Page 92 of Kathryn

Thinking about his mother jerked him back from his maudlin musing. Gerrit’s eyes narrowed at her utter gall in offering him unsolicited advice, especially about his marriage. He buried his nose in Kathryn’s disheveled curls, the lavender scent pleasing rather than overpowering.

Gerrit reveled in her botanical, feminine smell. Or at least he tried to revel. But a tendril of unease that he’d been suppressing for a while began to grow stronger. Although he couldn’t see the clothing he’d cavalierly tossed behind the settee when he’d been in the grip of passion, he could feel it. He gritted his teeth against the growing pressure, trying to ignore it.

He could stop the unease by standing up, laying Kathryn on the settee, and tidying up the messy garments. But if he did so, he risked waking her. And Gerrit was not ready to let her go—to let this go.

Chaos, disorder… the insatiable demon inside him whispered and hissed.

I don’t care.

But the unease did not diminish in the least. Gerrit needed something stronger to fight off the building pressure, so he buried his nose in Kathryn’s curls and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent. Again and again, he breathed in the intoxicating smell of his wife.

My wife. Mine.

The first touch on his neck was so faint he thought he’d imagined it. But then it happened again, soft lips pressing against his sensitive skin. Kathryn was kissing his throat.

Gerrit’s eyes fluttered shut at the butterfly touches, the racket behind the settee muted, as if somebody had thrown a bucket of chilly water over a noisy crowd.

She kissed him again and again, and then she buried her nose in his neck and whispered, “I’m happy now.”

Later that night—after Gerrit had held his wife a delicious half-hour longer before finally capitulating and folding the bloody clothing—he carried Kathryn’s sleeping form up to her bed, tucked her in, and retired to his own room. His mind was more disordered than usual but—interestingly—the lack of mental order didn’t make him miserable. Instead, the thoughts bombarding him were pleasurable ones and most of them centered on Kathryn. His thoughts kept returning to his wife’s last words to him earlier: I’m happy now. Even in her half-conscious state he’d heard the wonder in her voice and understood that happiness was not a normal state for his wife. It wasn’t for Gerrit, either.

The last thought he had that night, as he surrendered to sleep was that—astonishingly—he was happy, too.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Katie might be a fool, but she was not a complete fool. She knew that an evening of torrid passion in the library with Dulverton would not miraculously transform how he behaved towards her. And so she was not terribly surprised when she went down to breakfast the following morning and discovered that, as usual, her husband had already left and it was just another day.

No, she was not surprised, but she was more than a little disappointed. And frustrated. How was he able to remain so unmoved by last night? Perhaps he was this way with every woman he’d made love to? Katie had not felt this wonderful with Jasper. And she did not think that just because she now hated him, either. No, she recalled all too well how she had tolerated those uncomfortable couplings with Jasper to keep him happy rather than out of any real desire for him.

But as much as this passion with Dulverton was well and good—actually, it was lovely and wonderful!—it still left her feeling hollow and needy for more. Somehow Katie needed to make him talk to her.

Before meeting Mrs. St. Clare, Katie would not have believed her reserved, taciturn, and uncommunicative husband was even capable of confiding in another person. Katie had been consumed by jealousy when she’d believed Anna Wilson was Dulverton’s mistress, but that feeling was nothing to the roiling emotions that assaulted her when she thought about Dulverton sharing his thoughts with Mrs. St. Clare.

Before she could become too despondent, she reminded herself that last night had been a step in the right direction. Dulverton had finally seen her. Not just her face, but the person who occupied her body. Even if it had only been her skill at chess that had impressed him, at least it was more than what he’d seen in her before.

Of course, he had noticed her face and body as well…

Katie smirked to herself. Indeed, last night would provide her with erotic memories for months to come, although she hoped not to have to rely on just memories. He would come to her again tonight, wouldn’t he?

Katie cursed herself for falling asleep last night before she could somehow find a way to retract her foolish claim about not wanting passion in the bedchamber.

But surely, after last night he would realize all that had changed, now?

And yet, three mornings later—after two nights of perfunctory coupling—Katie was beginning to realize that what had been crystal clear to her had not been apparent to her husband at all. If they were ever to return to the way they’d been before her foolish declaration, then she would have to be the one to take steps.

Katie was heading to breakfast and dwelling on just how she would achieve her goal when she heard Dulverton’s voice drift up from the foyer and her heart sped. He hadn’t left, yet. What was he doing at home?

Instead of turning left on the landing, she hurried down the stairs.

Her husband was pulling on his gloves as she reached the bottom step and glanced up. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said in his abrupt way.

“Good morning, Dulverton. Are you going somewhere?” she stupidly asked.

“I have to go to town,” he muttered, his mind obviously elsewhere. But then he appeared to recall himself and say, “Do you have any commissions for me?”

“Might I go with you?”

A notch appeared between his eyebrows, which began to draw down.