There were times when anticipation and excitement could cloud one’s judgement. For Katrina, this was one of those times. ‘Very well. I will go with you.’
He held her gaze as he kissed the inside of her wrist. A tingle spread up her arm and down her side. If he continued in this fashion she would be tempted to suggest they lock the door and remain in the dining room all afternoon.
It appeared he had read her thoughts, and he straightened in an overly confident manner. ‘I will show myself out. And Katrina...’ he adjusted his cuffs ‘...do hurry.’
She stepped away from the door and his sleeve brushed against her arm as he walked past. Moments later she heard the door to her house open and close. Her heart raced. She tried to catch her breath. Low in her abdomen her muscles flipped as she imagined kissing him again...
It didn’t take her long to gather her favourite bonnet and change into a celestial blue satin carriage dress. Grabbing her copy of Frankenstein, she dashed down the stairs and out through the door. An unmarked coach of shiny black lacquer was waiting with its curtains closed. Ignoring her uneasy feeling, she accepted help from the footman, stepped inside, and settled on the bench across from Julian.
His surprised expression was visible in the muted light. ‘You have changed.’
‘It seemed prudent.’
‘There was no need. You look lovely in either dress.’
Warmth spread through her at this compliment. Then the carriage jerked and she was rocked back and forth as the horses began their journey. She wished she could peer outside, to see in what direction they were headed.
‘Where are we off to?’
‘Nowhere in particular. I have instructed the driver to return us to your home in an hour. However, it may prove a challenge to read the book together if you are not seated next to me.’
The carriage, while spacious, was not overly wide. If she sat next to him their bodies would be sure to touch.
She vaulted across the carriage.
His muscular thigh pressed against hers as she nestled her arm next to his and opened the book.
* * *
When Julian had arrived at Katrina’s home and had been informed Madame de Lieven was already there he should have walked away. Hiding in the dining room with both the Russian Ambassador’s wife and Katrina’s father on the premises had been dangerous. However, sitting this close to her now, Julian was glad he had listened to the voice that had told him to stay.
Her warm, soft thigh was pressed against his, and that warmth was travelling over to him. It would not take much for him to harden. His body was begging to lay her down under him and explore every inch of her. Had she not been a virgin, that book she was holding would have been tossed somewhere on the floor by now.
He motioned towards the book. ‘Shall we begin?’
She nodded and opened the book to a page marked with a worn strip of deep pink silk. With her permission, he took it out and rubbed it lightly between the fingers of his ungloved hand.
‘This is true proof that you are a great reader.’
Her soft laugh made him smile. ‘It is a remnant from a gown that once belonged to my mother. My Great-Aunt Augusta gave it to me when I was a child. I’ve kept it ever since.’
‘That was very thoughtful of her.’
‘She was all that is kindness. The Dowager reminds me of her.’
Had her aunt smuggled gin into assemblies, faked a malady when she wanted her way, and entertained herself in her later years by inserting herself into situations that weren’t any of her business? He wasn’t inclined to believe so.
Handing the strip back to her, he looked down at the open book. In the low light he would need to squint to read the words. ‘Perhaps this isn’t the ideal location for reading.’
‘Now you decide this isn’t wise?’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘I still believe being alone with you in this carriage is the finest idea I’ve had today.’
‘You do realise that if this continues I will find myself finishing this book during my journey home to New York.’
The idea of her travelling home burned his gut. When she left England she would not be returning. Ever. A chasm opened in his chest, and he tried to rub it away.
‘You once told me you had no interest in marrying anyone in England, and yet Madame de Lieven appeared eager to inform Greely’s whelp that you will be at the Hipswitch garden party. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind?’
She sighed and shook her head. ‘I have not. However, Madame de Lieven can be most insistent in her opinions.’
‘Do you truly have no wish to live here?’
‘On the contrary—I adore London and the sense of the past that surrounds me. I feel as if I could spend years here and I would still find something new to see. It is the men here who hold no appeal.’
As a man residing in London, to him that was rather insulting—no, it was highly insulting. He raised his chin and pulled his shoulders back. ‘All men?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted without hesitation. ‘Rather, not all but most—you appeal to me.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
‘Somewhat,’ she amended with a mischievous smile. ‘However, I believe we were discussing my marrying an Englishman and not simply liking one.’
‘Are you this charming with American men as well? It is a wonder you are still unmarried.’
Instead of offending her, his comment made her laugh.
He eyed her sideways. ‘What is it that you find so distasteful about Englishmen?’
She was not destined to be his duchess. This was not a conversation he should be having with her. And yet a part of him wondered why she found him an unsuitable choice for a husband.
‘We have different views on fidelity,’ she blurted out rather abruptly.
Julian jerked his head back, not having expected that to be her reasoning. ‘I wasn’t aware we had had a discussion on such a subject. I must make a note to pay closer attention to what you say.’
‘Don’t be glib. I am well aware of what men of your station do, and I do not wish that for my marriage,’ she said with a casual lift of her shoulder.
He leaned closer. ‘Really? What is it we do?’
‘Men of the ton marry women for their impressive ancestry or significant fortunes. When they grow bored with their wives they go about with other women.’
Julian’s brows drew together. ‘Is this about your earlier notion that I have a mistress? I assure you I still haven’t taken one.’
‘No. It’s about you being an English nobleman,’ she stated firmly, looking him in the eye in the dim light.
‘And because of that you believe I would conduct myself in such a manner?’
‘I have no reason to assume otherwise. You once told me that you do not expect a happy marriage, and you found my ideas on love provincial.’
‘Opinions can change.’
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, sceptically. ‘So now you will tell me you plan to be a faithful husband?’
He didn’t want to think about being married to Lady Mary—not when he was sitting with his body pressed against Katrina. He took a deep breath and held in her lemon scent. Deep down he knew he would think of her every time he took Mary to bed. It was not an honourable notion, nor something he would ever admit to anyone—especially the woman