The Lady Who Broke the Rules (5 page)

‘I don’t care about being rich.’

Alerted by the change in his tone, Kate glanced sideways. The light had gone from his eyes. What had she said? ‘You’re so used to working twenty hours a day that you can’t stop, is that it?’ she ventured, trying to make a joke of it.

‘I’m not interested in money, Lady Kate. I’m interested in what money can buy.’

He had shifted in his seat again, to look straight ahead. His expression seemed to have hardened.

Kate’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, you mean schools? Your model village?’

He meant reparation, but it was the same thing. ‘Power,’ Virgil said. ‘The power to change.’

Kate nodded. ‘Yes. If I felt I could have that, I think I’d manage on two or three hours’ sleep a night too. Do you ever wish you could go back? To the plantation, I mean, to show them what you have become.’

He realised, from the casual way she slipped the question in, that this was the subject which interested her most. ‘No.’ It was baldly stated, making it clear, Virgil trusted, that neither did he ever discuss it. He could sense her eyeing him, calculating whether to press him or not.

‘I’m surprised,’ she said cautiously. ‘Were I in your position, I think I’d want to rub their noses in it a bit.’

‘There’s other ways of payback.’ This time, Virgil was relieved to see that she recognised the note of finality in his voice. He never talked about that part of his past, never consciously thought about it, for to do so would be to admit the tide of guilt he had spent the past eleven years holding back. It was one thing to talk around his history, quite another to paint its picture and admit to the pain which he had worked so hard to ignore. Yet there could be no denying that her choice of silence made him contrarily wish she had questioned him more.

* * *

The miles wore on. At the border between Staffordshire and Derbyshire they stopped at a village tavern, taking bread and the crumbling white local cheese on a bench outside. It was chilly, but there was no private parlour, and neither Kate nor Virgil wished to endure the curious eyes of the locals in the tap room who had greeted their appearance with a stunned silence.

As they continued on into Derbyshire the scenery changed. The land became softly undulating, the higher, rolling hills of the Peaks casting shadows over the valleys through which they drove. It seemed wetter and greener here. The limestone villages huddled into the creases and folds of the hills, or stretched out along the banks of the fast-flowing rivers such as the Dove, which they followed for some time, where the water mills turned.

It was beautiful, though incredibly isolated, each hamlet seeming to exist in its own world, unconnected and self-contained, Virgil thought. ‘Why aren’t you married, Lady Kate?’

The question startled her, for her hands jerked on the reins, pulling the horse to a walk. ‘Why do you ask?’

Why?
He hadn’t realised, but now he thought about it he saw that her remarks over dinner last night had been niggling at him. He could not reconcile what she’d said of herself with the little he knew of her. ‘You said you were a social pariah, though I saw no evidence of it.’

‘Josiah’s guests are my friends but they are not what my father would consider high society. Were you to see me in that milieu you would have evidence aplenty.’

The horse took advantage of her lapse in attention to stop and crop at the grass verge. Virgil took the reins and looped them round the brake. ‘Why? I know I joked about you being a revolutionary, but…’

‘Oh, it is naught to do with that. I have always been outspoken, but the daughter of the influential Duke of Rothermere, you understand, is given rather more latitude than, say, a mere Miss Montague.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. She threw her head back and glared at him, her eyes dark and bleak, the colour of a winter sea. ‘The fact is, I am a jilt.’

Virgil searched her face for some sign that she was joking, but could find no trace in her stern expression. ‘That’s it? You changed your mind about getting married?’

‘A mere two weeks before the ceremony, and the engagement was of very long standing. I had known Anthony all my life. I did not quite leave him at the altar, but I may as well have, according to my aunt.’

The husky tones of her voice were clipped. There was hurt buried deep there. Had she loved this Anthony? Virgil didn’t like to think so. ‘What made you change your mind so late in the day?’

‘We didn’t suit.’

‘But…’

‘I know what you’re going to say, if I knew him so well why did it take me so long to change my mind? I knew him as a friend of the family. I thought we would suit, and when I tried to think of him as a husband I found I could not.’

The anger in her voice was raw, fresh. ‘How long ago did this happen?’ Virgil asked.

‘Five years.’

‘Did you love him?’ He should not have asked such a deeply personal question. He could not understand why he had done so, for he was usually at pains to keep any conversation, especially with a woman, in neutral channels. But he knew all about the pain of loss.

He covered her tightly clasped hands with one of his own, but Kate shook him off. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, there is no need. I am not wearing the willow for Lord Anthony Featherstone.’

Rebuffed and baffled, Virgil said nothing. All his instincts told him to drop the subject, which was obviously extremely sensitive and extremely painful, but there was something in her voice, in the way she had closed herself off, that he recognised and could not ignore. She was hurt and determined not to show it. He gently unfolded her fingers and took one of her hands between his. ‘Then tell me,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

She hesitated. He could see the words of refusal forming, but for some reason she swallowed them. ‘Do you really want to know?’

When he nodded, she took a deep breath. ‘Anthony was—is—the son of one of my father’s close friends. His family has a bloodline which can be traced back to the Norman Conquest, according to my father. Our betrothal was the result of a bargain struck by our parents when I was still in my cradle. What you have to understand is that as far as my father is concerned, my only value is in making the best marriage which can be arranged. I knew from a very early age that I was destined to marry Anthony, and since I had not met any other man I preferred after almost two full Seasons, I agreed. Anthony was far from repulsive,’ Kate said, determined to be scrupulously fair. ‘In fact, he was considered to be something of a beau.’

‘But you were not in love with him?’

‘I have never been in love with anyone. I doubt it is in my nature to feel so strongly, and in any case, love has nothing at all to do with marriage. At least, not for a Montague. People of our sort make alliances, not love matches,’ she said bitterly.

Falling in love was the one thing Virgil had been free to do. He had loved Millie. He would have married Millie. Were there other forms of chains he didn’t understand? Duty had weighed heavily with Lady Kate. It was not a comparison she would dream of making, but he made it. ‘So you agreed to the marriage because it was what your family wished, even though you were not sure?’

‘I wasn’t unsure, it would be unfair to say that. I was resigned. No, it was not even that. I simply didn’t question it, I suppose.’

Virgil smiled. ‘I find that hard to believe. You seem to question everything.’

‘As I said, life would be less painful if I did not. Would that I had questioned this match earlier. Or had the strength of will to say no when I knew what—knew my own mind better.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘Mama died when I was a child. My Aunt Wilhelmina is her sister, and she was most—most anxious for the match to take place. Even more so than my father, in the end. When I tried to discuss my reservations about Anthony she—she did not— She said that I…’

Her hand curled into a fist within his clasp. Her jaw clenched, her eyes were bright with tears. This was obviously the source of her hurt, or one of them. Virgil felt a momentary spasm of anger at the unknown aunt. ‘And the duke?’

Kate laughed bitterly. ‘My father’s word is law. He made the match. As far as he was concerned, there was no question of my changing my mind, whatever the circumstances.’

‘And yet you did change your mind?’

‘I had to.’

I had to.
It was a curious choice of phrase, Virgil thought, but the tightness in her voice, the way she held herself, as if she was afraid she might shatter, and the sheen of tears which he was fairly certain she would be mortified to shed, made him cautious. ‘So you called it off?’

She nodded. ‘My aunt said that I would be ruined, and she was right. Papa refused to put the notice in the paper. He left it to Anthony to do so.
“Lord Anthony Featherstone wishes it to be known that his betrothal to the Honourable Lady Katherine…”
You can imagine how that looked.’

What Virgil found extraordinary was that such an act could have led society to ostracise her, but he had discovered that there was much he found inexplicable about the English. He supposed it was something to do with her family’s status, and the fact of the date having been set. ‘But your father, your aunt, they are surely reconciled to your decision now, after five years?’

Kate gave another of those bitter little laughs. ‘You’d think so, but you see, I have refused to do penance in the only possible way by making any other sort of match. Though, of course, my situation must have reduced my expectations significantly,’ she said in a voice which left Virgil in no doubt she was quoting her aunt, ‘my blood and my dowry were still sufficient to tempt a few ambitious suitors. However, I may be foolish but I am not stupid. I have no intention of repeating my mistake. I am resolved never to marry.’

‘That is what you meant when you said you have put yourself beyond the pale?’

‘Did I?’ She smiled faintly. ‘Yes, that is what I meant. So you see, as far as His Grace and my aunt are concerned, I am a failure.’

She had said more than enough to make Virgil despise the duke, though it was the aunt, who had signally failed to support her as a mother should, towards whom he directed his anger. All his reservations about the effect of his presence in the ducal residence fled. He very much hoped he
would
throw them all into disarray. He could now perfectly understand Lady Kate’s desire to defy them. ‘I don’t think you are a failure, far from it,’ Virgil said. ‘To stand up for yourself in the face of such opposition took real courage. I think you are extraordinary.’

‘Do you?’

She had been staring down at her feet, but his words made her look up, and the vulnerability he saw there pierced Virgil’s defences. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said softly. Pushing back the leather cuff of her driving glove, he pressed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. ‘You really are quite extraordinary.’

He meant merely to show her that he understood. That he admired her. That he had not judged her as her family had. A token gesture of solidarity, that’s what he intended. But when his lips touched the delicate skin his intentions changed. Her scent, the taste of her, turned his empathy into desire.

She stilled, her eyes fixed on his when he looked up, wide, startled, but she made no move to pull away. A pulse fluttered at her neck. Entranced, Virgil could not resist touching it. The diamond drops in her ears glinted in the sunlight. He pressed his lips to her skin. It was cold and smooth. She breathed in sharply, but did not pull away. ‘Extraordinary,’ Virgil repeated softly. The air was still, save for the contented sound of the horse champing on the grass by the wayside. There was no one else in sight. He shifted on the narrow bench, his knees pressing into her thigh. Still she didn’t move. Her scent, flowery and already imprinted on his mind, made him think of summer meadows. His heart was beating in time to that fluttering pulse of hers. ‘Kate,’ he said, thinking that her name suited her precisely.

Admiration leached into wanting. He covered her mouth with his own, pausing just a second lest she protest. She did not. Her lips were so soft. She tasted of peaches or apricots or strawberries, sweet and lush. He slipped his arm around her back and pulled her closer. So long it had been since he had kissed a woman. His other hand he used to push back her hat and his mouth shaped hers so easily, so naturally, that he forgot to think about whether he could remember what to do, and sank into her kiss as if he had been waiting to do so from the moment they met.

* * *

Kate closed her eyes. Such a gentle touch he had. And the look in his eyes, as if he could see the feelings she kept parcelled up deep inside her. His mouth was warm. His kiss made her feel as if the sun had strengthened. His lips moved over hers slowly, tasting her, seeming to want nothing but to savour her. It made her skin tingle. It made her want. Just want. The purity of it gave her a pang. The simplicity of it, the ease of it, as if their mouths were made for each other, made her wonder. The gentleness made her want to cry.

But as she reached up to touch his hair, as she nestled closer, as she sank into the sensual haze of his kiss, Virgil pulled away. ‘I guess I should apologise for that.’

Kate blinked and touched her fingers to her lips. He sounded singularly unrepentant. She ought to be insulted, but in fact this realisation was pleasing. ‘Mr Jackson…’

‘I wish you would call me Virgil. Hardly anyone does.’

It was a relief to see that he looked slightly dazed, because that was exactly how Kate felt. Or was it dazzled? Were kisses supposed to make you feel like that? Not in her experience. ‘Virgil,’ she said. ‘I like it. Your name, I mean. I like your name.’ And his kisses. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t like his kisses, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. She fanned her cheeks.

Virgil took her hand, stroking the pulse at her wrist with his thumb. ‘I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone in a long time.’

‘Then that makes two of us,’ Kate said with a husky little laugh. His touch was making her even hotter.

‘How long?’

‘Not since Anthony.’ Had she ever wanted to kiss Anthony? She must have done, else she would not have… ‘What about you?’