Untamed (12 page)

Kate was unprepared for the jolt of jealousy that announcement brought about. Dear Lord, was she … jealous?

“Don’t be absurd; you’re not even out yet, and even if you were, I’d lock you away myself before I’d let you marry that coarse, conceited, ill-bred Scotsman.”

Bea stuck out her chin. “I don’t think he’s coarse. From what I saw of him through the window, I thought he was rather dashing and …
virile.”
Bea punctuated the pronouncement with a sigh.

Kate snapped her head about to her sister’s dreamy-eyed profile. “Where on earth did you happen upon such a word? No, don’t tell me. You’ve been reading those penny dreadfuls again, haven’t you?”

Knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings were best left to fairy tales. In the real world, a woman had only herself to rely upon. The sooner Beatrice accepted that decidedly unromantic fact, the better it would be. In light of the earlier episode in the park, Kate would do well to remember it herself.

Bea turned to face her. “They’re romantic novels, and there’s nothing dreadful about them. You should borrow one sometime, sister dear. You might learn something.”

Kate privately considered she had learned quite enough for one day. Regardless, she did not greatly care for her sister’s tone, even less for the unflattering implication that she was in want of romantic tutelage—even if that was indeed the case. Thinking of her enthusiastic but clumsy response to what had been a most smoothly executed sensual assault had the tips of her ears heating.

“Beatrice, I’ll not have you talking like a light skirt.”

Bea rolled her eyes again.
“Beatrice,
is it? I must have touched on a nerve, indeed.”

Kate only called her by her full name when trouble was brewing, and they both knew it. They exchanged looks, and all at once burst out laughing.

The bedroom door swung open, crashing against the wall and bringing both women to their feet. Their father stood on the threshold, his coat unbuttoned, his cravat askew, and his eyes wild. It was obvious to Kate he was not only drunk, but furious. Her heartbeat quickened to a canter. To give the devil his due, he’d never before raised a hand to them, but there was always a first time. She slid a protective arm about Bea’s shoulders.

His red-rimmed eyes narrowed on Kate. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a daughter of mine would so disgrace the Lindsey name.”

Heat fisted Kate in the face. She’d been found out. Someone must have seen her kissing Mr. O’Rourke in the park and reported back. She’d thought they had Rotten Row to themselves, but apparently that was not the case. One of the “stragglers” must have watched them with an avid eye.

Out of the corner of her eye, she slid a look to her sister. Now which of them was the light skirt? What sort of example would her bad behavior set? Were it not for her father blocking the door, she would send Bea off beyond earshot.

“I’ve just come from White’s. There is quite a flurry about the betting book.”

White’s was a sore subject on any day. Even had the exclusive gentlemen’s club not presented yet another opportunity for her father to game, membership was a luxury they could ill afford. Ordinarily Kate would have seized on yet another opportunity to make that point, but the ferocity in his gaze had her holding her tongue.

“Apparently a certain Scotsman by the surname of O’Rourke wagered Lord Dutton and several other gentlemen a thousand pounds that he could seduce you into forgetting yourself and submitting to a public embrace. The conditions of the wager gave him five days to do so, but it seems he required but two.”

To be the subject of a wager, and one inscribed in the betting book of White’s, was beyond humiliating. Horrified, Kate dropped her arm and moved away from her sister.

My actions today may not have been honorable, Kate, but my intentions are. I meant what I said before. I want you for my wife.

His show of earnestness had moved her. She’d been halfway to believing he might actually care something for her beyond the challenge of bringing her to heel. But now she saw him for what he was: a heartless manipulator, a devious seducer.

Bea lightly touched her sleeve. “Are you all right, Kate? Can I bring you some tea?”

Her father answered for her. “Tea will not repair your sister’s soiled reputation.” Shifting his gaze back to Kate, he said, “If you care nothing for your own good name, only think of how this will reflect upon your sister. What chance will she have at making a decent match with a spinster sister who goes about kissing strange men in public parks?”

She opened her mouth to point out that, thanks to him, there were as yet insufficient funds for Bea’s come-out, but glancing sideways at her baby sister’s fresh face and guileless eyes, she held her tongue. Instead, she said, “He’s not a stranger. We met at the other night’s ball.”

“And so, of course, you let him take you riding without a chaperone.”

Kate slid a hand into her hair where a headache thrummed. She shook her head. “We will speak of this later. Please leave me.”

Lord Lindsey let out a huff. “I am master here, and your father. We’ll speak of this when I say, and I say now.”

Too numb to fear him, Kate looked up and speared him with a steady look. “I will not have this discussion with you when you have been drinking. Kissing Mr. O’Rourke puts me beyond the pale, to be sure, but if anyone has disgraced our family name over the years, it is you, Father.”

“You are obviously overwrought.” He hesitated and then backed away. “I will leave you to think on your folly.”

Bea scarcely waited until the door was drawn. She turned to Kate and took jiggling hold of her arm. “Did you really do it, Kat? Did you really kiss him?”

Miserable, Kate shrugged free. Subsiding onto the bed, she clapped a hand over her eyes and nodded.

“Well?”

Eyes squeezed shut, she said, “Well, what?”

“What was it like? I mean, was it… nice?”

Kate opened her eyes and peered up at her sister through tented fingers. “It was all right, I suppose. Oh, I don’t know, I scarcely remember.”

Liar, liar, pants afire…

“Are you going to kiss him again?”

“No!” Not a lie that time, but a sacred promise. “Oh, do stop badgering me and go to your room. Better yet, why don’t
you
bestir yourself for once and see if Hattie needs help with the supper?”

“But—”

“No buts. Off with you.”

Bottom lip sticking out like a spout, Bea rose and shambled over to the door. Reaching it, she turned back inside. “Wager or no, I think it’s grand you kissed Mr. O’Rourke. I mean, you are coming up on seven-and-twenty. This may be your last chance.”

That sealed it. Kate dropped her hands to her lap. “Go!”

Alone at last, Kate moved to the velvet-covered chair by the window. The view overlooked the walled garden, and though there wasn’t much in bloom in winter, at least the boxwoods stayed green year-round. The topiary wanted for trimming and the statues badly needed hosing down, but still it was a pretty scene. An oyster-shell path led to the gazebo at the very back. The thatched roof showed signs of rotting. Several boards needed to be replaced, if not the entire roof. Small acts of maintenance and repair, and yet all cost money.

The subject of money had her thoughts winding back to Mr. O’Rourke. She had her answer now. He hadn’t pursued her for money or sex, but for sport. He’d made sport of her! It was not to be borne. She would not bear it. In kissing her on a wager, a very public wager, he’d struck at her most sensitive spot—her womanly pride. Sitting there staring outside, she felt her heart hardening into something approximating genuine hatred.

The present situation called for “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” if ever there was one. Staring out into the garden, a plan began taking shape in her mind. At first it struck her as incredulous, but the more she considered it, the more certain she became that it just might work.

According to the Bible, pride went before a fall. Well, she would contrive a scheme to deal Mr. O’Rourke’s pride such a mighty blow that the Scot took a fall worthy of Humpty Dumpty. Like the nursery-rhyme character, once Rourke fell off that wall, there would be no chance of cobbling together the shattered bits.

One Week Later

our invitation to tea came as a rare surprise.”

Ensconced in the wing chair across from her, Rourke, as Kate was coming to think of him, leaned over to take the cup and saucer she held out. The bone china looked impossibly small and fragile in his big hands. Remembering how gentle yet skillful at giving pleasure those hands could be, Kate felt shame shoot into her cheeks.

“A welcome one, I hope.” She leaned over the tea table and stirred a third lump of sugar into her own steaming cup. Perhaps it was the bitter taste of humiliation from which she still suffered, but she couldn’t seem to get the brew sweet enough.

“Aye, most welcome. When you didn’t return my messages, I thought you must be avoiding me.”

He had one leg thrown over the other in a manner in which no born gentleman would ever think to sit. The pose stretched his trousers taut over the cast-over leg, displaying its muscled breadth. Recalling the thrilling feel of being hauled up hard against his rock-solid thighs, Kate drew in a shaky breath. Even in the throes of conspiring to send him to rack and ruin, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from turning back to that astonishing kiss.

Focus, Kate, focus.

“Not at all.” Kate reached for her slice of seed cake and broke off a small piece, not because she was hungry, but because now that she’d poured out the tea, it was something to do. “I have been busy with my volunteer work, and, of course, my sister has a come-out soon.”

It had taken a full seven days to coordinate all the details of her scheme. So far her plan was playing out perfectly. Even better, he appeared to have no notion that she knew of his disgusting wager. Only why must he look so heart-stoppingly handsome? Was that the devil’s way of tempting her, she wondered. His tweed jacket, silk-striped vest, and gray flannel trousers showed off his muscular form to advantage. A cravat pin set with a good-sized emerald brought out the deep green of his eyes. She’d hoped that upon seeing him again, the flame she’d felt before would have fizzled, or better yet, died and been replaced by disgust, but such was not the case. She was still powerfully attracted to him, more attracted than ever, and as much as she hated him for that, she hated herself more.

“I’ve missed you, Kate. Your photograph, though a fair-enough likeness, makes for a poor companion.” From the window seat, their “chaperone,” Bea, let out a soft snort. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts all week. You are even lovelier than I remember.”

He ran an appreciative eye over her, and she fancied she did look rather fine. She wore her hair pinned up into a chignon in the French fashion. She’d deliberately left a few curls loose to brush her throat. Likewise, her rosewater-silk tea gown was a deliberate choice. The elbow-length leg-of-mutton sleeves showed off her slender forearms to advantage, and the low V-neckline and fitted basque waist made the most of her petite figure. It was like dressing for a play and setting the stage, though whether the outcome of her afternoon’s labor turned out to be a tragedy or a comedy depended upon where one sat—literally.

She affected a shrug. “I have been thinking of you, as well, most especially what you said when we last parted.”

His face fell. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “If it was about the hotel, I’d hoped you would have forgiven me that ere now.”

“Oh, that. Consider it water under the bridge. I do.” Kate dismissed the subject of her near ruin with a flick of her hand.

Looking relieved, he settled back in his seat. “In that case, what is on your mind, lovely?”

That was Kate’s cue to lean forward. She set her plate aside and concentrated on affecting the earnest expression she’d been practicing in the mirror for a week now. “Were you serious about marrying me, or was that only foolish wooing talk?”

Expression sobering, he shook his head. “Nay, I meant every word, Kate. I want you for my bride. Why do you ask?”

“Because I have been doing a great deal of thinking this past week, and I find my position on marriage has altered—considerably.” She punctuated the latter with a fluttering of lashes and a simpering smile.

“You have?” He set his teacup and saucer on the marble-topped table by his elbow and leaned in. “Is that true, Kate?”

She answered with a bright-eyed bob, or so she hoped. Like the teapot, she felt steam rising from her head. “It is said to be a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, especially where matters of the heart are concerned, and I have done just that.”

A broad smile broke over his face. “In that case, milady, I can have a special license warming my pocket within a few days.”

“A special license!” Kate nearly dropped the plate she was holding. Good Lord, but he must be eager.