Page 17 of A Duke By Any Other Name
E dmund knew the moment Kitty realized what was happening. Her body went from stiff to absolutely rigid.
“Kitty, let me explain—” he began. This wasn’t how he’d wanted things to go. He’d wanted to get on one knee and beg her to be his wife. He’d wanted to remind her of all the things they had in common—love of the countryside, the music of Schubert, eating berries until their fingers were purple. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, but it had seemed the only way to capture her attention. She’d been so agitated when he arrived.
Oh, who was he trying to convince? He’d kissed her because he couldn’t resist. He’d not forgotten how beautiful she was, but his memory was nothing compared to the reality of seeing her in the flesh. He was a tall man, three inches over six feet, and she was a woman just a few inches shy of six feet. He liked her height, how she didn’t make him feel like a giant. He remembered her always wearing her honey-blonde hair in a severe knot at the nape of her neck, but when he stepped into the drawing room, it had come loose and swirled about her as though it had a life of its own. Her ice-blue eyes had warmed when she saw him, and his body had reacted instantly.
He’d wanted to kiss her until her eyes were dark with passion and her pale lips red as cherries. He’d made the mistake of pulling her into his lap, and he’d lost his senses altogether. How could he not when her soft, generous bottom rested on his knees, his hand caressed the curve of her hip, and her generous bosom was soft against his chest?
Then, when he had kissed her, all his plans had scattered like seeds in the wind. Her lips were so soft, her tongue so eager, her body warm and inviting. He wanted to pull her down and under him, sink into her, and love her until they were both sated.
He looked at her now, saw the way the color flooded her face, and knew he was in trouble. They were all in trouble.
“What did you call me?” she said, voice deceptively calm but her sharp tone cutting through the congratulatory cheers.
“Er—” The man who had referred to her as a shrew took a precautionary step back.
“Now, Kitty,” the viscount began.
“And you, Papa! How dare you announce my betrothal without even asking me if I wish to marry this man? I am not a stag to be hunted. You are all cheering as though he”—here she gestured to Edmund—“shot me between the eyes. Well, I’m still standing!”
“Kitty, might we speak about this in private?” Edmund said, holding a hand out and wishing she would glance at him. If he could just catch her eyes, perhaps he could give her a look that would remind her of their kiss. He could speak to her alone, do things the right way.
“And you !”
Or perhaps not.
“I trusted you.” Her eyes filled with betrayal, and Edmund shook his head.
“Kitty, please.”
But she wasn’t listening. She reached for the nearest object, which was a book, and hurled it at his head. Edmund ducked, and the book flew across the room and smashed into a figurine of a shepherdess. Shards of pottery exploded, and several of the men screamed and ran. Kitty stomped out of the room, calling out insults to the suitors fleeing her wrath. Finally, the front door slammed, and then what Edmund assumed was the door to her chamber banged and the house was thrust into silence.
The clock perched precariously on the mantel ticked loudly. The viscount moved across the room, righted the clock, then lifted two glasses from the drinks cart. “Well, at least she didn’t smash the brandy,” he said. “Drink?”
“Please,” Edmund said.
The viscount poured two generous glasses, handed one to Edmund, and drank the other in one long swallow. He poured himself another. “She has her mother’s temper, you know.”
Edmund did remember Lady Featherswallow’s temper. Once a group of them had brought a dog into Godwin Priory and attempted to give the muddy creature a bath. All they’d done was track water and mud throughout the house. Lady Featherswallow had scolded them so harshly that Edmund thought he might have preferred the lash. He and his siblings had slunk back home. The next time they saw the viscountess, she’d been all smiles and given them small cakes with tea. She angered quickly and forgave just as quickly too. He could only hope Kitty forgave as easily.
“It’s my fault,” he said to the viscount after taking a sip of brandy. “I hadn’t asked her to be my wife quite yet.”
“Oh dear. I was too hasty in my return to the house. Everything was so quiet suddenly.”
Edmund wasn’t about to explain the reason for the silence. “We started talking of what we remembered from our childhood, and I didn’t have the opportunity to mention matrimony.”
“I fear I’ve ruined your chances now.” The viscount looked so despondent that Edmund put a hand on his shoulder.
“Rubbish. I won’t give up so easily.”
The viscount looked up. “You won’t?”
“You think a little temper scares me? I love Kitty, my lord. I will not be swayed by harsh words.”
“What about objects flung at your head?”
“I’ll just have to catch them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my lodgings and reconsider my strategy.”
Edmund took his leave and made his way to his hotel, where he bathed and changed and then walked to Covent Garden and stepped inside Brown’s Coffee Shop. The establishment was the same as the last time he’d been here, more than six months ago. Heavy wooden tables and heavy conversation took up most of the space and the air in the building. Outside the sun shone intermittently through the clouds, but inside it was perpetually dark. Kenneth sat at the same table where Edmund had met him last year, surrounded by the same friends, possibly wearing the same clothes.
Though he hadn’t written ahead, Kenneth saw him immediately. “Brother!” He stood, crossed the shop, and embraced Edmund. Edmund embraced him back, noting that though his younger sibling was no taller, his shoulders were broader, and he had a shadow of a beard. “Come sit,” Kenneth said, leading Edmund to the table he shared with two other boy-men who looked barely out of leading strings. He called the pretty serving girl over and ordered more coffee, then introduced his friends.
Edmund bowed, then dismissed the men from his thoughts. Kenneth had a talent for making friends. He had many, and Edmund rarely met the same one twice.
“What brings you to Town?” Kenneth asked. “Don’t tell me Papa has charged you with trying to convince me to join the navy again. Or is it the army this time?”
“Papa did not send me, though he and Mama do send their regards. I fear they’ve quite given up trying to steer your future.”
“Excellent, as I am the captain of my own ship.” A light came into his eyes, and he reached for a piece of parchment and a quill lying on the table. “I may be able to use that.” He scribbled something on the paper while Edmund took the coffee from the serving girl and waited.
Finally, Kenneth looked up. “I must work when my muse appears. She is fleeting of late.”
“The writing is not going well?” Edmund asked.
Kenneth shrugged and drank his own coffee. “Some days are good, others less so. I did have a poem published in Grantham’s Repository of Poetry and Prose . Did you see it?”
As Edmund had never even heard of Grantham’s Repository of Poetry and Prose and certainly didn’t subscribe to the magazine, he shook his head. “That’s wonderful news. If you have a spare copy, I will bring it home to share with Mama and Papa.”
Kenneth nodded. “If you aren’t here to goad me into military service, why are you here?”
“Matrimony.”
The shocked look on Kenneth’s face would have been comical if Edmund hadn’t been expecting such a reaction. At the mention of marriage, Kenneth’s friends excused themselves and fled. Apparently, the very idea of matrimony was enough to scare them away. Edmund supposed he had been the same at one and twenty.
“You are here for the Season?” Kenneth asked.
“Not exactly. I have a particular lady in mind. I wish to woo her and wed her.”
“Who is this fortunate miss?” Kenneth took a sip of coffee, his gaze fixed on Edmund.
“Kitty Featherswallow.”
Kenneth choked and began to cough. His pale face went quite red, and Edmund had to stand and pound him on the back. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Kenneth waved his hands. “I’m sorry. I thought you said Kitty Featherswallow.”
“I did.”
Kenneth began coughing again, even though he hadn’t sipped any more coffee.
“This seems a bit of an overreaction, Kenneth.”
“I do apologize, but you are my only brother, and I’m not ready to lose you so soon.”
Edmund frowned. “She’s not that bad.”
“Oh, she’s worse. She’s not the girl you and I grew up with, Edmund, although I was dreadfully terrified of her when I was a child too. Her temper is the stuff of legends.”
“I witnessed it earlier today when I called on her and her father.”
“You called on her?” Kenneth looked at Edmund closely. “And you left in one piece?”
“Save these quips for your next play. I mean to marry her.”
“ Why? Oh, God. Has Papa taken up gambling and lost everything in a game of whist? Are we desperate for money?”
“Not at all. I’m not after her dowry, though I wouldn’t turn it away.”
“Neither would I, but even a fortune like that isn’t worth your life. Marry Bianca if you’re keen on that family.”
Edmund shook his head. “She’s like Mary or Rose to me, a little sister. While Kitty…”
“Dear God. You love Kitty, don’t you? Poor chap. We should adjourn to an establishment where they serve something stronger than coffee.”
“The viscount already gave me brandy. I don’t need a drink. I need your connections. If I’m to woo Kitty—stop laughing, Kenneth—I need to approach her away from her own territory. She’s too dug in at her townhouse, too defensive, and too quick to retreat to her bedchamber when things don’t go her way. But she can’t run away so easily at the theater or a garden party.”
“What you want is a ball,” Kenneth said. “Dance with her, sweep her off her feet.”
“Excellent idea. I need you to find out which she will attend.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult, as most of the sane men I know avoid her at all costs. Wouldn’t it be easier to ask her father for a copy of her social calendar? Surely he supports your suit.”
Edmund shook his head. “I don’t want either of them to expect me. I need the element of surprise.”
“You’ll need much more to win over a hellcat like that. But if Kitty is what you desire, I can certainly ascertain where the tiger is expected to prowl. Where are you staying? The Clarendon?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send a list as soon as I have it. Just promise me one thing.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t invite me to the wedding.”
*
Kitty stared out of her bedchamber window and sighed. As usual, the day had begun with a muster of peacocks come to call on her. Terrorizing them had not been quite as enjoyable as usual, however. She hadn’t wanted to admit that she had been looking for Edmund to make an appearance during her at-home hours, but when he had not deigned to call on her, she was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she was disappointed. She’d thought he was made of stronger stuff. She’d thought he wouldn’t be so easily scared away.
She’d wanted to kiss him again—not that she could do that with all the peacocks pecking around her. Still, she imagined him banishing all the preening poets, sweeping her into his arms, and kissing her senseless.
Ridiculous. No man would ever treat her like a flesh-and-blood woman. Men only wanted one thing from her—her dowry. And no man but Edmund had ever made her feel like she was more than the pile of blunt that came with her marriage contract. She hadn’t thought he was afraid of her, though she had tested him much as she tested all her suitors. He was the first man who hadn’t run away or cowered in fear. He was the first man in a long time who had been brave enough to kiss her.
But he hadn’t come to see her today. He hadn’t even sent a note or his card. She’d been staring out of her window for hours, hoping to see a hackney arrive, but dozens had passed and not even one stopped at her townhouse.
Kitty pushed away from the window. This was why she didn’t allow herself to read lurid romances like her sister Bianca. No knight on a white steed would come to rescue her. That only happened in books and to women like Bianca. Edmund was probably on his way back to Hampshire by now. That or he had found some other woman to court—some petite, pretty woman who smiled and fluttered her lashes and told him how big and strong and handsome he was.
Kitty threw herself on her bed and blinked away the tears stinging behind her eyes. A sound downstairs made her bolt up again and run to the window. She hated herself for the way her heart pounded in her chest with hope. That hope was soon dashed again when she saw the sound had only been a delivery boy knocking on the door. She thought about opening the window and scolding the boy for not going to the back door, but she couldn’t summon the strength.
She flopped back on her bed only to sit up again when her maid opened the door. “This came for you, miss,” Brewton said.
Kitty stared at the basket in Brewton’s arms. The basket was a common woven sort, but it had a checked cloth over the top, concealing the contents. She waved it away. “You may put it with the rest of the gifts,” she said. The peacocks were always sending her gifts.
“Yes, miss. I thought you might want to see this one.”
“Why?”
“The card says it’s from Mr. Peters.”
Kitty leapt off the bed and snatched the paper from Brewton’s hand. The card, which was definitely written in Edmund’s hand, read:
For Kitty—
the apple of my eye,
sweet to the core.
E
Kitty swept the cloth off the basket and gasped at the dozen gleaming red apples artfully arranged in the basket.
“No wonder this was so heavy,” Brewton said. “Those apples are enormous.”
They were, Kitty must admit, very fine apples—exceptionally large, red, and lovely. Of course, all of that would have meant nothing if Kitty had not cared for apples. But Edmund knew—he remembered—that she loved apples. She absolutely adored apples, apple cider, apple tart, apple sauce. This basket of apples meant more to her than all the vases of hothouse flowers crowding the dining room and drawing rooms below.
She plucked one from the tower. “You may bring this to the kitchens, Brewton. Perhaps Cook can make a tart or a pie.”
“Yes, miss.”
When Brewton had gone, Kitty unfolded the note again. “Sweet to the core.” She sniffed. She was not sweet at all—at least not in public. Was it possible Edmund saw beneath her coarse exterior to the soft parts underneath?
She bit into the apple, tasting the sweet and slightly tart burst of flavor. What game was Edmund playing? And how would she keep him from capturing her heart?