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Wrapped in each other’s arms, they orbited in a dark, mystical, magical solar system, where sensory exploration was the only reality in the absence of sight.
Then sound became the chatter in the corridor, and the door was thrown open, light seeping into the room as a sconce of candles was held high.
“Goodness!”
He wasn’t sure who said it. It could have been Katherine, Odette, or either of the Brightwell sisters.
Struck dumb by guilt and embarrassment, Jack could only admire Katherine’s composure as she blinked sleepily, saying, “Good Lord, was that you, Jack? I stumbled when the candle went out. Did you know, I’d fallen asleep on the sofa here after we had tea, Mama. And that was hours ago!”
She rubbed her eyes and smiled at everyone before self-consciously tidying her hair. “I must look a fright. But Jack! It’s so good to see you again. And Miss Worthington, you look perfectly lovely in rose pink. Where have you been to this evening? The opera, perhaps?”
“Shall we repair to the living room?” Lady Fenton asked. At least she didn’t look at Jack as if he were the devil incarnate. He was very conscious of Lord Derry’s glower and George and Odette’s tempered suspicion. But, of course Katherine’s explanation was perfectly logical—he thought so anyway, though perhaps that was because he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he had been before the kiss. Nevertheless, Odette, fortunately, was soon in fine spirits, clinging to his arm as they went back to the warm, brightly lit room he’d quit only moments before.
Everything felt like a dream. Like he’d been tugged back to the past; his body responding to the lingering reminder of that kiss like a drowning man clings to the rock that is his salvation.
Except that such a notion was ridiculous. Odette was his salvation. Katherine was his friend. The friend he thought he loved until she’d demonstrated through her own actions that expediency and impulse trumped everything, including love, in the face of an enforced separation.
Katherine wished that the exodus from the library included Lord Derry, and that she could again be subsumed by the darkness she’d enjoyed before she’d been interrupted. So beautifully, joyously, interrupted. It truly had been like a dream, literally falling into the arms of the man she loved.
This was very clear to her now. She always had loved Jack, but she’d married the wrong man. She was free now, but Jack was not.
And yet, how could he have responded to her with such ardour if he didn’t share her feelings? He wasn’t married to Odette yet.
In the few seconds it took Lord Derry to cross the room from having seen the others out of it, Katherine reflected on every nuanced expression that had crossed Jack’s face during the seconds he was exposed by the light. Surprise, wonder, delight. Hope. Yes, there’d been hope before Miss Worthington had extinguished it with that proprietorial little hand of hers clutching his arm and drawing him back into her orbit.
But what had come before was more tellin
g. He had clung to Katherine with the ardour of a man who suddenly realises he’s found what he’d lost. Jack realised in those few seconds in the dark what he really had lost. Katherine was sure of it.
Hope now fluttered in her breast. She needed to speak with him, alone, frankly. While there was time.
“My dear Katherine, so we are alone at last.” Lord Derry strode across the Aubusson carpet and gripped her shoulders. An unwelcome, proprietorial grip; unlike Jack’s. His gaze was smouldering, his nostrils flaring as if something was bottled up inside, ready to be released into smiling goodwill at the merest sign from Katherine. Or perhaps, no sign at all. He wanted her. He’d wanted her for seven years, and now he thought she’d be his.
But he was wrong. She could be no one but Jack’s. Tonight had made that clearer than anything had before.
When she said nothing, he went on, his tone dropping suggestively, “I was told you’d repaired to your room and were sleeping. I wish I’d known you’d fallen asleep here. It would have made the past hour I’ve spent in inanities with your cousin a great deal more pleasurable. And then you were interrupted by that interloper.”
“Jack?” She was indignant he’d call Jack an interloper.
“Is that his name? I’d forgotten. A foundling made good. But now we have a few moments together, and I think the time has come to establish the understanding we have and make plans accordingly.”
Katherine stiffened. “With all due respect, Lord Derry, we do not have an understanding.”
He tilted his head, a frisson of temper marring the warmth of his expression before he was again all smiles. Clearly, Katherine was like a filly who needed to be properly managed. Lord Derry was very fond of using his love of horses to make such analogies though, in truth, he wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t a philanderer or a drunkard or a gambler like Freddy had been.
“In a few months, your year of mourning will be at an end and you can respectably remarry.” He drew her closer. “I want to reassure you that I’m not just playing with your affections, my dear. I want to make it very clear that it’s an honourable marriage I have in mind.” He cleared his throat. “Just in case you feared my notions may have been less gentlemanly, though there’s no reason why we cannot enjoy a little more licence if the ultimate intent is respectable matrimony.”
Katherine stepped back and broke his grip. “I’m sorry, Lord Derry, but we have no understanding,” she repeated.
She was glad of the proximity of her family in the drawing room just along the passageway, for the spasm of displeasure that crossed his face was not one she’d have felt comfortable with managing had she been alone. “If I have led you to believe otherwise, then it is regrettable; however, I have no wish to marry you.”
He would have pulled her back to him except that Katherine was too nimble, gliding out of his reach and opening the door that protected her from any further unwelcome advances by the sound of voices issuing into the room from further up the passage.
With a cultivated smile, she made her way back to the drawing room, self-conscious enough that she did not seek out Jack, but rather allowed herself to be waylaid by George, who assiduously looked to her comfort by brandishing a glass of claret.
Grateful, she sank onto the sofa and he took up position beside her, saying, “My dear Katherine, you look flushed. You’re not coming down with something, I hope. I fear falling asleep in the library is not a good sign of your health.”
Except that falling asleep was the best thing Katherine could have done. Her body was singing. Jack would never have taken her in his arms and kissed her had he known she was there. She slanted a look across at him. Odette was chattering, rapidly and with great enthusiasm and vivacity as was her wont, Katherine realised. And Jack was staring at her—mesmerised as Odette no doubt thought him, only Katherine knew that look too well: boredom, a glazed, interested look he was able to plaster on his face so that his thoughts could travel their own way. No, Jack did not love Odette like he loved Katherine. But he needed to be given the chance to act on his real feelings. Did he know that he loved her? Surely, their kiss had made it clear?
