherine
Katherine read and re-read the missive several times, and before she lost her nerve, folded it. She tapped her finger along the top of her desk. She did need to be certain he met with her, and if he’d mayhap decided to avoid meeting with her and instead keep his copy of Wordsworth’s latest work, well then she wouldn’t be able to propose her plan. She reached for another sheet of parchment.
When they met, she would put her plan before him. Misgivings stirred in her belly, but she tamped them down. He was a man of logic. Katherine would be able to reason with him.
The alternative was not to be countenanced.
~11~
Seated at the breakfast table with a plate of bacon and eggs, Jasper sipped his coffee. He grimaced at the bitter taste of the vile brew, and reached for the morning copy of The Times.
“I can’t imagine you drink that revolting stuff.”
Jasper glanced to the door.
Guilford stood framed in the doorway. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of showing myself in.” He yanked his gloves off and beat then against each other.
Jasper glanced over the rim of his glass. He took another sip. “Guilford,” he greeted.
Guilford’s ginger brows shot to his hairline.
Jasper frowned. “What is it?”
His friend tossed his gloves upon the table, and wandered over to the sideboard. He proceeded to pile kippers and warm, flaky bread in a heaping pile upon his plate. He shook his head, and took a seat across from Jasper. “I can’t fathom this remarkable transformation in you.”
Jasper reached for his paper, and snapped it open to keep from encouraging Guilford’s deliberate baiting.
Alas, Guilford was not to be deterred.
“You haven’t greeted me with anything more than a growl, a go-to-hell, or a what-are-you-doing-here, in more than three years.”
From across the table, Jasper detected the rhythmic tapping as Guilford drummed his fingertip along the arm of his chair. Jasper gritted his teeth, his eyes scouring the page for some bit of information that might distract him from Guilford. He rattled the paper.
“May I venture it is because of a particular young lady?” Guilford tilted his head.
“You may not,” Jasper said, between clenched teeth.
He’d be damned if he’d mentioned the manner in which Katherine had slipped into his mind, or the feel of her lips, or the gentle curve of her hip, or…
“So it is about a particular lady.”
Jasper lowered the paper and glared at Guilford. “I did not say it was about Katherine.”
Guilford leaned back in the black Bergerè chair. He drummed his fingers on the arms of the seat. “Ahh, but I did not mention the Lady Katherine.”
Christ.
Jasper raised the paper and scanned the page.
It would appear a Lord B and Lady M had been discovered in…
He tossed his copy of The Times aside.
He didn’t give a bloody damn about the tons gossip. “What business do you have here?”
Guilford reached for his fork and knife and delicately sliced a piece of cold roast beef. He popped a small piece into his mouth and chewed with meticulous care. “I’ve learned additional information about the intended match between Bertrand Ekstrom and your Lady Katherine.”
Jasper cursed. “She is not my…what did you learn?” he snapped. He told himself he inquired out of an apathetic interest in the woman he’d rescued. Except, as Guilford picked up his white napkin and dabbed carefully at his lips, he wanted to drag him across the blasted table and shake the words free from his mouth.
“It would seem,” Guilford continued. “Lady Katherine’s mother has spoken to the lady’s guardian about arranging the match with Ekstrom after the Christmastide season.”
Jasper wrinkled his brow and tossed aside his attempt at indifference. “Why would she not allow her to make a match during the Season?” Surely the young lady could do a deal better than Bertrand Ekstrom. He remembered the lush feel of her breast; the peak of that soft flesh puckered through the fabric, begging for his touch. His stomach tightened. She could do a good deal better. The muscles of his stomach convulsed. Why did the idea of her with another ravage his insides?