For Love of the Duke(56)

“Is there anything else you require, Katherine?”

She shook her head. At least she didn’t think she required anything. With the exception of a hurried, heavily veiled conversation with her mother about instruments and matters of wifely duty, Katherine had little idea what to expect in terms of the marriage bed.

Oh, Aldora, whyever did you not come to London earlier? Katherine sighed. Of course her sister and brother-in-law had wee Lizzie, their now two-year-old daughter to consider. Still, it would have been quite helpful if Aldora had been around to have a…a…talk with Katherine about what would unfold this night.

“Katherine?” Jasper said softly.

She jumped. “No. Nothing. I require nothing. At all. Other than the bath, of course, and the meal you arranged, Jasper.” Katherine bit the inside of her cheek and willed herself to silence.

His eyes moved over her face a moment, and then with a clipped bow, he took his leave.

Katherine stared at the closed door behind him. She shrugged out of her cloak and, wandering over toward the bed, tossed the garment at the mattress. The emerald green muslin landed in a noisy, fluttering heap upon the heavily nicked wood floor.

She smoothed her palms over the front of the gown she’d worn during her wedding.

Lady Katherine, the Duchess of Bainbridge.

The title of duchess might mean a good deal to so many, but Katherine remained wholly unimpressed by her new title. She was no different than the woman she’d been prior to speaking those vows in the office of her home. Nay, her former home.

Only, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, perhaps she might feel differently when her husband returned and made their marriage official.

Katherine sank into the mattress, and the old bed creaked in protest.

Jasper had insisted they leave her maid behind, and now Katherine was left to wonder if her husband intended to see to her disrobing himself.

Oh, dear. Katherine fanned herself, as she was filled with a sudden nervous anticipation.

She sat. And waited for her husband to return.



Jasper had spent the better part of two hours drinking the fine ale, and eating the roasted beef at the Fire and Brimstone Inn.

The serving wench stopped beside his table. “Would you care for more, Your Grace?” she murmured in a husky whisper that promised lusty delights. She held up the tankard between the very generous mounds of her enormous breasts that spilled over the blousy white shirt she wore.

Jasper shook his head, and returned his stare to the tabletop.

He’d not had a woman since Lydia, and the overblown, fleshiness of the obvious servant did not inspire any grand desire as he expected it should.

Instead, his mind drifted to the lean, spirited vixen who now occupied a room abovestairs.

Jasper waved the serving girl back over, and motioned for her to refill his glass.

She leaned forward. “Is there anything else I can get you, Your Grace?” she whispered.

He considered her a moment. Most men, especially men who’d been without a woman for more than four years, would have been seduced by her plump form and breathy words.#p#分页标题#e#

But some matter of madness had taken him over, where all he wanted, all he desired was his new wife. Jasper shook his head and took a long swallow. She shuffled off.

What had Lady Katherine Adamson done to him? No, not Lady Katherine Adamson. Her Grace, the Duchess of Bainbridge.

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?