Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception

‘Well, I am anyway,’ muttered her traitorous friend.

‘What other rules can we test today?’ asked Hartwick eagerly. ‘Is there some article of clothing you are not supposed to remove in our presence? I am open to suggestions.’

‘You rake!’ replied Katrina, laughing. ‘Are you trying to get us to show you our ankles?’

‘Your hair,’ Julian said suddenly.

All three turned to him, and he shrugged.

‘A lady’s hair is usually pinned up.’

Hartwick sat up. ‘That’s the spirit. We are in our shirtsleeves and you owe us a boon. I think Julian has a fine idea. You ladies should take down your hair and Julian and I will see if we can resist you.’

Sarah eyed Hartwick. ‘Suppose you lose your senses and your over-amorous nature overcomes you?’

‘That’s what Julian is here for. He is forever proper.’

‘He is sitting here in his shirtsleeves,’ Katrina pointed out sceptically as she eyed him up and down.

‘Oh, please... He has so much restraint that even if his life depended on it he would never touch you. He is the epitome of the proper English aristocrat,’ Hartwick said, with sarcasm in his voice.

Julian turned to his friend. ‘You speak as if being responsible and acting honourably is a bad thing. Maybe you would find yourself in less trouble if you tried it.’

Katrina peered through the lowest hanging branches towards Sarah’s barouche. ‘What do you think the footmen will say if they see us like this?’

‘Do not fret. No one can see us,’ replied Hartwick as he chewed on a long piece of grass.

‘Why do I believe you have said that before?’ Katrina muttered.

‘Why, Miss Vandenberg, I am offended,’ Hartwick said, bringing his hand to his chest. ‘I think there is a bit of fire in you.’

She turned to Julian. ‘Was that a compliment?’

The enticing man with the broad shoulders shrugged. ‘It’s difficult to tell.’

‘Of course it was a compliment. A lady with a bit of fire in her is much more enjoyable than a milksop.’

‘You thought I was a milksop?’

‘No. As I said, you have a bit of fire in you. Miss Forrester, on the other hand, is infinitely boring.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘You are only saying that because I did not swoon when you removed your coat.’

‘No. For that, I think you may need spectacles. But we are getting away from the point. I believe Julian challenged you ladies to take down your hair?’

‘It was hardly a challenge. I was simply curious.’

‘I am trying to help facilitate your request,’ Hartwick replied impatiently. ‘Perhaps you could persuade the ladies. They seem to trust you more than me.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ muttered Katrina.

Sarah cleared her throat, catching their attention. ‘I believe we are testing theories today. Katrina, please remove the pins from your hair.’ Sarah began to arrange her own hairpins on the skirt of her cinnamon-coloured gown. ‘We can easily re-pin each other shortly.’

Hartwick laughed out loud. ‘Well done, Miss Forrester.’ He made a show of studying her. ‘Now, what colour is that, exactly?’ His eyes dropped to his mud-splattered boots and he smiled. ‘Oh, I know. You hair is an earthy colour.’

‘It is chestnut, Hartwick,’ Sarah said, shaking out her hair. ‘A gleaming, glossy chestnut. Which you would realise if you weren’t so self-absorbed,’ she teased.

‘I am self-absorbed? How many times today have you admired your slippers?’

‘What has that to do with anything? I like my new slippers.’

‘Apparently so. Julian, have you seen anyone look at their feet...?’

* * *

The moment Katrina removed one pin from her hair Julian was transfixed. He watched as little by little ringlets of golden silk cascaded past her neck, down her back, and over the slope of her breasts.

Many nights he had pictured her in his bed with her hair down, and he had wondered how long it was. Would it cover her breasts if she rode him? Would it bounce against the small of her back as he took her from behind? Now he knew that the ends of her hair curled against the lower curves of her breasts. His mouth began to water as he imagined the feel of her hair against his cheek as he slid his tongue along those breasts...

Before he was aware of what he was doing, he slid his fingers into the soft strands. Everything around them fell away, and the only thing that mattered was the woman next to him. He kissed her softly and she placed her hand on his chest. He deepened the kiss, certain she must feel his heart and soul pounding against her hand.

‘I thought you said he was always proper?’ Miss Forrester’s voice broke the silence.

‘He was until he met your friend,’ Hart replied.

‘Maybe it’s your influence.’

‘I’ve tried for years to get him to follow his desires. This is none of my doing.’

‘I don’t believe they should be doing that, even with us in attendance.’

‘It is just a kiss.’

‘That is not just a kiss, Hartwick.’

‘No. I suppose you are correct, Miss Forrester. That definitely is not just a kiss.’

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Julian managed to pull his head back. Katrina buried her face in his shoulder and he rubbed his cheek against her soft hair.

‘We can hear you.’ His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.

‘We know,’ Hart said, taking a sip of wine.

It had taken all his restraint to leave his hand on Katrina’s jaw and not move it to any other part of her body. He was finally able to position one of his legs to hide the strain in his breeches. How could he have kissed her in front of Hart and Miss Forrester? How could the simple act of her taking down her hair have made him so excited? When could he get her alone to continue what they’d started?

‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea to show Miss Forrester the view?’ he suggested to Hart.

His friend smirked at him. ‘I have already done so.’

‘Perhaps she hasn’t seen all that this hill has to offer.’

‘I believe I have seen quite a bit of what this hill has to offer,’ Miss Forrester said dryly, raising her glass to her lips.

‘Do the two of you have something important to tell us?’ Hart said, as he crossed his legs in front of him and rocked his boots from side to side. ‘You have kissed each other in front of Miss Forrester and me. Should I be requesting pistols at dawn to defend Miss Vandenberg’s honour?’

Julian was about to chastise Hart, but Katrina spoke up first. ‘Don’t be nonsensical, Hartwick. You of all people should understand. It was simply a kiss.’

What did she mean, it was simply a kiss? Had it not been her lips he was kissing? Had she not felt that...that...thing?

‘So there is no impending announcement you wish to share with us?’ Hart asked.

‘Heavens, no,’ exclaimed Katrina with a light laugh.

Julian studied the woman whose lips were still wet from his kiss. She had moved away, putting distance between them. Did she have to sound so relieved that she would never need to marry him?

To hell with being cautious—he needed to see her alone again.

Chapter Eighteen

Walking among the rose bushes planted along the back wall of her garden, Katrina glanced up at the late morning sky. Earlier in the day, dark clouds had hung low. Now the sun’s rays were peeking through, and the air was heavy with the scent of fragrant blooms.

Reaching out with her cutting shears towards a red velvet bud, Katrina winced as she pricked herself on a thorn. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous?

Drawing her hand back, she sucked on her finger. That was the third time she’d pricked herself today. A wise person would know when to stop. There was no sense in risking further injury.

As she stepped onto the gravel path that led to the house a dragonfly flew past, reminding her of the one that had landed on Julian’s sleeve during their picnic. All too soon he would be a distant memory. He would marry a woman born to be a duchess—someone who had the family name and connections she did not. And she would return to America, hopefully to find a man who made her feel all the things Julian did. She had to believe that was possible, otherwise when their secret arrangement came to an end it would devastate her.

Wilkins met Katrina as she reached the steps of the terrace. He extended a polite bow. ‘You have a caller, miss.’

When she read Madame de Lieven’s name on the card she resisted the urge to hide back among the roses. But, after directing Wilkins to show her guest into the drawing room, Katrina removed her apron and went to make herself presentable.

When she entered the drawing room a short while later she found Madame de Lieven seated on the settee by the unlit fireplace, examining the blue Sèvres porcelain urn on the small table next to her. She looked up as Katrina took a seat across from her. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, and it wasn’t until the ladies were in the middle of tea that Madame de Lieven broached the expected subject of Mr Armstrong.

‘I understand he has sent you flowers?’ she said, eyeing a very elaborate floral display of white lilies and pink roses.

‘Yes, he has.’

‘Why have I not heard that you have been seen together?’

Katrina gave a noncommittal shrug, not sure how to respond to end the questioning.

Madame de Lieven took a long sip of tea and then placed the cup down slowly onto the saucer in her lap. ‘He is a man of means, with impressive connections. He will make you a fine husband. When will you see him again?’

‘I couldn’t say.’

‘I will arrange something.’

Was this what it would be like to have Lady Morley for a mother?

Katrina placed her own cup and saucer down on the table. ‘That is very kind of you, but as I have already mentioned I have no wish to find a husband here in England.’

‘Nonsense. I think you are not as averse to the idea as you might like me to believe.’ She stood and adjusted her gloves. ‘It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Vandenberg.’

‘Thank you for your kind visit.’ The words were brittle on her tongue, but they came out smoothly.

She walked her guest down to the front door, but before she was free of Madame de Lieven for the day the woman turned with one final question.

‘Will you be attending the Hipswitch garden party?’

Having an inkling of what was to come, Katrina took a resigned breath. ‘I am. My father will likely be in meetings. I plan to attend with Mrs Forrester and her daughter.’

Madame de Lieven tied her bonnet. ‘I’m certain Mr Armstrong will be pleased to hear it.’

Katrina watched her walk down the steps and into her awaiting carriage. It wasn’t until the carriage had begun to roll down the street that Katrina closed the door and banged her head gently against the wood. Why hadn’t Madame de Lieven focused her attention on Sarah? She would be remaining in London much longer than Katrina, and therefore her potential ties to what was happening in the United States were greater. Unless the woman believed she had more time to forge a friendship of sorts with Sarah and would be hunting her down next.

Hopefully, arranging the flowers she had managed to collect would pull her thoughts from speculating on how bad the Hipswitch garden party was sure to be.

A rustling sound from inside the nearby dining room caught her attention, and she walked to the doorway to see what it was. As she crossed the threshold she was startled by Julian’s presence inside the room. He was wearing a navy tailcoat, a white silk embroidered waistcoat, and buckskin breeches tucked into a pair of shiny top boots.

She blinked a few times, trying to make certain that he was real and not a figment of her wishful imagination. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘That is a fine way to greet your guest,’ he said with an impish grin.

She stepped closer to him and closed the door behind her. ‘You are skulking in my dining room. What did you expect me to say?’

He took her hands and pulled her even closer with little resistance. ‘I’m not skulking. I came to read with you and was told Madame de Lieven was here. I informed your butler that I would wait for you in here.’

‘You asked to wait in my dining room?’

‘It is the closest room to your front door. I did not feel it wise to proceed further into your home.’

‘You cannot stay. My father is working in his study. If he were to see you, how would we explain your presence?’

‘I have an ideal solution. Come for a drive with me. We can read in the carriage.’

He nuzzled her neck and her legs grew weak.

She tilted her head, exposing more of her skin for his kisses. ‘Someone will see.’

‘We will be in a closed carriage with the drapes drawn.’ His soft kisses were turning into nips. ‘I promise no one will see us.’

‘They’ll see me entering it with you. That will never do. You should return another day.’

Turning him away was not what she wanted, but they had no choice. They were sure to get caught.

‘I have Hart’s unmarked carriage parked in the mews. I’ll leave now and have the driver stop in front of your house. No one will know I am inside.’

‘I don’t know—’

His warm hands cupped her face and he kissed her deeply. Would there ever be a time when his kisses did not affect her so? He pulled back and studied her closely, as if he were looking for a reaction. What that reaction was, she couldn’t imagine. A wisp of hair had come loose by her left temple, and she blew at the strand with a puff of air.

‘Come for a drive with me before I have to leave for Westminster.’ That devilish smile of his was not helping her resolve. ‘You know you want to.’

‘You are not as charming as you think,’ she replied through a reluctant smile.

‘Yes, I am.’ He laughed low and cradled her neck in his hands. ‘The longer we remain here, the greater chance there is for discovery. Now, go and retrieve the book and meet me in the carriage.’

There were times when anticipation and excitement could cloud one’s judgement. For Katrina, this was one of those times. ‘Very well. I will go with you.’

He held her gaze as he kissed the inside of her wrist. A tingle spread up her arm and down her side. If he continued in this fashion she would be tempted to suggest they lock the door and remain in the dining room all afternoon.

It appeared he had read her thoughts, and he straightened in an overly confident manner. ‘I will show myself out. And Katrina...’ he adjusted his cuffs ‘...do hurry.’

She stepped away from the door and his sleeve brushed against her arm as he walked past. Moments later she heard the door to her house open and close. Her heart raced. She tried to catch her breath. Low in her abdomen her muscles flipped as she imagined kissing him again...

It didn’t take her long to gather her favourite bonnet and change into a celestial blue satin carriage dress. Grabbing her copy of Frankenstein, she dashed down the stairs and out through the door. An unmarked coach of shiny black lacquer was waiting with its curtains closed. Ignoring her uneasy feeling, she accepted help from the footman, stepped inside, and settled on the bench across from Julian.

His surprised expression was visible in the muted light. ‘You have changed.’

‘It seemed prudent.’

‘There was no need. You look lovely in either dress.’

Warmth spread through her at this compliment. Then the carriage jerked and she was rocked back and forth as the horses began their journey. She wished she could peer outside, to see in what direction they were headed.

‘Where are we off to?’

‘Nowhere in particular. I have instructed the driver to return us to your home in an hour. However, it may prove a challenge to read the book together if you are not seated next to me.’

The carriage, while spacious, was not overly wide. If she sat next to him their bodies would be sure to touch.

She vaulted across the carriage.

His muscular thigh pressed against hers as she nestled her arm next to his and opened the book.

* * *

When Julian had arrived at Katrina’s home and had been informed Madame de Lieven was already there he should have walked away. Hiding in the dining room with both the Russian Ambassador’s wife and Katrina’s father on the premises had been dangerous. However, sitting this close to her now, Julian was glad he had listened to the voice that had told him to stay.

Her warm, soft thigh was pressed against his, and that warmth was travelling over to him. It would not take much for him to harden. His body was begging to lay her down under him and explore every inch of her. Had she not been a virgin, that book she was holding would have been tossed somewhere on the floor by now.

He motioned towards the book. ‘Shall we begin?’

She nodded and opened the book to a page marked with a worn strip of deep pink silk. With her permission, he took it out and rubbed it lightly between the fingers of his ungloved hand.

‘This is true proof that you are a great reader.’

Her soft laugh made him smile. ‘It is a remnant from a gown that once belonged to my mother. My Great-Aunt Augusta gave it to me when I was a child. I’ve kept it ever since.’

‘That was very thoughtful of her.’

‘She was all that is kindness. The Dowager reminds me of her.’

Had her aunt smuggled gin into assemblies, faked a malady when she wanted her way, and entertained herself in her later years by inserting herself into situations that weren’t any of her business? He wasn’t inclined to believe so.

Handing the strip back to her, he looked down at the open book. In the low light he would need to squint to read the words. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the ideal location for reading.’

‘Now you decide this isn’t wise?’

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I still believe being alone with you in this carriage is the finest idea I’ve had today.’

‘You do realise that if this continues I will find myself finishing this book during my journey home to New York.’

The idea of her travelling home burned his gut. When she left England she would not be returning. Ever. A chasm opened in his chest, and he tried to rub it away.

‘You once told me you had no interest in marrying anyone in England, and yet Madame de Lieven appeared eager to inform Greely’s whelp that you will be at the Hipswitch garden party. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind?’

She sighed and shook her head. ‘I have not. However, Madame de Lieven can be most insistent in her opinions.’

‘Do you truly have no wish to live here?’

‘On the contrary—I adore London and the sense of the past that surrounds me. I feel as if I could spend years here and I would still find something new to see. It is the men here who hold no appeal.’

As a man residing in London, to him that was rather insulting—no, it was highly insulting. He raised his chin and pulled his shoulders back. ‘All men?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted without hesitation. ‘Rather, not all but most—you appeal to me.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

‘Somewhat,’ she amended with a mischievous smile. ‘However, I believe we were discussing my marrying an Englishman and not simply liking one.’

‘Are you this charming with American men as well? It is a wonder you are still unmarried.’

Instead of offending her, his comment made her laugh.

He eyed her sideways. ‘What is it that you find so distasteful about Englishmen?’

She was not destined to be his duchess. This was not a conversation he should be having with her. And yet a part of him wondered why she found him an unsuitable choice for a husband.

‘We have different views on fidelity,’ she blurted out rather abruptly.

Julian jerked his head back, not having expected that to be her reasoning. ‘I wasn’t aware we had had a discussion on such a subject. I must make a note to pay closer attention to what you say.’

‘Don’t be glib. I am well aware of what men of your station do, and I do not wish that for my marriage,’ she said with a casual lift of her shoulder.

He leaned closer. ‘Really? What is it we do?’

‘Men of the ton marry women for their impressive ancestry or significant fortunes. When they grow bored with their wives they go about with other women.’

Julian’s brows drew together. ‘Is this about your earlier notion that I have a mistress? I assure you I still haven’t taken one.’

‘No. It’s about you being an English nobleman,’ she stated firmly, looking him in the eye in the dim light.

‘And because of that you believe I would conduct myself in such a manner?’

‘I have no reason to assume otherwise. You once told me that you do not expect a happy marriage, and you found my ideas on love provincial.’

‘Opinions can change.’

She crossed her arms and tilted her head, sceptically. ‘So now you will tell me you plan to be a faithful husband?’

He didn’t want to think about being married to Lady Mary—not when he was sitting with his body pressed against Katrina. He took a deep breath and held in her lemon scent. Deep down he knew he would think of her every time he took Mary to bed. It was not an honourable notion, nor something he would ever admit to anyone—especially the woman sitting beside him waiting for a response.

Why the hell had he started this conversation with her?

‘Well?’ She was not letting the matter rest.

He needed her to know what kind of man he was. He needed her to see that he was a man who honoured his vows. ‘I’ve already been married and, although the union was arranged by my father, I was faithful.’

It came out in a rush, and he turned his head away from her. He rarely spoke of Emma. It was difficult to take a steady breath.

Katrina fell back against the plush upholstery, her properly erect posture forgotten. ‘You were married?’ It came out as a whisper. ‘We spent all that time together and you never told me.’

‘I assumed you knew. Everyone in London is aware that I was married.’

‘Well, no one told me.’ She appeared to wait for him to continue.

He never intentionally discussed Emma. The subject of her death was too personal and much too painful. He tried to scrub the image of her lying dead out of his mind. It had haunted him most nights—at least until he’d met Katrina. That hadn’t occurred to him until now.

He looked into her expectant eyes. An unwelcome lump was forming in his throat. ‘My wife’s name was Emma. She was the youngest daughter of the Duke of Beaumont. Our fathers arranged our marriage while I was away at Cambridge. She died while giving birth to our stillborn son.’

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. It was easier to move away from Katrina than to continue to look into her eyes.

‘To this day I am sorry for her loss and the loss of my child.’ But his regret would never bring them back.

She brushed the hair by his temple in a comforting gesture. ‘I am sorry for your loss too.’

Not knowing what else to say, Julian gave a quick nod.

Katrina continued to stroke his temple. ‘My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. My father feels her loss even to this day.’

Julian squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed his hand across his face. There was comfort in the closed confines of the gently rocking carriage and muted light. It felt...safe.

‘I never held him.’ The statement left his lips before the thought had fully formed in his head.

The soft pressure of her hand on his back was an unexpected gesture. ‘Did anyone ask if you wanted to?’

He shook his head and bit his lip. The lump in his throat was making it difficult to swallow. ‘They only asked if I wanted to see him.’

‘Did you?’

He nodded as tears that had never been shed rimmed his eyes. The physician and Emma’s maid had been so focused on tending to her, they hadn’t had time to clean his son. He’d been so small—and so still.

‘I should have held him. No one held him.’