‘Lady Mary?’
‘Yes. She is the only other woman I’ve seen him dance with, and I hear she has the approval of his mother.’
Oh, God! Katrina flopped down again. All this time she had been worried about his association with Lady Wentworth. What she should have been worried about was how she would feel when Julian announced that he would marry the very proper, very respectable Lady Mary Morley.
She started sobbing, convinced she wouldn’t stop till morning.
As Julian sat in his elegant coach he leaned his head back and took a deep breath. The rocking motion was contributing to the queasiness that had been plaguing him. He closed his eyes, grateful to be away from the prying eyes of Westminster.
Winter had given the speech he’d been supposed to give. Knowing that if he had delivered the same address some of those men would actually have cast their votes in opposition was humiliating. The words ‘foolish’ and ‘disgraceful’ were still knocking about in his head.
His stomach pitched again.
Two months ago he hadn’t even known Katrina existed. He’d been respected, focused and content. As much as he hated to admit it, his mother had been correct. A man in his position was made for contentment—not some intangible emotion that made him feel as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff not certain if he was ready to jump off.
Katrina had turned his life upside down.
He wanted his orderly life back.
The only way he knew how to get that was to cut his ties with her and pursue Lady Mary Morley. Lady Mary was the ideal woman for a respectable duke.
His chest tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath. But if Katrina’s reputation was in question he would have no choice but to do the honourable thing. He was an honourable gentleman before all else.
Dammit, he needed to see this print!
His carriage slowed to a stop and he stormed into his home, prepared to contact his secretary and obtain a copy of the print. He stopped when he was informed that Hart was waiting for him in his study. Dealing with Hart was not what he needed at the moment.
‘Finally!’ Hart said from where he sat reclining at Julian’s desk, with his ankles crossed, a brandy in his hand. ‘I have been waiting here for hours.’
‘I am in no mood. Finish your drink and go.’ He knocked Hart’s boots off his desk.
‘That’s a fine thank you for all my efforts today. Are you aware that there is a caricature of you and the lovely Miss V?’
‘I am. However, I’m warning you. Do not toy with me. I will not be responsible for my actions.’
‘Then you’ve seen it?’
Julian strode across the room and poured himself two fingers of brandy. ‘No, I intend to acquire one tomorrow.’
‘Luckily for you I’ve brought one with me to give to you.’
The pounding of Julian’s heart echoed in his ears as his gaze was drawn to the paper resting on his desk. He took a long gulp of brandy and moved slowly to get a closer look. When he spotted his crest on the carriage door he saw red. Burning with rage, he let his eyes scan the print illustrated by Cruikshank. He crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.
‘I will destroy him!’
‘I must confess I never thought I’d see the day your likeness appeared in a print shop window.’
Julian was so enraged he barely heard his friend’s words. ‘Tell me you have the plate!’
Shaking his head, Hart narrowed his eyes. ‘Odd, but when I enquired I was told the plate had already been sold. Perhaps Vandenberg bought it.’
Julian dropped down into a chair. Dear God, Katrina will hate me when she sees this! Her reputation was in tatters, and it was all because he had been selfish enough to risk her good name for a few extended hours with her before he committed his life to an unhappy marriage. What kind of man did that make him?
He was a man of honour, and he would fix this.
He turned to Hart. ‘I need to borrow your coach.’
* * *
Julian sat across from Mr Vandenberg in the man’s study and wondered if Katrina’s father had poisoned the brandy he had just poured for him. The man was not pleased. That was plain to see from his stern expression and detached demeanour.
‘I wondered if you would call here,’ he said in a controlled tone. ‘The hour is rather late.’
In all his life he had never been uncomfortable sitting across from a man. He was now. ‘I was in session today. However, I felt it best to discuss matters before word travels further than it already has.’
Mr Vandenberg sat back in his wingback chair. The amber liquid in his glass held his attention. ‘I see. Am I to assume you are here to discuss a certain caricature?’
‘I am.’ He had never asked for anyone’s hand before. He probably should have thought about what to say before he’d entered Katrina’s home.
‘I have been assured it is not an accurate depiction of events. Is that true?’
His heart dropped at the realisation that Katrina had been forced to explain her actions to her father. What exactly would she have told him? ‘No, sir, it is not. I—’
Mr Vandenberg held up his hand. ‘There is no need to continue, Your Grace. I imagine you are here to offer an honourable solution to this unfortunate matter. However, I assure you that won’t be necessary. You have no wish to marry my daughter, and she has no wish to marry you. There is a way to address this without forcing you both into a trip to the altar.’
He should have felt relief at the words. Instead, hearing that Katrina didn’t want to marry him was like a hard fist into his gut. ‘I don’t understand.’
Mr Vandenberg folded his hands on his desk and pierced Julian with his gaze. ‘If you voice an interest in the upcoming negotiations between our two countries people will assume that the print is a satirical depiction of your interest in the United States and not a bit of gossip about a scandalous ride with my daughter.’
The suggestion ruffled Julian’s principles. He sat up taller and pulled his shoulders back. ‘That almost sounds like blackmail.’
‘Not at all. I am not asking you to voice your support of my country—just to meet with me at the Chancery so we can discuss the issues. You are known to be a fair and honest man. You can make up your own mind if you think we are being unreasonable with the boundaries we are suggesting. Regardless of what you decide, you can express your opinions on the matter openly and present that print as a political satire attacking your involvement with us.’
It was not an unreasonable request. The logic behind it was sound. He hadn’t admitted to anyone today that he had actually taken a drive with Katrina. They could each move forward with their own lives and there would be no scandal associated with their names. He could have his reputation back.
‘There is one more thing, Your Grace.’
Julian cleared his vision and focused on the man across from him.
‘Whatever fascination you have with my daughter, it needs to end now—for both your sakes.’
All Julian could do was nod his agreement. Blackness was swallowing him up as he realised that he would never again know what she was thinking, or receive one of her smiles, or make her laugh.
Their time together was over.
*