Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight. Julia LondonЧитать онлайн книгу.
away from the conversation he’d been having with Vincroft. “We’d be delighted!”
“As would I,” James replied. If he accepted an invitation in the next week, he could have the business arranged by the time the committee made its decision and be ready to travel to Croston without delay. He could return to London for the ceremony, then let her decide whether to remain in London or come to Croston. The idea’s simplicity was vaguely comforting.
After assuring him that an invitation would be forthcoming, the Pinsburys and Miss Underbridge left the box. James returned to his seat, where Wenny still stared openly at Katherine. James resisted the urge to do the same. He needed to get rid of Wenny so he could talk business with Vincroft.
But just thinking about it edged him a little closer to madness.
“Listen here, Croston,” Wenny said the moment James sat down. “It’s good to have you back—truly it is. But you’ll understand if I get straight to the point. Lady Dunscore, old friend. What can you tell me that will give me an advantage?”
Vincroft leaned forward and looked at him. “You’ll have to climb over me and half a dozen others first,” he said. “You’re not the only one with an eye on her.”
Wenny snorted. “True enough. But if it’s Winston that gets her, I won’t abide it. Now tell me, Croston, will you give me an introduction? Will she think it an affront if I introduce myself?”
“Lady Wenthurst will likely think so.” The frayed edge of James’s control wore thinner.
Wenny snorted. “Good God, she’s a beauty.” He wasn’t talking about his wife. “I want her, Croston. Bloody hell! There’s Winston now, bold as balls.”
James watched Winston enter Katherine’s box without so much as an escort. Another thread snapped.
“She didn’t even curtsy,” Vincroft said. “She’s— My God, I think she’s rebuffing him. Yes—yes, she’s given him the cold shoulder!” He grinned at Wenny. “Perhaps there’s a chance for us, after all.”
“For me perhaps,” Wenny scoffed, pinching more snuff. “There’s little doubt she’ll go to the highest bidder, and you’ve never been one for high stakes.”
James didn’t move. Didn’t sit forward, didn’t take his eyes off the stage. “The next time I hear you imply that Lady Dunscore is for sale to anyone,” he said quietly, “you will meet me on the field, and I will kill you.” Through his rage, he heard his own words as though listening through water.
The two men at his sides fell silent. Still he did not move.
After a moment, Wenny stood up. “Understood, Croston,” he said. “Understood. My apologies—I didn’t realize.”
Realize? What the devil— “The only thing to realize is that the countess of Dunscore is a lady, not a whore, and the ‘highest bidder’ is likely to find his head—both his heads—rolling on the floor.” He looked up at Wenny. “Perhaps I will offer you an advantage, after all,” he added, “and advise you that Lady Dunscore is particularly adroit with a cutlass.”
“Good to know,” Wenny said, offering a stiff bow. “Good to know. Again, my apologies.”
He didn’t want Wenny’s apologies. He wanted to tear Wenny apart with his bare hands. A sound like the ocean rushed in his ears for long moments after Wenny had left the box. Finding Katherine a decent husband would be impossible. The ones with financial liabilities hoped to wed her and suck Dunscore dry while they rutted between her thighs every night. The ones who didn’t need money only wanted to pass her around as their mistress.
“For God’s sake, Croston,” Vincroft said. “You’d better have a care, calling men out. If you’ve claimed her for yourself, you’d best let it be known. Not fair to challenge a man when he’s got no idea.”
“I’ve got no claim on her. I simply will not sit by while someone questions the honor of the person to whom I owe my life.”
Vincroft hesitated. “Of course not. Didn’t think of it that way. But still—”
“But nothing. They don’t have to see her as a lady, but they’d damned well better act like they do,” James shot back, and crossed Vincroft off his list of possibly acceptable husbands for Katherine. Which left exactly...no one.
KATHERINE WAS LOSING the battle.
She pushed past Dobbs after the awful evening at the theater and charged toward the staircase as quickly as her enormous skirts would allow, dragging in panicked breaths, keeping her hood pulled low so no one would see her tears.
Marriage!
Once you’re safely wed, I hope you might consider joining me for some more interesting entertainment than the theater.
Never mind the Duke of Winston’s disgusting proposition. He assumed she would marry. Expected her to marry.
And what had Captain Warre been doing meanwhile? She could have sworn one or two of the visitors to her box had been in his first. He’d done no better the night before at Vauxhall, going off on a turn with some young girl...which, of course, there was no reason why he shouldn’t. No reason at all.
She gulped for breath against fresh tears, hurrying up the stairs. Marriage. It was out of the question. Dunscore was hers, and they would not take it from her that way. When she reached the landing, that giant portrait enticed her with its promise.
One day, Katie, you will be mistress here, and the very waves will tremble at your footsteps.
The waves did tremble at her feet, and she hadn’t needed Dunscore to make it so. Hadn’t needed the Lords, or committees or marriage to make it so.
Upstairs in her room, she stood impatiently while her maid unfastened her gown and stays and took down her hair. Katherine dismissed her quickly and finished the rest herself, putting on her own nightgown and sitting wearily with her brush, staring at her reflection in the glass.
If the bill passed, Holliswell would benefit. But if she married, then one of their own would reap Dunscore’s reward. Was that their logic?
Her throat tightened, and a trenchant longing crept out of hiding.
When I pass away, Papa, I shall be buried right here in Dunscore’s courtyard.
Good heavens, Katie. Nobody wants to play ninepins on a person’s grave. Damned macabre of you. Impractical, too.
This couldn’t happen. This grief—it was all in the past, and it would not resurface.
She got up and paced to the fireplace. What was rightfully hers had been taken a long time ago. There was no reason to feel so deeply for it now. Growing attached to places, to people, could only lead to heartache. Hadn’t she learned that well enough?
Come, Papa—you must come see what the rain has done. Dunscore’s walls are glistening in the sunset like they’re made of jewels!
He had indulged her that time, letting her take his hand and lead him outside and show him how the battlements shone like fiery diamonds against dark stormclouds to the east.
A sudden urge gripped her to dash off a note to Captain Warre asking for reassurance, and she clenched her fists to keep from rushing to the writing desk. Using Captain Warre for his influence—that was the plan. Not relying on him. Not leaning on him in her moments of weakness.
Her fingernails bit into her palms.
Stupid, stupid female that she was. Even now, she could feel his arms around her as if they still stood in the shadows of that arbor. She could feel his strength.
His cannons had once nearly killed her, but now he worked for her security.
He’d