Page 55 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke (The Marlow Family Secrets #6)

John returned home early that evening. He had spent an hour or two with Harvey going over business and discovering how things stood with Wareham, which was no farther forward, other than an ominous report that the man had been seen back in town.

John had eaten at White’s and after that met his Uncle Robert.

They had shared a couple of hours in congenial conversation with fellow members of Parliament and discussed the progress of their private business venture.

Finally John had sought out Phillip and apologised again, achieving a tenuous peace with his new brother-in-law. Then he had encouraged Phillip to accept the role with Harvey and invited Phillip to dine.

They arrived together.

Finch took their hats, gloves and outdoor coats.

‘Have there been many callers?’ John asked. He felt a measure of guilt sweep in, guilt he had been determinedly ignoring all day. He had left Katherine and his mother to deal with the matrons of society. His mother was capable of course, but Katherine…

Phillip was John’s peace offering and his shield.

‘The last caller left half an hour ago, Your Grace, and yes, there have been many.’

‘And my family?’

‘In the drawing room upstairs, Your Grace.’

John threw a look at Phillip which said, follow , and headed upstairs.

His heart was thumping. He had not realised until this morning just how much he cared what Katherine thought.

But her judging him poorly over Wareham had hurt.

Yet he had no intention of explaining, let her think what she wished, he was not bringing anything from his official life into his bed; they were different lives.

She had called him John Harding this morning.

He wished to just be John Harding with her.

God , he wished to laugh at himself. He was such a bloody fraud. Here he was, pretending he could manage an empire of land and people and businesses when the thought of a scrawling infant, his own, sent him running a mile.

He heard his mother’s voice, and Mary’s, and some of the children’s. His heart pumped harder. He did not hear Katherine’s. He longed to hear it. He had missed her today.

When they entered the room Mary was immediately on her feet, moving to greet Phillip. John’s mother looked up and smiled. Katherine was not there.

John’s gaze passed to his father who was seated in an armchair, a ledger on his lap as he spun a charcoal pencil in his fingers and followed the columns.

He looked up, acknowledged Phillip and John, then returned his attention to the page.

The boys were grouped about the table behind his father’s back, playing with an army of lead soldiers that had once been John’s.

The girls were all seated about his mother, as though they had been avidly listening to something she or Mary had been saying. The young ones were on their laps.

His gaze spun back to his mother.

‘Mama…’

She smiled, clearly understanding his unspoken question.

‘Katherine went to lie down. It has been a long afternoon. We have had numerous visitors and she has managed remarkably well. You should be very proud of her, John. I took her into town this morning too, we purchased the accessories and other items she needs. I think I have exhausted her.’

‘I will fetch her,’ he said, looking at Phillip, and then he immediately left the room.

He wondered how he would be received as he entered his chamber. She was not in his bed. Was that a statement of her feelings?

He did not find her on her bed either though. There was a maid there, busy putting the purchases into drawers and wardrobes. ‘Your Grace, Her Grace went down to the library.’

John thanked the maid and retraced his steps.

There was anxiety inside him but there was a sense of expectation too and hopefulness.

It was the strangest feeling to have someone he wished to come home to.

He remembered feeling so damned arid in the desert and now he felt an intense thirst to be with her.

The library door was ajar, but there was no sound from within as he crossed the marble floor.

He pushed the door open and closed it behind him, shutting out the world as it had been locked out last night.

All he saw of her was her slipper-clad feet swinging from the side of an armchair. Her slender ankles were crossed.

He felt an involuntary smile lift his lips and walked forward.

She was seated sideways, her knees draped over the arm of the chair with one of his sketchbooks spread open on her lap. She was so busy looking at the pictures she had not heard him come in. She turned a page, then must have sensed his presence and looked up.

His arms folded across his chest. ‘Katherine?’

She moved immediately, guiltily, snapping the book shut and rising impulsively. ‘Sorry, John, I know I should not be looking…’

He took the book from her hands. ‘You can look.’

‘I did not mean to pry. I came to find a book to take to my room and I noticed it lying on the shelf under your desk. When I saw it said Egypt I was… curious. Sorry.’

‘Curious about what?’ He laughed.

He had expected a tirade when he came home, anger or silence, because he had left her here all day without him. They had been married for two and a half days, and he had failed her four times. He felt disloyal, and unworthy of her.

She looked beautiful, dressed in sunny lemon yellow, her hair pinned in a tidy chignon, leaving only a few soft curls to frame her face.

But she also looked thin and frail. She had lost weight since the summer.

He had noticed it last night. But she had spent three months without him, frightened and sick, while he had sent her pleading letters imploring her to love him.

He was an ass, while she… She was an angel.

‘How you lived? What you did out there? What you saw?’

‘And what has the sketchbook told you?’

‘That it is a barren but beautiful place.’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Did you draw them?’

‘Yes.’

‘I did not know you could draw like this.’

He did not know what to say as her eyes held his gaze. He had spent his childhood learning to excel at everything, trying to please his grandfather.

She lifted the book out of his hands, placed it on his desk and opened it. She flicked through the pages, looking for something. She stopped on one he had drawn at Karnak. ‘I like this one,’ she said. ‘Who is the man?’

He had drawn Yassah in beside a huge statue, to display the size of it. Seeing the image took him back to that day, the dry heat of the desert and the relief of this area along the Nile, the sounds of local children playing and his men working.

John wished she could see his memories. He walked over, looked over her shoulder and braced his hand at her waist. ‘It is Yassah. He was a friend out there. I employed him, but we worked together and we had the same way of thinking. The same things excited us. He is still working out there for me. I have been paying for him to continue seeking new tombs. He writes intermittently and tells me what he has found.’

She looked at him but said nothing, then looked back at the book and flicked to the pages at the very back. Pages which had been empty when he had brought the book home.

‘Ah.’ These pages were now littered with small images of Katherine in various nude and semi-nude poses, mostly memories of their hours in the tower room.

‘Yes, ah…’ she said.

‘As I told you, I could not forget you.’

She turned around, braced his cheeks and drew his head down, then kissed him, gently.

Meeting his gaze, she said, ‘One day will you explain all your drawings to me?’

He felt a frown as confusion stirred. ‘Yes.’

‘I like the drawings you did of me, but put them somewhere safe, John.’

He took a deep breath and nodded, wondering what he had done to deserve this woman.

‘But no one touches anything on my desk, Katherine. No one would have seen them. Yet if you feel more comfortable I will keep them in my – in our – rooms.’ He bent to her ear.

‘I shall draw and paint you properly, a full nude image.’

‘No!’ She pulled away.

He laughed. ‘I will hide it away.’

‘No!’

‘We could put it in the tower at Pembroke Place and keep the door forever locked.’

She shook her head.

‘I will draw you, though. I will make a small portrait of you for myself, but I will let someone else paint you in a life-size pose and I will put it up in here and take him down.’ He looked up at the old man, at the painting he had still not got around to removing, and met the old duke’s imperious, judgemental stare.

The old man would have hated Katherine. If he were alive John would have been standing here receiving the biggest setting-down of his life. Well, his grandfather could go to hell.

He took her hand and remembered his peace offering – he had forgotten Phillip was waiting upstairs. ‘I will tell you about Egypt later. Your brother is here.’

‘Phillip?’

His smile twitched. ‘You only have one brother, as far as I recall. I asked him to dine with us. My mother said you did well today, she has declared you a success.’

‘What she means is I managed to resist the urge to insult the pompous women who called to pry and ogle me. Is that called success? Of course there is still tomorrow, and by then I may choose to throttle the lot of them instead.’

He laughed and finally found that apology ready on his tongue. ‘I am sorry I had to go this morning. I had a meeting with Mr Harvey and I?—’

Her fingers covered his lips. ‘Your mother helped me. I know you had to be elsewhere.’

‘Yes, but I am still sorry I could not be with you.’

‘I managed. Is Phillip upstairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘I will go up.’ Her hand slipped from his.

He did not follow as she left. He picked up the book and hid it, then returned to the drawing room.