Page 34 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke (The Marlow Family Secrets #6)

John was bored in town, despite being busy, and the issue with Wareham still irritated him. No new evidence had come to light and Wareham had left Ashford within hours of John. It seemed not only was Wareham being followed, he was following John.

John had former soldiers on Wareham’s heels now, employed via Mr Harvey, because he feared Wareham might be more dangerous than anticipated.

The man had made no further blackmail threats, though, not yet.

But why would Wareham publish whatever secret he held?

The instant he did, it would lose its value. It was only valuable unsaid.

He had rented rooms in the Oxford Hotel in Park Lane. No doubt spending John’s stolen inheritance. John was impatient to trap him, yet he wanted to trace the invisible account before he confronted Wareham.

There was another thing John was impatient for; he did not care about the blackmail, but he wanted to know the secret Wareham knew. Harvey had sent scouts out to trace John’s mother’s absent history.

But while he waited for news, his thoughts continually turned to Katherine.

She haunted his waking and his sleeping thoughts.

He could concentrate on nothing but her.

She was always in his mind. She would not be forgotten.

Often, even at the oddest moments, when he was speaking in the House of Lords, dining with his peers at White’s, or attending some formal dinner or dance, she would spring into his thoughts.

A single image or a sudden memory; Kate smiling or dancing at her sister’s assembly; her touch on him; the sound of her voice; her sigh of impatience or her cry of pleasure – her eyes.

At night in bed, he could feel her, visualise her. He would relive every moment of the night they had spent together. He wanted and needed Katherine Spencer with a physical and mental obsession that dulled his appetite and gave him sleepless nights.

But with their impasse it was impossible. He had to conquer this craving. Yet that was easier said than done. He felt empty without her, hollow, it was as though she had taken something from him, and it hurt like hell.

I miss her . He was standing at the edge of Lady De Clare’s long ballroom, watching the dancers, without watching them at all. His world seemed so damned meaningless and empty without Katherine in it.

‘The Duke of Pembroke, how novel…’

The feminine purr had John’s head turning in recognition.

He had not noticed Lady Ponsonby was here. If he had, he would have left.

He could of course cut her but the woman’s hand intimately touched his arm before he had the chance. His muscle clenched in revulsion but he refused to show her any weakness.

‘You are back. It has been a long time since I saw you.’

Not long enough.

The contrast between this woman and Katherine could not be vaster.

Lady Elizabeth Ponsonby was brash, ribald and risqué.

She’d coaxed numerous men into cuckolding Lord Ponsonby, and regrettably John was among them.

He had fallen hard for her in Paris. Thinking himself in love.

She had taken his innocence, then discarded him and hurt him irreparably, with her cold-blooded nature and shallow affection.

One night, he had found another man with her. They had laughed in his face.

To his shame, during the brief affair John had never thought of her husband. He had been drawn into the web of her world and been fighting to escape it ever since.

Her fingers brushed his shaven cheek. He pulled his head back.

‘You are testy, John.’

‘I am not testy, Elizabeth. I simply have no desire for your company. Is your husband here?’ He looked across her shoulder, searching the gathering.

‘He is here but as you know it hardly matters.’

He remembered that. Ponsonby had his heirs so he turned a blind eye, as did most of society.

These intrigues were rife. Elizabeth was no exception, and since she had opened his eyes he had never been able not to see.

For a while he had lived that debauched life abroad, playing their games until he had woken up and been disgusted by what he had become.

Elizabeth’s touch made him feel unclean, but he did not shake her off. They were being observed by speculating eyes about the room.

He had been stupidly na?ve and indiscreet in his youth and stories had spread, not widely, but there were those in the room who knew of their past.

‘You have matured, John. Dukedom suits you. You have a cut-throat edge.’ Laughing, she leaned closer. ‘It is quite alluring.’

‘I am not interested, Elizabeth.’ He unwrapped her fingers from his arm.

‘You do not convince me, John. They say love never dies. You must still carry a small flame for me.’ She was laughing at him, he knew, and her fingers just clasped lower down his arm.

‘My infatuation with you was the error of youth. I see nothing of interest in you now. In fact I find you revolting. So pray, go away.’ His tone was pure hatred and perhaps it finally convinced her because her hand fell away and a flicker of shock crossed her face.

But with the skill of people of his class, she swiftly repaired her social mask and smiled. Then shook her head and turned away.

He had probably never even been attracted to her, just flattered by her ardent attentions and at an impressionable age. He wished it was a mistake he could undo.

As she walked away John’s mind turned back to Katherine and he remembered her saying she had watched him swimming in the lake before he had travelled to France. While he had been trapped in Elizabeth’s net there had been a woman at home of much greater worth who had genuinely loved him.

If only he had known then.

For the first time he found a new truth in his thoughts. It came to him with blinding clarity. His susceptibility to Elizabeth stemmed from his upbringing. He had wanted to be special to someone. Even then, he had been searching for someone to fill a void inside him.

He had thought he had found that someone in Elizabeth. Then her betrayal had ripped open the wound his mother had cut long before.

Katherine had filled that void again. But the reminder of Elizabeth’s behaviour brought a sour taste to his mouth… Elizabeth had broken his trust; he had broken Katherine’s. He had taken her into his bed and left her behind, unloved. Just as Elizabeth had done to him.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

He left the ball.

At home, if one could call the giant opulent villa in St James home, John sat at the desk in the library, holding a quill. Ink dripped onto a blank page. No words would come.

He understood himself completely now. He longed for affection, for someone he would be upmost to. Elizabeth had destroyed that hope and Katherine had revived it. He was beginning to think he felt love, despite the scorched ground of his barren soul.

The quill’s tip touched the paper and words flowed from his thoughts onto the page.

Katherine,

I cannot say too much in writing. I know you must be cursing my name, but I wanted you to know how I feel. That I feel. I have not stopped thinking of you. I cannot forget you. I am sorry things must be as they are. If it could be any other way, I would make it so.

You mean much to me, I will not forget you. I treasure the memories of us.

Do not hate me, Katherine. Love me still. Please. If I know that you do I will always be able to feel you with me.

Yours completely, forever.

J

He applied the blotter to dry the ink, then folded the letter and used a blank seal, before addressing it. He would post it in the common mail to further hide its origin.