For Love of the Duke(56)

He tossed back the remainder of ale, and sat long after the last patron had stumbled out the front door or abovestairs to seek out their rooms. Until only the innkeeper’s heavy footsteps as he shuffled about the space wiping down the tables, filled the quiet.

Jasper pulled out his timepiece.

The two hands fixed pointedly upon the twelve. Midnight.

A new day. Another year. Four years, to be precise.

It had been four years since Lydia had left him. Each day that marked the passing of another year had been a dark one; darker than even the private bowels of hell he’d dwelt in since he’d buried her and his son beneath the cold winter ground.

As he sat there staring into his empty tankard, he tried with a desperate urgency to bring her visage to the forefront of his mind. Only, it was now as though he were staring at her beloved face down a long road, thick with fog. He could no longer close his eyes and inhale the scent that had been solely her own; the shade of her golden tresses pale to the now vibrant deep brown ringlets that haunted his thoughts.

And he felt the very worst kind of bastard for taking her life and not having the decency to at least hold her memory forever close.

Jasper shoved the glass aside. It scraped along the worn surface of the table. He buried his head in his hands.

Goddamn you Katherine, what have you done to me?

He stood, unsteady from too much drink, and made his way abovestairs to his rooms. As he walked, his booted feet carried him closer and closer to one specific door.

Jasper paused beside it. He reached for the handle and then froze. He let his arm fall back to his side.

With a silent curse he reached for it again. He pressed the handle, and then closed his eyes.

He could not.

His past selfishness had taken the life of his wife. As much as his body throbbed with an unholy desire to turn the handle, storm across the room, and strip Katherine free of the delicate cloth that clung to her slim, full-breasted figure—he could not break that silent pledge he’d taken.

His ducal responsibilities of producing an heir and carrying on the familial title could go hang.

Only, an image danced through his darkly desperate musings, of Katherine heavy with his child, a smile on her lips. He lowered his forehead to the thick wood panel and banged it back and forth. Jasper would not be seduced by the desire for that dream of a life.

He turned on his heel and continued on to the empty, lonely room next door. He opened the door, and entered his rooms, closing the door behind him.

His eyes quickly surveyed the drab place. Jasper sought out the stiffly uncomfortable mattress and in the same attire he’d worn for his wedding, lay down upon it. He stared blankly up at the paint that chipped away at the ceiling, acknowledging the truth—he cared for Katherine.

And it raised holy terror inside him.





~18~



Katherine mumbled under her breath as she sifted through the trunk brought up last evening. She tugged out a rumpled ivory gown and proceeded to dress. Her mouth settled into a firm line as she reached her arms behind her back in an attempt to button the silly ivory garment. Her muscles ached at the awkwardness of her body’s movement.

Buttons.

She’d be glad if she never saw another blasted, tiny, button again. Or any button, for that matter. After this she hated them all with like intensity.

It felt like a very little victory when she managed to slip the top buttons into their respective loop. Abandoning her efforts, Katherine began to pace.

He’d not come. She’d sat perched at the edge of the bed, staring expectantly at the door, waiting for the moment he would knock, enter, and…and…do whatever it was bridegrooms did with their new wives on their wedding night. When a sharp rap had sounded at the door, she’d leapt to her feet, and breathlessly pulled open the wood panel, only to admit that same voluptuous tavern wench who’d eyed Jasper as if she were thirsty and he was the last drop of water on earth.

As she’d filled the small, wooden tub, the woman had peered at Katherine with a mocking gleam in her cerulean blue eyes.

Only after she’d left, and Katherine had struggled out of her garments, popping free three, mayhap four pearl buttons, did the ugly, niggling suspicion wrap its tentacle-like fingers about her brain—an image of Jasper and that woman took hold and refused to let go.

He wouldn’t betray her. He might have married her on a matter of convenience but he’d not carry on with another woman; especially not on their wedding night.

Then she’d thought of his memory of his own parents, and Katherine had been struck by the ugly truth—he’d never spoken to her on the matter of being faithful.

She shook her head, and her pacing increased in rhythm. Her slippers tapped a steady, drum beat as she marched back and forth across the cramped chambers.