stepmother would host for the demimonde and the theatre actors they had loved to entertain. Thankfully, there would no longer be wild, outlandish screams of merriment or howls of gaiety to rent the air.
“Shall we finish our conversation inside?” he said formally. “We’ll wait for your companion and my valet to return, then my carriage will take you home. There are some things I’d like to discuss with you.” He leaned against the squab, creating distance between them, and she followed his lead. “Believe it or not, I want the same thing as you.”
“Meaning?” she asked warily.
“A way out of this mess.”
* * *
Christian held out his hand to assist Katherine from the carriage. The instant she touched him, she could have sworn she’d been scorched by fire through their gloves. The overwhelming warmth in his large hand set off an incredible sensation of heat through her limbs. When her feet touched the ground, she released him. She had to regain her equilibrium before she tackled the subject at hand again.
That was what she should be thinking about.
Not his hands or his warmth.
He held her elbow as he helped her up the steps of his London home, a grand mansion in the neoclassical style. The trigamist had never brought her here, probably because he had other wives to attend to.
She should be ashamed to refer to him spitefully as such. But really, she had to keep her distance from the memories of her dead husband. He’d proven he was no saint.
Perhaps his older brother was the same.
Katherine stepped into the entry, immediately blinking at the brightness. The overhead chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its light reflected by hundreds of mirrors on the wall, each encased in a latticework overlay. The decadent pattern matched the blond and white tile of the marble flooring beneath her.
A stoic butler met them at the door. “Your Grace, welcome home.”
Christian nodded as he handed his greatcoat to the man, then helped Katherine remove her pelisse. “Lady Meriwether, this is Wheatley. He’s served our family for over thirty years.”
“How lovely to meet you, madame.” The butler stood immobile, much like the Greek statute of Dinlas directly behind him.
“A pleasure,” she answered. If she wasn’t mistaken, the faintest hint of a grin broke against the older man’s mouth.
“When Morgan returns with Lady Meriwether’s companion, Miss Ferguson, please send them to my study.”
The butler nodded curtly. “Of course, Your Grace.” As they turned to leave, the butler stopped her. “My lady, may I offer my condolences on your loss. The young master was always a favorite with the staff here and at Roseport.”
The duke stiffened beside her.
“Thank you, Wheatley. I appreciate your kindness.”
Before she could say more, Christian latched his arm around hers and escorted her down the hall. She took two steps for each one of his. It was as if he were running away, but from what?
“Pardon me.” He slowed his pace once he realized she was having trouble keeping up. “I always walk fast. It’s a habit I acquired in the military.”
“What else did you acquire in the military?” she asked as they walked down the hallway.
He slowed his step even more. His dimples appeared briefly when a grin flashed across his mouth. “Habit wise, I don’t mind a tepid cup of tea to start the day. I eat fast. Plus, I learned to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the cot.”
“Was it hard … all those years?”
“The lack of material comforts was insignificant. The war itself was horrific.” Before she could inquire more, he opened the door. “Here we are.”
As soon as they were in the study, he waved his hand at a set of club chairs in front of the massive burl wood desk centered in the large room. Though the room was well-kept, samples of paperhangings for the walls and vivid brocades and silks were spread haphazardly across a matching library table, giving it a hint of frenzy.
Instead of taking a chair, Katherine headed to the table to better inspect the samples. “Are you redecorating?”
At a side table, he had his back turned to her, pouring a glass of brandy. He grunted in answer.
Her fingers caressed the fine silk. Such beautiful fabric would make an excellent cover for her feathered bedlinens. “Is the silk from Spitalfields?”
“I have no idea. I’ve given the assignment to Morgan to handle. He knows design well enough, likes fashion, and said he looked forward to the task.” Christian took a swallow, then