Page 13 of Kathryn

Katie was amazed that her brother-in-law could claim her without cursing her name.

“Her parents are dead?” Dulverton asked.

“Both are alive, but my wife and I stand as guardians to Lady Kathryn.”

Dulverton’s face settled into what was evidently his habitual superior scowl. He gestured toward Fowler and the Graysons. “What are you three doing here?”

Fowler, already seething, seemed to double in size. “I am here because this—this girl,” he narrowed his eyes at Letty, “chose to make a mockery of me in the garden.” His blazing green gaze slid to Katie. “And I know exactly whose idea this asinine game was.”

“Game?” Dulverton turned from Fowler to Katie, regarding her with such frigid intensity that she actually shivered. His eyes were undeniably beautiful, but they looked inhuman. They also exerted an almost tangible pressure on her, like slabs of flagstone pressing against her chest.

“It is all my fault,” she said. “The whole thing was my idea.”

“I do not understand. What thing?” Dulverton demanded.

Katie looked from face-to-face, hoping for… something. Dulverton managed to look conceited and bewildered at the same time; Hy’s expression was unreadable; Chatham’s disappointed; the Earl of Sutton disgusted; Mrs. Grayson terrified; Fowler enraged; and Letty alternately accusatory and sick with self-loathing.

There was not a friendly face in the room.

Katie forced herself to meet Dulverton’s impatient, inquisitorial gaze. “We were playing a game.” Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. “A kissing game.”

***

Gerrit’s temples pounded.

A kissing game.

The words burned through the fog of confusion, and he stared at the red-headed seductress—Lady Kathryn, he reminded himself—and said, “I beg your pardon?”

“Damnation!” Fowler bellowed, causing not only Gerrit, but everyone else in the room, to startle. “It was a bloody game about kissing, Dulverton.” The massive baron sprang up from his chair and stalked across the room, not stopping until he was towering over Lady Kathryn. “You have finally done it, haven’t you?” he snarled.

Lady Kathryn, to her credit, did not flinch from the raging giant. Only her hands, clenched and white-knuckled, betrayed her agitation. “I am sorry, Angus.”

“You’re sorry?” Fowler bellowed.

This time the girl did flinch.

“Lower your voice, Fowler,” Gerrit warned as he eased his body between the furious peer and the woman who was likely going to be his wife.

Fowler’s eyes threw sparks. “Who the hell do you think you are, Dulverton?”

“You are scaring Lady Kathryn,” Gerrit said in a low voice.

Fowler gave an almost hysterical laugh. “Scaring her? Scaring her?”

“You are in a gentleman’s library, Fowler,” the Duchess of Chatham said, her quiet voice more effective than Fowler’s shouting. “Not on the deck of one of your ships.”

Fowler glared at the duchess and opened his mouth, no doubt to issue a thundering rejoinder, but the Duke of Chatham interceded. “Have done, Angus. Now is not the time.”

The baron shook his head. “Fine. I have had enough of this. I will leave you to deal with her, Chatham.” He cut Lady Kathryn a scathing look and then turned toward the two women cowering on the settee. “I will call upon you and Miss Grayson tomorrow, Mrs. Grayson.”

The older woman nodded while the younger one—her daughter, Gerrit presumed—lowered her gaze, her face turning a splotchy red.

Without another word the baron strode from the room.

The door had scarcely banged shut behind Fowler when Mrs. and Miss Grayson leapt to their feet. “If you would excuse us,” Mrs. Grayson whispered, ushering her daughter toward the door.

“Allow me, madam,” the Earl of Sutton said, already headed in that direction. He looked from Gerrit to the Duke of Chatham. “I will give the four of you some privacy while I show these ladies to their carriage.”