Then Comes Seduction

14

KATHERINE’S prediction proved quite correct. Although by the time of her wedding day it was July and the Season was officially over and normally the ton would already have made a mass exodus for their country estates or Brighton or one of the spas, a significant number of them remained in town to attend the event.

Baron Montford was actually getting married. No one could resist seeing it happen, especially since the circumstances surrounding it had been so very scandalous. And everyone had always considered Katherine Huxtable to be so very proper and so very respectable. It was hard to picture her as the bride of such a notorious rake, poor lady. Though of course she had brought it all entirely upon herself by allowing him to dangle after her this year despite that shocking wager of three years ago. She was fortunate indeed that he was willing to do the decent thing. It would have been entirely in character if he had abandoned her to her fate.

The Duke and Duchess of Moreland were to host a wedding breakfast at Moreland House following the nuptials. The bride and groom were to leave for the country immediately after for a brief honeymoon before the arrival of the houseguests who had been invited to Cedarhurst Park to celebrate Miss Wrayburn’s eighteenth birthday. Those guests were the envy of the ton. They were to have all the pleasure of witnessing the early progress of such an unlikely union.

But for now it was Katherine’s wedding day.

She was wearing a new pale blue muslin gown that fell in soft folds from its high waistline to the silver-embroidered hem. Similar embroidery trimmed the short puffed sleeves and the modestly scooped neck.

Her new straw bonnet was lavishly trimmed with blue cornflowers and was held in place beneath her chin with wide blue silk ribbons.

The white gold chain about her neck with its faceted diamond pendant, which to her mind resembled a large teardrop, had been a betrothal gift from her bridegroom.

She wore long white gloves and silver slippers.

She knew she was looking her best. She needed to. Today had very little to do with her except that following it she would be married forever after to Lord Montford. No, today was all about respectability, belonging, accepting the rules and conventions of society. She was a member of society whether she liked it or not. She had been ever since Elliott, still Viscount Lyngate at the time, had ridden into Throckbridge to inform Stephen that he was the Earl of Merton. She owed it to her family to fit into society as best she could.

And when all was said and done, her family was all that really mattered. She loved them. She was doing this primarily for them, though they would be perturbed if they knew it. All of them at one time or other during the past month had found time for a private tete-a-tete with her and had urged her to put an end to the betrothal and wedding preparations if she really did not want to marry Lord Montford. Each had offered his or her undying support if she made such a decision.

Margaret and Vanessa were in her dressing room now. They had both stopped in the doorway to exclaim with admiration and assure her that she looked beautiful.

“And we were quite right about the color,” Meg said, coming closer to take Katherine’s hands in her own-with a painfully tight grip. “It is the very best color and shade for you. It matches your eyes and flatters your hair. Oh, Kate, are you quite, quite sure…”

Meg had even offered to move somewhere in the country with her if she wished-far away from London and Warren Hall and even Throckbridge. They would be quiet and happy together in a small cottage for the rest of their lives, and the beau monde could go to Hades-Meg’s own words.

Poor Meg! This was all harder on her than on anyone else with the possible exception of Katherine herself. She had given years of her life since their father’s death-all of her youth and most of her twenties, in fact-to the care of her brother and sisters. She had even given up Crispin Dew, the man she had loved and perhaps still did. Her one goal had always been to see them well settled in life. But more important even than that, she had wanted to see them all happily settled.

Katherine smiled and returned the pressure of Meg’s hands.

“Of course I am sure, silly goose,” she said, as she had said numerous times before. “I was horribly embarrassed by all those foolish stories a month ago, it is true, and I was terribly angry at having my hand so forced. And of course I was not best pleased with Lord Montford either since in many ways-though not in every way-he was the cause of it all. But that is all in the past now, and I am well content with what has come of it. I am twenty-three years old and eager to marry at last-and I am to do it with the man of my choice. I really am enormously fond of him, you know.”

She was overdoing it. That word enormously especially did not ring at all true. But Meg was looking reassured nonetheless.

“Then I am content too,” she said, tears brightening her eyes. “And I do believe he has a regard for you too, Kate. Oh, I think so, and I thought it even before all this nastiness happened. I will forgive him all his sins against you if this turns into the love match I dream of for you.”

Vanessa took Meg’s place and hugged Katherine tightly.

“You know,” she said, “I did not at all love Elliott when I married him, and he certainly did not love me. How could he when I was the one who proposed marriage to him, poor man. I believe he could barely tolerate me, in fact.”

She laughed merrily and stepped back.

Elliott had been looking about him for a bride when he first assumed guardianship of Stephen, and being an unromantic soul at the time, he had fixed his choice on Meg for pure convenience’s sake. But Meg had been waiting for Crispin Dew, who had gone off to war. Nessie had known, though, that Meg had a strong sense of family duty and was very likely to say yes to Elliott purely because she would think the marriage in the best interest of her family. And so Nessie, in a grand gesture of self-sacrifice, had proposed to Elliott before he had a chance to propose to Meg. And he had married her.

“But now,” Nessie said, her rather plain face suddenly beautiful with animation, “we not only love each other dearly, we are also deeply in love. If there is the will to love, Kate, then love itself will follow in lavish abundance. I promise.”

“But I already do love Lord Montford,” Katherine protested. “And he loves me.”

She was overdoing it again.

“Of course.” Vanessa’s smile suggested that she knew it but that she was filled with hope anyway. “Of course you do. Oh, I so want you to be happy. I want both my sisters to be happy. And Stephen too, though he is far too young to worry about yet.”

She blinked back tears and laughed again.

And then Stephen himself appeared in the doorway, looking splendidly handsome and very grown up in black and white.

“Kate,” he said, coming inside and reaching out his hands to take hers in a strong clasp, “my favorite sister, I would feel bound to say if you were not all three my favorites. I wish I could have been an older brother so that I could have offered some of the care and protection that you all always gave me. I wish I did not have to give you up so soon. But Monty is a decent man despite everything. I am convinced of it. There is nothing vicious about him. I could never have been his friend if there had been. He will treat you well.”

“Of course he will.” She laughed at his earnestness. “And soon your friend will also be your brother-in-law.”

“I thought I had better come up,” Elliott said from the doorway, “to remind you all that we are expected at St. George’s sometime today. It occurred to me that perhaps you had forgotten.”

Katherine remembered seeing him for the very first time at a Valentine’s assembly in Throckbridge, the evening before he came to their cottage to break the news to Stephen. She had thought him-every lady present had thought him-the most handsome man she had ever set eyes upon with his dark good looks, which she had learned later came from his Greek mother-except for his blue eyes. Now he was Nessie’s husband and Isabelle and Sam’s father, and she could see him only as someone very dear.

Oh, Nessie had been fortunate in her choice.

“I am not going to deliver a sentimental speech or offer any sage words of advice, Katherine, you will be relieved to know,” he said. “It would all make us later still. But I must say that you look very fetching indeed.”

“Thank you, Elliott.” She took a few steps toward him and he opened his arms. She went into them and they hugged each other.

Did all brides feel that they were saying a final goodbye to all who were nearest and dearest to them? Was it natural?

She stepped away from Elliott and smiled about at all of them, only slightly watery-eyed even though she felt as if there were a great lump in her throat.

“If this is to be the happiest day of my life,” she said, “and I am determined that it will be, then let it begin in earnest. Off to church with all of you.”

A minute later she was alone with her brother, and the dressing room seemed very quiet and empty-all her belongings had been packed and taken away earlier. She took his hand in hers and held it tightly. It was as if she no longer belonged. As she did not. This would never again be her room or her home.

Stephen patted her hand.

“You were my favorite, Kate,” he said, slightly shamefaced. “You are my favorite. You are closest to me in age, and you were my playmate and my friend and confidante. Be happy.”

“I have every intention of being the happiest woman in the world,” she assured him.

But she bit her upper lip as she smiled and then blinked back tears when he raised her hand to his lips.

“Oh, Stephen,” she said, “I will be happy. Wait and see.”

His family members were sitting in the pews behind him-Rachel with Gooding, Charlotte, an uncle-his father’s brother-and three cousins, his offspring, all of whom Jasper had rarely ever seen because they had stopped coming to Cedarhurst after his father’s death and his mother’s remarriage. It had been Katherine’s idea that they be invited, enthusiastically seconded by Charlotte, though they were not her relatives.

Indeed, both ladies had even insisted upon inviting Uncle Stanley and the cousins to Cedarhurst too for the birthday celebrations, and they had agreed to come.

His family. His blood relatives. His support group of persons who loved him unconditionally. Jasper’s lip curled slightly as he sat beside Con Huxtable in the front pew. Though he had no real cause to feel cynicism-not unless he directed it at himself too. He might have made an effort to establish closer family ties after the death of his mother’s second husband. Or after her death.

He had not done so on either occasion.

It had been too late by then.

He wondered suddenly-as he had stopped doing years and years ago-how different life might have been if his father had not tried jumping that particular hedge that day but had ridden up to the gate as any sane man would have done. Pointless wonderings, of course. His father had jumped. And died.

He felt an unfamiliar constriction in his throat and snapped to attention. Good Lord, if he was not careful, he was going to find himself weeping for his lost childhood on his wedding day. Now that would give the gossips something to talk about.

If he was not mistaken, the bride was late. A fine thing it would be if she failed to turn up.

A spectacular catastrophe.

Jasper, who had made it his business until one month ago never to worry about anything, felt a knot of sudden anxiety in the pit of his stomach and wished he had not eaten any breakfast. But wait a minute. He had not eaten breakfast, had he? He wished he had, then.

But even as he wished it and even as he wished his valet had not throttled him with the knot in his neckcloth this morning, Con looked back over his shoulder and nudged Jasper’s elbow, and they both stood. There was a stir at the back of the church, and the whole congregation-dash it all, it was large!-was looking back to catch a first glimpse of the bride.

The clergyman was taking his place at the front.

She had come and he was dry-eyed and all was well.

Jasper inhaled slowly and forgot to exhale when he caught sight of Katherine. Good God, she was beautiful. It was no startlingly new revelation, of course. He had thought it on his very first sight of her more than three years ago. He had thought it every time he had set eyes on her since then.

But today she was his bride. Soon she would be his wife. His baroness, by Jove.

And today she was… well, she was beautiful.

Dash it all, why was the English language so inadequate to one’s needs on occasions like this?

He was glad he had worn a dark blue coat with pale gray breeches and white linen rather than the black and white that were more fashionable. Black had seemed just too funereal for the occasion. Now they would match each other.

Would they?

Match, that was?

He had promised her he would make her happy, had he not? Or had he only said that he would try not to make her miserable?

There was, he supposed, a difference.

But dash it all, this large congregation, most of which had put in an appearance only out of morbid curiosity, would not go away thinking him unhappy. Or her either, if he had any say in the matter.

As she approached on Merton’s arm, he fixed his eyes on her. He remembered to open them wide and drank in the sight of her. And he smiled slowly at her.

She was looking at him too through the fine veil that fell from the brim of her bonnet and covered her face. There was color in her cheeks-or so it seemed.

And then, while everyone in the front seven or eight pews could still see her face, she smiled back at him, and it seemed that she must have brought the sunshine in with her from outside. But was it not cloudy out there?

They smiled at each other-a bride and groom anticipating the advent of happily-ever-after in just a few minutes’ time. It was a grand charade that they played.

An accelerated heartbeat was not necessary for a charade, though, was it? No one could see it.

His heart thumped out a merry tattoo in his chest anyway.

Good Lord, she was his bride.

He was about to be married. Forever and ever, amen. They turned together to face the clergyman.

“Dearly beloved,” he began.

She must have washed her hair recently. He could smell that soap smell that had always been more enticing to him than any perfume.

He could feel her body heat though they did not yet touch.

He felt a sudden and unwelcome wave of remorse. This ought to be the happiest day of her life. Devil take it, it ought to be. But only the happiest so far. There should be happiness abounding in her future.

The clergyman had said something and Merton was holding out her hand. Giving her away when he really ought to be clasping that hand tightly and whisking her off somewhere far away where she would be safe-from him. And happy-without him.

Jasper took her hand in his own.

And her very life into his safekeeping.

For the rest of both their lives.

It was a far more profound moment than anything he could have anticipated.

Devil take it!

“And what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

It was done, then. Already. So soon. There was no going back now.

They were married.

Strangely, though Katherine had been concentrating hard on the words of the nuptial service, making it all very real to herself, as she must, part of her mind had drifted back to that evening at Vauxhall.

She remembered the pull of forbidden attraction she had felt toward him then. And how their eyes had met and held while he was talking with Lady Beaton. And how her heart had turned over. She remembered the leap of excitement she had felt when he offered his arm later, during their walk, and the thrill she had felt when he spoke to her in a manner no man had ever spoken before. She remembered how that foolish, innocent young girl had fallen headlong in love with him, with the danger of him and the raw masculinity of him, and how she had followed him willingly to her doom because she had decided that love was not safe but that it must be pursued at all cost.

Finally she knew the cost. She was paying it.

Even though she had tumbled right back out of love with him on that same long-ago evening.

Except that some of her fascination with him had lingered on into this year, and she had given in to it and so sealed her doom.

Even today…

Even now…

She turned her head and found him smiling at her as he led her forward to the communion rail.

Ah, even now she found him more attractive than any other man she had ever known. And handsome too, of course. He looked plain… gorgeous in his wedding clothes. And he was her husband.

She should be the happiest woman in the world.

She remembered all the people sitting in the pews behind them-looking at them. Including her family. Whom she loved. Who loved her.

She smiled back at him.

Not long after, it seemed, the communion service was over, the register had been signed, and they were on their way out of the church, her arm drawn through his, the organ playing a triumphant anthem, everyone nodding and smiling-or simply looking. And she smiled and smiled. So did he.

As they reached the outer doors and stepped out through them, Katherine became aware that the church bells were pealing joyfully and that a crowd of the curious had gathered about the open barouche that awaited them on the square. Someone set up a halfhearted cheer, and other voices joined it.

Despite herself she felt a welling of… something. Not joy exactly. But something. Some sense of completion. Perhaps relief that it was finally done and there could be no further temptation to call everything off and run away.

Lord Montford hurried her in the direction of the carriage and handed her inside before joining her there and giving the coachman the signal to start just as the congregation began to spill out through the church doors.

The crowd parted to let the horses and barouche through.

It had been a cloudy morning. It had looked as if it might rain at any minute. But at some time while they were inside the church, the clouds had moved off and the sun was beaming down on them from a clear blue sky. The air was warm without being oppressively hot.

It was a perfect summer day.

A perfect day for a wedding.

He was sitting across the corner of the seat beside her, looking at her, his eyes half closed, his mouth half smiling.

“Well, Katherine,” he said softly.

She looked back at him-at her new husband.

“Well, Jasper,” she said.

It was the first time she had spoken his name even though he had invited her to do so all of one month ago.

The half-smile became a full one.

“Lady Montford,” he said.

“Yes.”

They could choose not to be miserable, he had said on that same occasion one month ago. Had he also phrased the idea in a more positive way? She could not remember. Could they choose to be happy?

Was it possible? Was Nessie right?

But even if it was possible, they would both have to commit themselves to the choice, would they not? What if she chose to be happy, and he chose to carry on with his life just as if nothing had changed?

“I suppose,” he said, “we had better reassure our families, had we not? Not to mention everyone else who has remained in town just for this.”

And even as she looked inquiringly at him and felt the barouche jolt into motion, he moved away from the corner in order to lean across her and set his lips to hers.

She jerked back her head, realized what he had said, and… smiled dazzlingly at him.

“But of course,” she said, and touched a hand to his shoulder as she raised her mouth to his again.

As he kissed her, his lips slightly parted, his mouth warm and moist and knee-weakeningly sensual, she could hear applause and laughter and a few whistles and more cheering mingled with the sound of the church bells.

All the sounds of a wedding.

All the sounds of happiness.

It had been a very crowded and a very grand wedding breakfast indeed. Jasper did not believe he had smiled so much before in his life. It had really been quite wearying. Katherine had smiled without ceasing too.

The happy bride and groom.

But finally they had extricated themselves. He wanted to get as far as Reading tonight. They had bidden their farewells to guests, hugged and kissed their family members, dealt with tears-Charlotte had cried all over them both even though she would be joining them at Cedarhurst in just a couple of weeks’ time. In the meanwhile she was going to stay at Warren Hall with Miss Huxtable, whom she insisted upon calling her sister.

The farewells had all been said. The smiles had all been smiled, the tears all shed. They had just left London behind.

Jasper settled himself more comfortably in his traveling carriage and looked at his wife beside him. She was quietly gazing out through the window on her other side. She was still wearing both her bonnet and her gloves, though different ones from this morning. She had changed into traveling clothes before leaving. Her hands were set quietly one atop the other in her lap. She looked relaxed.

A little too relaxed.

He wondered if she was looking forward to the coming night.

Their wedding night.

There were compensations for some of life’s unpleasant experiences.

He reached out and took one of her hands in his. He peeled off her glove, one finger at a time, and tossed it onto the seat opposite to join his hat. He set her hand palm-down on top of his. It was slender and pale-skinned and warm. Her palm was smaller than his, her fingers not quite as long.

She did not move it though she had turned her head to look down at it.

He eased his fingers between hers and moved their clasped hands to rest on his thigh.

She did not resist. Neither did she cooperate.

Of course she was not looking forward to tonight. Marriage was not about sex to her, was it? She had said so the day he proposed to her. Women were funny that way, and Katherine seemed funnier than most. She dreamed of love and hearts of hearts and souls of souls.

She was like an alien creature.

She was also, dash it all, his wife.

And she had admitted that she wanted him.

He hated the remorse he always felt in relation to her. He was not a man given to guilt and conscience. He was who he was, he did what he did, and anyone who did not like it-or him-could go hang for all he cared.

But on one infamous occasion several years ago he had crossed an invisible but very real line from recklessness into depravity, and though he had crossed back over that line before irreparable harm had been done, nevertheless… Well, irreparable harm had been done anyway. The fact that they were sitting here in this carriage together, man and wife, but without a word to say to each other, was proof enough.

And he would, he supposed, have to carry remorse with him to the grave. Not remorse for himself, for the fact that he had been forced to take on a leg shackle today. That he could and would live with. He was a gentleman, after all, and he had always known that sooner or later he must marry and produce an heir.

But the point was that she had taken on a leg shackle too today. And for that fact he would always feel guilty. For it really was a shackle. She would not have chosen him in a million years if she had been given a free choice. Sexual desire alone was not enough for idealistic, romantic ladies like Katherine Huxtable-or, rather, Katherine Finley, Baroness Montford.

He almost hated her.

A fact that made him feel even more guilty.

He wanted his wedding night, nonetheless. He could scarcely wait for Reading and their hotel room and the consummation of their marriage. He had come to realize lately that slim, curvaceous ladies were far more to his taste than more obviously voluptuous ones.

And these thoughts brought with them more guilt again. He ought not to be thinking of his own sexual pleasures but of how he could make her happy.

He wished someone in the course of history had thought of striking that word and all its derivatives from the English language-happy, happier, happiest, happiness. What the devil did the words really mean anyway? Why not just the word pleasure, which was far more… well, pleasant.

“You know,” he said, “it may not be as bad as you think.”

Had he not said that to her on another occasion? When he proposed marriage to her, perhaps?

“It?” She turned her head and looked at him with raised eyebrows. “My marriage?”

“Actually,” he said, “it is ours, is it not? Our marriage. It may not be so bad.”

“Or,” she said, “it may.”

He pursed his lips and considered.

“Or it may,” he agreed. “I suppose we get to decide. Will we be happy or will we not? It will be one or the other, I suppose.”

“Is life all black and white to you, then?” she asked him.

“As opposed to varying shades of gray?” He thought again. “I do believe it is. Black is the absence of all color. White is the presence of all colors. I suppose life must be one or the other. On the whole, though, I think I would prefer color to its absence. But then black does add depth and texture to color. Perhaps certain shades of gray are necessary to a complete palette. Even unrelieved black. Ah, a deep philosophical question. Is black necessary to life, even a happy life? Could we ever be happy if we did not at least occasionally experience misery? What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Oh,” she said with a sigh, “you can turn any topic into a convoluted maze.”

“Did you expect me, then,” he said, “to tell you simply that I prefer gray to either black or white? I would abhor a gray life. No real misery but no joy either, only endless placidity and dreary depression. Indeed, I must absolutely banish gray from my own particular palette. Never tell me you are a gray person, Katherine. I will not believe it.”

She smiled slowly-and he guessed unwillingly-at him.

“Ah,” he said, “this is better.”

“Will we ever have a sensible conversation?” she asked him.

He raised his eyebrows.

“That,” he said, “is for you to decide. I have tried to provoke a discussion on one of life’s deepest mysteries-the necessity of darkness in our lives as well as light-and you accuse me of having a convoluted maze for a mind. If you would prefer to discuss the weather, by all means let us do so. There are endless possibilities in that particular topic. If I should snore in the middle of the discussion, you may nudge me awake.”

She laughed.

“Better and better,” he said, half closing his eyes as he gazed at her.

If his eternal punishment was a beach to be cleared, he thought, perhaps one grain of its sand would be lifted every time he made her laugh in what remained of both their lives. But it would still take a million years.

Perhaps even a billion.

Perhaps it would be impossible.

But the thought brightened him. Nothing was impossible.