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

Katherine gave Mary a grateful smile, then looked at Eleanor and Margaret, who stepped forward. ‘You are both married. I saw the announcements. Are you happy?’ It was probably an impertinent question but she could think of nothing else to say.

They looked at one another, smiled, then they looked beyond Katherine, and Eleanor pointed. ‘They are together, across the room, there,’ Eleanor said. The smile in her eyes said she was happy.

Katherine looked across her shoulder.

‘Harry is the blonde-haired gentleman, my dashing heir to an Earl,’ Eleanor stated. ‘Is he not handsome? And Margaret’s husband, George, is the brown-haired man. He is a little older than Harry?—’

‘But distinguished, don’t you think?’ Margaret interjected. ‘It is lovely to see you,’ she said as Kathrine looked back at them.

Margaret hugged her, but with more restraint than Mary.

Then Eleanor hugged Katherine. ‘It is wonderful to see you. What do you think of our husbands?’ Her fingers touched Katherine’s arm.

‘They are both exceedingly handsome.’

‘We know.’ Eleanor laughed. ‘We will introduce you later. Oh, I cannot believe you are here. Now tell us what you have been up to?’

‘Nothing exciting.’

‘She is being modest,’ Phillip cut in. ‘She will not sing her own praises. Kate has set up a Sunday school at home, for the local children who can neither read nor write.’

It was hardly comparable. They would not be interested. These were glamorous women who fitted in here. Katherine did not.

‘I always said you were too virtuous. You are a saint, Kate,’ Eleanor stated.

Katherine felt her colour rise. ‘Hardly.’ She was false and fragile, and hiding it.

‘Phillip is right.’ Margaret smiled. ‘You should not feel embarrassed to admit good deeds.’

But Katherine did feel embarrassed. ‘Well, I have good reason to give something back, do I not?’ They all, possibly bar Mary, knew of her birth, but perhaps her tone had been a little too blunt, because the conversation dried.

Phillip’s arm came about her, his hand rested on Katherine’s waist and his fingers gently pulled her closer for a moment, then he let her go. No one broached the subject of her birth.

‘I teach the children because I enjoy it,’ she said to clear the air.

‘That is true,’ Phillip stated. ‘And they adore her, every last one of them.’

The conversation slipped into questions and answers as they caught up on the missed years of each other’s lives.

* * *

When John entered the state drawing room he felt exhausted.

The days since his grandfather’s death had slipped past in a whirl of activity.

First there had been the wider family to inform and the state acknowledgements to manage, then the funeral to prepare, and on top of it all getting to grips with all his grandfather’s business affairs.

The mantel of a dukedom was lying heavy on his shoulders.

He sighed.

Richard had said several times this demanding way of life would feel normal eventually.

John could not imagine it. Even though the house was straining at the seams with people today, he felt as isolated as he had been in Egypt, and incapable of relaxing.

That was not due to the responsibility though, it was just who he was – like a partridge among peacocks.

He had returned to a world of farce. John doubted anyone in the room had really cared for the old duke. At least in Egypt people, his life, had contained no deceit.

A glass of red wine balanced in one hand, the stem dangling between his fingers, John joined another group of guests, acknowledging their presence, fulfilling his duty. But as he spoke he watched them, wondering why they were here, trusting no one.

He sighed out his breath, this was his life now, duty and falsehood.

He missed Egypt – the adventure, peace and simplicity.

He was already bored of people’s endless supplication.

He could see beyond their spoken regrets, kind wishes and promises of prayers, they all wanted something from him, either his wealth or his power.

His grandfather had warned of this.

Now, John was seeking his family to escape it for a little while, particularly looking for Mary. He knew his vibrant sister would bring him back from the cold darkness engulfing him.

He had passed his mother and Edward in the hall, conversing with Richard and Penny, they had directed him here.

His gaze swept about the room, then stopped, not on Mary but on a young woman standing amid his family – a blonde beacon of light among his dark-haired black-clad cousins.

She wore a pale mauve dress, and her golden hair was styled in a simple chignon.

She had the look of an ancient goddess from this angle, with her head slightly turned away from him.

Lust gripped hard and firm in his stomach, an intense physical attraction. He had never experienced anything so instant before. But it was years since he had bedded a woman – far too long.

Her figure was a sublime balance of curves and narrow waist. Her spine had a beautiful arch as it curved into the point where her dress opened onto a full skirt.

She was speaking with animation, her hands moving.

He moved closer and as if she sensed his gaze the stranger turned and looked at him.

A lightning need struck his groin, a sharp sudden pain.

She was an English rose among orchids, the sort of woman he had seen nothing of abroad.

Her skin was pale, and slightly freckled, with roses blooming in her cheeks, and her eyes were a vivid beautiful blue, like the bluebells which bloomed in spring in the woods at Pembroke Place.

His attention wholly captured, he felt desire slip into his blood as his groin grew heavy with hunger.

He supposed this was a consequence of abstinence. He had never had a fancy for fair, fay women before. He had a fancy for this fair, fay woman.

She did not look the sort for a fling though, certainly not the she-wolf type who stalked the foreign fields. His mind began rattling through his guest list, but no name fit her, and her clothing did not speak of affluence. Who was she?

He smiled as he walked nearer, then realised he was staring and shifted his gaze to the others in the group. It was then he noticed Phillip. My God. The sight of his former friend dragged him back through the years to happier memories.

‘Your Grace.’ Phillip smiled and nodded.

‘Phillip.’ John hoped Phillip had not come here with a selfish motive. John was in no mood to hear oily grovelling from a friend. His heart thumped in cold anger, not gladness. Then he looked at the blonde beauty and his breath caught as recognition whispered in his head. Kate .

Her wide, bright gaze soaked him up, then her eyelids blinked subconsciously as the soft warmth in her cheeks became blooming roses of a strong pink colour.

Katherine Spencer, Phillip’s shy little sister, full grown. She had blossomed . John’s heartbeat stuttered; coveting Phillip’s little sister was not a good thing.

John gritted his back teeth, forced a smile and lifted his hand to shake Phillip’s as he tried to remember how old she would be now. She must be married. Shame .

Or perhaps it was better she was, maybe she had tired of her husband already and would be tempted by a little dalliance. ‘I did not expect to see you here,’ John said to Phillip.

‘We have come to express our condolences, Your Grace.’

John shrugged. Phillip knew the true nature of John’s volatile relationship with his grandfather, there was hardly any point in pretending to be sad. But the word ‘our’ gave John the opportunity to turn to Katherine.

A sharp, sweet pain pierced his chest when he saw those vivid blue eyes up close. Her turquoise gaze was framed by pale brown lashes. Her beauty was delicate – subtle. He was unused to that, compared to his family.

He had an urge to touch her face. He did not, of course, but he did take her hand and lift it to his lips as she dropped a low curtsy.

Her kid leather gloves were warm from the heat of her skin beneath.

He brushed a finger across her wrist that was scented with rose water and felt her shiver.

She was blushing deeply when she straightened up.

When had he last known a woman who could blush?

‘Your Grace.’

‘Katherine.’ He’d more often called her Kate when they’d been young but Katherine seemed to suit her so much more now. ‘You look well.’ Her husband, whoever he was, was a lucky man. John doubted she was the sort to stray. A pity.

With a gentle tug she pulled her fingers free of his.

‘H… how are you?’ she stuttered, her gaze descending to his cravat pin.

‘Well enough.’ He could not take his eyes off her and it clearly made her feel uncomfortable. ‘A little dumbfounded by the speed of things, I suppose. I only returned to England a fortnight ago, and my grandfather died that night.’

Her gaze lifted momentarily and compassion burned there before her eyes lowered again. ‘I’m sorry, Your Grace.’

‘Don’t be, he was old, he had to die eventually and I doubt he shall be much missed.’

‘Here, here,’ Eleanor stated. ‘He was a bully, Mama always says so and John shall make a far better Duke.’

‘Tell me what you have been up to,’ John said, only wishing to know if Katherine was wed, but he threw a look at Phillip, extending the question to hide his interest.

‘Studying,’ Phillip answered. ‘I am a qualified barrister now.’

‘Congratulations.’ This must be Phillip’s reason for attending, to use their old friendship to increase his clientele. Everyone here had a reason. God, I have become a cynic. He was so well trained to play ducal host, though, it was instinctual to reply with exactly the right intonation.

‘My firm is Boscombe and Parkin.’

And you hope I will use them so you progress… Aloud John said, ‘Parkin? I have heard of them.’