Just as she was sliding into sleep Grant murmured, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
‘Of course not. I knew you would never hurt me.’ She sat back, ran one finger down the straight line of his nose and smiled when, eyes still closed, he put out his tongue to catch the tip. ‘And you aren’t cross about all my shopping?’
‘Of course not.’ Grant opened his eyes and fell back on to the bed, bringing her with him. ‘I’ve kept you locked up in Northumberland away from all the shops for months.’
‘I’ve been extravagant, though.’ He shook his head, but she persisted with her confession. ‘I’m...nervous. It took my mind off things. It’s quite dangerous really, spending all that money. It must be like gambling or drink.’
To her surprise he didn’t laugh at the notion. ‘You are probably right. But don’t worry, if you can see the danger, then I doubt you are in it. But don’t be nervous, Kate. I’ll look after you. I won’t let the society sharks near you.’
‘I know.’ But you can’t protect me from the monsters I’ve unleashed myself, my love.
* * *
Grant climbed to the next step on the grand staircase leading to the ballroom of the Marquess of Larminster’s ballroom, the setting for the marchioness’s ‘surprise’ birthday reception for her husband. The event was a surprise for no one, least of all the long-suffering and newly sixty-year-old marquess, but he enjoyed indulging his wife and she enjoyed parties, the larger the better.
It was not the event that Grant would have chosen for Kate’s introduction to London society, for the place was full to bursting and the noise level indescribable. It was also packed with the important people Kate needed to make a good impression upon if she were to obtain the entrée to the right circles and the friendship and approval of the ladies who made society go round. And they were married to the men Grant mixed with socially at his clubs and would be forming alliances with, and against, in the House of Lords.
As he stood with as much patience as he could muster in the receiving line, he looked down at his wife again, still coming to terms with how sophisticated and elegant she looked. It occurred to him that the height of his hopes had been that she would ‘do’, pass muster, not be a disaster. How little faith he’d had. Somewhere, always in the back of his mind, was the image of the bedraggled, exhausted, desperate woman in that bothy, the knowledge that she was not trained up for this world, that she carried scandal with her.
Despite coming to know her—her courage, her humour, her intelligence, her breathtaking natural eroticism—he had still taken it for granted that she could not cope with this world with its dagger-sharp criticism, its rivalries and sophisticated pleasures.
‘Grant,’ Kate murmured. ‘We’re moving again.’
Up another step, almost at the top now. She was still nervous, he could see the almost imperceptible tremor of the beading around the bodice of her gown, but she looked magnificent. Not a traditional beauty, she would never be that, but somehow something better. Elegant, charming, warm, he thought. And sophisticated with her new hairstyle. And the minx has been colouring her lashes with lampblack and, if I’m not very much mistaken, she’s using lip stain.
Like a soldier she’d put on her armour to go into battle for him. She makes me so happy.
The realisation hit him as though someone behind him had punched him between the shoulder blades. Happy. He was actually, positively happy. Not just now and again, like when he was playing with Charlie, or feeling the wind in his hair when he galloped unchecked across the moor, or won a hand of cards against Gabriel, but bone-deep happy. That had come with this marriage. Somehow he had moved, without him realising it, from simply coping with life and snatching what pleasure he could, to a feeling of inner contentment. But he had not been conscious of feeling happy. When did that happen? Just now? Yesterday? Weeks ago?
A sharp elbow nudged him in the ribs. ‘Grant, it’s us.’
‘Sorry, air-dreaming.’ Hell, in a minute he’d be shouting with laughter, capering like a fool for a fascinated audience. Grant found a social smile from somewhere, plastered it on and advanced on the marchioness. ‘Lady Larminster, may I introduce my wife, Catherine?’
‘Lady Allundale.’ The marchioness raised artfully curved eyebrows as she studied Kate. ‘Delightful,’ she pronounced.
‘Lady Larminster.’ Kate’s curtsy was perfectly modulated.