For Love of the Duke(57)
Surely there was some explanation as to why he’d not come. Why he’d forced her to await him with a virginal trepidation, until her eyes had grown heavy.
A firm, single rap sounded at the door.
She ignored it.
Another knock.
Katherine froze mid-stride and glared at the door.
The handle turned and Jasper entered. His massive frame filled the small doorway, giving him the look of a giant in a fey creature’s house. “I knocked,” he said, his tone surly and unforgiving.
Her eyes narrowed and she counted to ten to keep from hurling every last unladylike word in her vocabulary at his head.
She propped her hands upon her hips. “I know.”
He entered, and his stern ducal stare surveyed the room. With the heel of his boot, Jasper kicked the door closed behind him. “Is there something you wish to say to me, wife?”
Katherine planted her hands upon her hips, and before she lost her resolve, said, “Is that what I am?”
His nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wife. Is that what I am? I imagined, considering last evening I’m still merely just a bride.” Her whole body warmed with embarrassment.
Jasper took a step toward her.
She remained rooted to the spot. If he thought to intimidate her, he could go to the devil. In just two strides, his long, muscular legs ate up the distance between them. She forced her chin back and glared at him.
He took her by the forearm and she gasped. “What are you…?”
Jasper methodically buttoned the back of her gown. She suspected she should feel some degree of appreciation, and yet, his intimate knowledge of a lady’s apparel only further infuriated her.
“We should arrive by mid-afternoon,” he said.
Jasper strode to the door. Katherine gathered her cloak and hurried after him; filled with an irrational fear he intended to leave her at the inn.
Suddenly, he stopped at the door. Katherine collided with his back; the effect the same as if she’d walked into a mountain. All the air left her, and she stumbled.
Jasper turned with a surprising alacrity for one so broad, and righted her. His face remained that unreadable mask she’d come to expect from this man who was now her husband. She swallowed, hating the manner in which her skin burned from the feel of his fingers touch on her forearm, not when he should appear so callously indifferent to her own presence.
A brown lock tumbled over her eye. She blew it back. “Thank you.”
He nodded curtly, and then pulled the door open. He stepped aside and allowed two waiting servants entrance. The young men scurried in and saw to the trunks.
And through this, Jasper waited for Katherine. He held his arm out. The newly wedded couple moved with a stilted awkwardness through the quiet inn. At this early hour, most of the guests were surely abed.
Not Katherine. She’d been up counting the minutes tick by as she awaited her husband to make his appearance.
They reached the taproom. The plump, tavern wench who’d so covetously eyed Jasper swept up the floor. She glanced up, and her eyes locked on Jasper with a heated intensity.
Katherine’s fingers tightened reflexively about her husband’s coat sleeves as she was filled with ugly, all-consuming jealousy. She released Jasper’s arm. Not for the first time since she’d been counting those minutes ticking by, she wondered if her husband had sought out the model of lush femininity. She stole a sideways glance at Jasper, but his gaze searched the taproom, not so much as pausing to note the woman’s presence.
Relief flooded Katherine.
The innkeeper rushed over. “Thank you, Your Grace. I hope everything met with your approval?”
Jasper reached into his coat and withdrew a small sack of coins. He tossed it to the proprietor.
The man’s eyes widened like he’d been handed the King’s Crown. “Th-thank you, Your Grace!”
Jasper turned to Katherine, “We must not tarry. Come along.”
He didn’t wait to see if she followed, but strode toward the door. The innkeeper raced over to the entrance of the establishment. He pulled open the door.
Katherine’s back straightened as she became aware of a pair of eyes trained upon her. She looked to the woman who’d eyed Jasper with interest. An almost gloating expression lit the servant’s eyes, as though she’d clearly identified Jasper’s total lack of interest in Katherine.
With hurt pride, Katherine pulled her cloak close and marched outside through the snow, with her head held high, toward the waiting carriage.
Jasper stood conversing with the driver. Jasper paused as Katherine reached the side of the coach, and then wordlessly handed her up into the carriage.
A startled squeak escaped her, and she scrambled over to the corner of the wide, black lacquer conveyance. She strained to hear the muffled discourse between Jasper and the driver, but the quiet words were lost.