Nell’s hurt tone was a pretense, Kate knew, which made her smile. “We agreed long ago that I am the matchmaker in the family. Truly, I am capable of seeing to my own future.”
Nell returned a knowing smile of her own. Fortunately, just then the footman returned with a fresh pot of tea and claimed her attention.
While Nell busied herself pouring two cups, Kate couldn’t help reflecting on how she had come to be so obsessed with romance. Loneliness had played an enormous role, of course. She had been orphaned at a young age and sent off to boarding school with only Skye for company. Perhaps that was why she’d developed such a great affection for Nell; because in those latter years of her childhood she’d been motherless. She had missed that mother-daughter bond, ached for it.
Her ardent desire for a soul mate also stemmed from the loneliness driving her. One of her biggest fears was that she would never find love with a man who loved her in return. The kind of all-consuming devotion her parents had known in their marriage. She had wonderful memories of her parents—their joy, their loyalty, their adoration for each other.
She wanted that same soul-deep commitment for herself. She yearned for love with a devoted husband, for friendship, for completion.
Over time, though, she’d refined her aspirations for the ideal mate. She had wanted someone adventurous and exciting to claim her heart. She was searching for lightning, for fiery passion, for heart-searing intensity.
With Deverill she’d thought she had gotten her wish. He was infuriating, delightful, provocative, deliciously risqué. He made her think; he made her want to box his ears. In short, he enthralled her. Her fervent attraction had swiftly become far more than adolescent lust. She had fancied herself falling in love.
And his rejection had not merely wounded her pride. The hurt had felt much deeper than merely a young woman scorned.
Deverill’s divided loyalties, too, had only complicated her conflicted feelings about him—a man who had fought against her country, who had killed her countrymen. Kate pressed her lips together with renewed resolve. She refused to believe that he was her destiny. And if she could marry him off, then he obviously was not her legendary lover.
No, she had one main goal now: to travel to France and resolve her family’s tragic ending.
But to achieve that, she had to take Deverill under her wing, so to speak. She would groom him for his new role as a nobleman and find him a bride befitting his new title.
Admittedly, her heart would not be in her work. She had no wish to dedicate the next month or more to making a match for Deverill. But for good or ill, she was committed. She would force herself to discharge her pledge with good grace.
Of course, when he called on the morrow, she needed to be better prepared than she’d been this afternoon. In the flesh, Deverill was far more potent than in any dream or fantasy.
Images of his big, hard body kept sliding into her mind at the most inappropriate moments. The tanned skin, the broad shoulders, the lean, muscled torso. And his mouth…his marvelous kisses—
“Here you are, my dear.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, gratefully accepting her teacup from Nell.
With effort she shrugged off her vexing memories. No doubt she would have to fight temptation every step of the way. At least she had laid down rules for their future relationship. Whether Deverill would abide by them, however, was highly questionable.
But she would manage to control him and her own deluded yearnings somehow. She would find him a bride, and she would prove that he wasn’t the match for her. And then she could move on with her life and set about locating the shipwreck and properly laying her late loved ones to rest.
Promptly at eleven, Brandon arrived at the elegant Beaufort mansion in Grosvenor Square, his anticipation of seeing Kate heightened by his vivid dreams of the previous night. In his nocturnal fantasies, they had finished what she’d started in his hotel room six years ago. He’d spent the hours until dawn making love to her, glorying in her delectable body, her passion.
When he was shown into the drawing room by a footman, Kate immediately drew his focus. Politely rising from a sofa, she pasted a faint smile on her lips and came forward to welcome him, clearly bracing herself for the jolt of eye contact.
Brandon felt the powerful jolt as well. Without volition, he found his gaze raking over her lithe figure. She wore a fashionable gown of pale green kerseymere with a demure neckline and long sleeves.
Her modest attire did nothing to curb his natural lust. His instinctive desire to claim her, however, was tempered by the presence of a small, plump woman with graying hair who was seated on the sofa.
“Lord Valmere, may I make known my companion, Mrs. Cuthbert?” Kate said.
When the introduction was made, he judged Mrs. Cuthbert to be a pleasant, well-bred matron there to guard the virtue of her charge.
Brandon much preferred having Kate alone without a chaperone, but he repressed his feelings of possessiveness and took a seat in a chair opposite the ladies. Fortunately, Mrs. Cuthbert occupied herself with her needlepoint and made no further comment.
Even so, the conversation was somewhat stilted at first, not the least because Kate maintained a determined air of formality. Only when they began discussing potential candidates for his future wife did she warm to her subject and thus to him.
“Before I begin my search, I need to know what kind of bride you are seeking. What sort of character appeals to you—and any other parameters you have in mind…appearance, interests?”
“I have no one particular in mind. I am not overly fastidious.”
Her brows drew together. “Seriously, I will have difficulty helping you if you don’t give me some kind of h
int as to your preferences.”