Royal's Bride. Kat Martin
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“I presume we will also be spending time in London.”
“If that is your wish.”
She smiled with relief, thinking that once they were married, a brief, once-a-year trip to the country would be more than sufficient. “Then of course I could be happy.”
Royal reached for her and she didn’t stop him when he drew her into his arms. She closed her eyes as he bent his head and kissed her. It was a soft, gentle meeting of lips, a respectable kiss until she opened for him. Royal hesitated only a moment, then deepened the kiss, tasting her more fully, letting her taste him.
He was good at kissing, she thought in some far corner of her mind, his lips soft yet firm, moist but not sloppy. Once they were married, allowing him his husbandly rights would not be a difficult thing.
Royal was the first to end the embrace. He looked up, saw his groom riding over the top of a distant hill. “I think it’s time we returned to the house.”
Jocelyn glanced over his shoulder and saw their chaperone approaching. “Of course.”
He helped her remount, setting her easily in the sidesaddle, then swung up on the back of the bay.
They rode in silence to the front of the castle and a groom rushed forward to take the reins. Royal lifted her down and they climbed the front stairs together. The butler opened the door and they walked into the entry.
Jocelyn spotted her cousin coming down the stairs. “Lily!” she called out to her, catching her by surprise. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
Lily turned. “I was just collecting a bit more trim for the hats I am sewing. How … how was your ride?”
“Lovely.” Jocelyn thought of the kiss they had shared and beamed up at Royal with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Quite lovely, wasn’t it, Your Grace?”
But he seemed not to hear her. His entire attention was focused on the woman at the foot of the stairs—her cousin, Lily Moran.
Seven
“All right, Lily—” Jocelyn paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet of the duchess’s suite. “I want to know exactly what went on between you and the duke before Mother and I arrived.”
Lily just stood there, her insides humming with nerves. “I can’t imagine what you are talking about. Nothing the least untoward went on with His Grace. Mostly, I worked all day trying to make things right for you and your mother. The duke was polite to me, but that is all.” Unfortunately, she thought with a twinge of guilt.
Jocelyn eyed her sharply. “Are you sure, Lily? You certainly seemed to grab his attention when we walked into the house.”
Lily worked to keep her mind from straying to that one single moment, that beautiful instant when the duke’s gaze seemed focused entirely on her and for once Jocelyn was the one who was invisible.
It couldn’t have meant anything. It was merely a trick of the mind.
“You are completely mistaken, Jo. Since when has a man ever given me the slightest glance after he has been introduced to you?”
Jocelyn flopped down on the bed and gave up a little sigh, mollified a bit at the truth of Lily’s words. “He kissed me this afternoon.”
Lily’s stomach tightened. “Did he?”
“He’s a very good kisser. I would rate him a nine out of ten.”
Jo had a kissing scale? Lily knew her cousin had kissed a number of gentlemen, but she hadn’t realized each of them was being rated. “Have you ever kissed a ten?” she asked.
Jo rolled onto her back and gazed up at the green silk canopy above the bed. “Only one. Christopher Barclay. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the fourth son of some obscure baron. He’s a barrister—young, though, not old. We danced at the Earl of Montmart’s ball and later we walked in the garden. Christopher kissed me. I should have slapped him, I suppose, but his kiss was definitely a ten.”
Perhaps that was so, but Lily couldn’t help thinking that if Royal Dewar ever kissed her, it would also be a ten.
Royal. She had never said his name aloud, but lately she had begun to think of him that way, as Royal, instead of His Grace or the duke. It was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“So how was your ride?” she asked. “Aside from the kiss, I mean.”
Jocelyn’s lips thinned. “His bloody horse nearly threw me—that’s how it was. I couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t do anything about it.”
“What did you expect him to do?”
“It was the horse’s fault. I expected him to do something.”
Lily ignored the outburst. Jo rarely took the blame for anything that happened. Lily wasn’t surprised she would blame the horse. “Did you talk about anything interesting?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “He asked me if I could be happy here. I said that I could—as long as we also spent time in London.”
Lily thought of the lovely rolling fields, the yew forests and the stream that trickled along the edge of the garden. There was nothing she would like more than to live out here in the country. “I wonder when he’ll ask you to marry him.”
“Soon, I imagine. We’ll only be staying a week, perhaps less. Mother and I decided a shorter visit would be better. She thinks a six-month engagement will be long enough to make all of the arrangements for the wedding. I’m sure the duke will make a formal proposal before we leave for home.”
“You don’t sound terribly excited.”
“Oh, I will be—once our engagement is officially announced.” Lying on the bed, she scooted back until her shoulders rested against the elaborately carved wooden headboard. “Can you imagine what people will say? I shall be the envy of every woman in London.”
“That is certainly true enough, but have you given any thought to your feelings for the duke? Aren’t you the least concerned that you might not love him?”
Jo laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t believe in love. Besides, once I give him an heir, I can take a lover if I wish. I can choose whomever I want and perhaps I will fall in love with him.”
It seemed so coldhearted. Lily sank onto the stool in front of the dresser. “You can’t really mean that.”
“Oh, but I do. That is the way it works, cousin, in marriages that are arranged.”
Lily swallowed. “I see.” But she didn’t really see at all. She only saw that Royal would be marrying a woman who didn’t love him and had no intention of being faithful. The sick feeling returned to her stomach.
Royal headed down the hall and walked into his study. A man stood in front of his desk. He turned at the sound of Royal’s footfalls—medium height, a solid build, jet-black hair and hard, carved features.
“I presume you are Chase Morgan,” Royal said, speaking of the man he had hired to find out exactly what had happened to the Bransford fortune.
Morgan made a slight bow of his head. “At your service, Your Grace.”
“Have a seat.” Royal sat down behind his desk and the investigator sat down across from him. “You’ve brought news, I take it.”
“Indeed, very interesting news. I thought it might be more productive if we could discuss the matter face-to-face rather than trying to communicate by letter.”
“I appreciate that. So what have you discovered?”
Chase rose from the chair and retrieved a leather satchel Royal hadn’t noticed before. He set it on top of the desk. “May I?”
“Of course.”