Blame It on Bath Page 0,31

wondered what sort of confrontation they were dreading, then decided he didn’t much care. Gerard’s pocket crinkled with the legal, binding proof of his marriage, and if Lord Howe had any dispute with it, he would be happy to unleash Edward’s expensive solicitors on the viscount.

The thought of his brother made him pause. He really ought to take Katherine around to Durham House and introduce her to Edward, and possibly even let Charlie meet her. Aunt Margaret would be very irked at him for not bringing Katherine to tea with her, as the only female relation in his family. Of course, visiting family would consume the rest of the day at the very least, and probably more—he would surely face an inquisition from Edward about his sudden and unexpected choice of wife—so Gerard brushed the idea away. He had more pressing things to deal with and could always write to his brothers and let them know.

He looked at his new bride again and felt a hard, smooth pulse of satisfaction. He’d wanted a wealthy wife, and now he had one. It freed him entirely from worries about his private finances and allowed him to devote himself wholly to preserving his family’s place. Whatever else happened, he had secured his own career and home. He still meant to find the villain who had blackmailed his father and threatened him and his brothers, but Gerard was positively roaring with triumph inside his own head. Her family came from trade, but he didn’t give a damn since her fortune more than compensated for it. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was clever and quick, and no shrinking violet. Outwardly she appeared prim and somber, but there’d been a moment, when he kissed her last night, when Gerard thought to himself that it might be a pleasure to melt away her chilly shell. That there was passion and heat in her, deeply hidden and suppressed or perhaps merely left fallow. It didn’t sound as though Howe had been a devoted husband, years older and interested mainly in her money. Gerard had married her for the money as well, but he intended to find more in his marriage—if possible, his wife’s unplumbed sensuality.

He was quite distracted by the thought of teaching her all manner of erotic skills—if she knew absolutely nothing about pleasing a man, he could teach her exactly what he liked best—when he realized the carriage was stopping. Neither of the women said anything. They both looked as grim and nervous as raw soldiers facing their first battle, and Gerard wondered what sort of monster they were facing in Lucien Howe.

Or rather, what sort of monster he was facing. This was his part, after all, the reason why Katherine had come to him and made her blunt proposal. He was her knight, Sir Gawain to Lord Howe’s dragon. Accordingly he stepped down from the carriage and straightened his jacket, cocked his hat at the proper angle, and held out a hand for his bride. “Shall we, my dear?” he asked with a confident smile.

Her hand felt cold and stiff in his. She tried to pull loose the second her feet were on the pavement, but Gerard maintained his grip. He lowered his head, and said softly, “Don’t show your apprehension. You were perfectly entitled to wed whomever you chose. He can’t do anything to you.”

She flashed him a doubtful look but nodded and tucked her hand more securely around his arm. Together they went up the few steps to the house, from which Gerard could already hear the sounds of tumult.

He had to knock three times before anyone came to the door. The flustered servant who finally yanked it open barely looked at them. “Yes, sir?” he said breathlessly. Then his eyes landed on Katherine, and he froze like a startled deer.

“Is Lord Howe in, Hardy?” she asked. Gerard was silently impressed by how calm she sounded.

His mouth sagged open. “Y-yes, my lady.” He collected himself and stepped back, so they could enter. Gerard handed over his hat and took the cloak from her shoulders, listening to the sounds of a house being searched.

The servant didn’t seem to know what to do; he hesitated, looking at Katherine, then up the stairs. “We will wait in the drawing room,” she told him, and made a tiny motion with one hand. “Tell Lord Howe.”

“Yes, madam,” said the footman in relief. He bounded away, and Gerard followed his wife into a simple but elegant drawing room.