Page 143 of Kathryn

Katie grunted out a yes.

He chuckled and slid in a bit more.

Who was this man who smiled and laughed?

He reached a hand beneath her and circled the source of her pleasure, his hips commencing to move. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the slow, deep plunge and the immensely stimulating friction.

His hips moved faster, and his finger kept time. She could feel by the increasing wildness of his thrusts that he was close.

He leaned low, until his muscular chest molded to her back and making her wish that her stays and chemise did not separate them.

“Are you close?” he whispered, his hips pumping so savagely that he pushed her up the mattress.

His question had scarcely left his lips when the spiral that had been building inside her snapped. He thrust only a few times more before he buried himself and they flew over the edge together.

Katie must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes, she saw the candles were no longer burning. She lifted her head, as if she could see anything in the pitch darkness. Gerrit’s chest was still pressed against her back, but now there was no clothing between them. He had undressed her, and she’d slept through it? Pity, that.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured, drawing her closer and pressing a kiss against the back of her head.

Her lips curled into a smile as her heavy lids lowered.

Katie was still smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Katie was aggrieved, but not surprised, when not long after Jasper’s visit to the dig she received another invitation from Lady Grimsby. This one for a picnic that would also double as a going-away party for her grandson.

That was certainly something Katie could celebrate.

The invitation had been hand-delivered after dinner, so naturally Gerrit was there when she opened it.

“Do I need to attend?” he asked, radiating preemptive displeasure at the prospect.

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” she said. Just thinking about Gerrit in the same vicinity as Jasper made her stomach roil. “But I shall have to make an appearance, although I shan’t stay long,” she added.

Gerrit had nodded with obvious reluctance and frowned with equally obvious displeasure.

Katie hadn’t been pleased about it, either.

Now, as Becky dressed and primped her for the wretched event, Katie wished she’d done the socially unthinkable thing and declined a second invitation from the countess.

“Are you sure about this?” Becky asked as she set Katie’s sage-green hat on her head and stood back to examine the placement.

“What possible excuse could I give for not going at this point?” Katie asked, pulling on her sage-green kid gloves. “Besides, this is his going away party and that is something I truly am jubilant about.” She had not told Becky about the extortion threat, because… Well, because she didn’t want the other woman to voice all her own fears. Jasper was leaving, and soon. All Katie had to do was get through the next few days without doing something dangerous or foolish. Or dangerously foolish.

The carriage ride to Elm Hall felt like a trip in a tumbril to the guillotine, and Katie’s nerves were stretched aggravatingly thin by the time the miserable fifteen-minute journey was at an end.

No, your miserable journey is just beginning, an unhelpful voice pointed out.

Judging by the number of servants and carriages dotting the drive, Katie was among the last to arrive.

“The Duchess of Dulverton!” a tall, gaunt butler bellowed after opening the door to an old-fashioned drawing room in shades of dark green and with plenty of gilt. It felt like stepping into the past—circa 1760s, or thereabouts—and Katie surmised the décor was that of the countess’s youth.

All conversation ceased when Katie appeared. There were perhaps thirty people milling about on the terrace that overlooked Lady Grimsby’s back garden. Katie’s shoulders stiffened when she recognized her tormentor’s profile. Jasper was surrounded by a bevy of local girls, no doubt all charmed by his handsome person and smooth manners.

A slender woman with silvery white hair held court from a dark wood Bath chair. “Good afternoon, duchess,” she called out in a firm, strong voice at odds with her fragile appearance. “I hope you will forgive me for not rising to greet you.”

Wearing a polite smile, Katie opened her mouth, but the countess was not finished.