Chapter 2

The Same Day

On the road to Wych House

Inside the Duke of Chatham's Coach

Hyacinth Derrick, Duchess of Chatham, sighed. Her younger sister was currently pulling faces at the man riding beside the coach, behaving more like a child of twelve than a woman of seventeen.

"Please leave Shelton be, Katie."

Katie turned her attention from the handsome lord with obvious reluctance and slumped back against the luxurious leather. "I'm sorry, Hy. I just can't resist teasing him because he makes it so very easy."

It was true, Hy had seen as much for herself. Katie was able achieve what hundreds of young women had found it impossible to do for over a decade: disconcert the ridiculously gorgeous—even Hy, who did not like him, could admit that—Andrew Derrick, Marquess of Shelton.

Hy had worried when her husband Sylvester had invited his cousin to stay with them. Mainly, she had feared for her younger sister's safety, heart, and reputation around the heartless rake. After all, the man had abducted another of Hy's sisters, Selina.

But Hy loved her husband and knew that Sylvester loved and needed his cousin in his life. The two men had been estranged for more than a decade and, in order to heal that breach, they needed to spend time together.

She had to admit that Shelton seemed like a changed man since the day Selina had disappeared. Whatever Sylvester had said to his cousin on that afternoon all those months ago had left its mark. The man had been a careless, abrasive cad every single time Hy had encountered him last Season. And now he was…muted and reserved and quiet. Whether that would prove to be a change for the better or worse, she did not know.

Shelton had not been the only one who had changed.

Katie, her tomboy youngest sister, had come back from their Aunt Agnes's house so altered that Hy would have suspected somebody had swapped her with another girl if not for Katie's familiar face.

Gone was the grubby hellion who had preferred climbing trees and fighting with their younger brother to dancing and flirtation.

There was no trace of the young woman their mother had relentlessly chided and nagged and deplored as beyond the pale when it came to proper decorum and behavior.

Katie was now a polished sophisticate who was—unless she was teasing Shelton or Fowler—far older than her ten-and-seven years.

No longer did she arrive at meals disheveled with dirt under her nails.

Instead, her sister had grown into her long-promised beauty. Her hair was the red-gold of a mythical dragon's hoard, and her eyes were a sparkling feline green and even tilted like a cat's. She was tall, although far below Hy's own towering five feet and eleven inches. Unlike Hy's figure, which could generously be described as plank-like, Katie was all lithe, sensual curves.

Hy wasn't sure she approved of all the changes in her little sister. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of darker emotions roiling beneath Katie's sophisticated, almost jaded, fa?ade. Something had happened at her Aunt Agnes's. Something other than the usual spit and polish used to prepare girls for their first London Season.

But Hy was the last person who could think of a subtle way to ferret out such information. No doubt Phoebe or Selina, both far more adept at sensing their siblings' emotions, would quickly and easily get to the root of Katie's changed behavior.

As clueless as Hy was, however, even she could see that Shelton posed no threat to her little sister. Indeed, if anything, Hy had begun to pity the man who'd kidnapped Selina.

Almost.

Hy had not always been so sanguine about her little sister's interest in the too-handsome marquess. When Katie had appeared to develop a fascination not just for Shelton, but also for her husband's closest friend, Baron Fowler, Hy had feared the worst. Almost from the day of her arrival at Chatham Park the younger woman had followed the two men around the vast home and grounds, haunting their steps in a way that had been more than a little concerning.

Hy had eventually decided to confront her sister on her behavior—a decision that had not come easily to her.

"I am only pretending, Hy."

Hy had heard the words but could make no sense of them. "You are pretending that you are in love with them?"

Katie had laughed. "Yes." She had given Hy a sly look that would have been more at home on the face of a thirty-year-old demimonde than a girl before her first Season. "I cannot resist teasing them. Shelton is so accustomed to being feted and worshipped everywhere he goes that he cannot see that he is being tweaked. As for Fowler?" Katie rolled her eyes. "I think Doddy probably knows more about the opposite sex than poor Angus."

Hy suspected that Katie was right on both counts. Still, it had unnerved her that her sister's assessment had been so succinct and mature. Certainly, more astute than anything Hy could have come up with.

Even though she'd not understood Katie's motivations, she'd been relieved by her answer and had passed it along to Sylvester.

"Oh, poor, poor Drew," he'd said, once he had stopped laughing. "I almost feel sorry for him."

Hy had begun to agree with her husband as the weeks had passed. Her little sister was devious and made the two men suffer in endlessly ingenious ways. She seemed to know exactly what taunts would incite them to behave like idiots. The three squabbled, fought, and wagered like a trio of adolescents.

Even Hy, who did not possess much of a sense of humor, could not help being diverted by some of Katie's antics. She felt a twisted sort of pride in how easily her seventeen-year-old sister consistently bested the two seasoned ton veterans.

One of the main reasons she had agreed with Sylvester when he had suggested bringing Shelton to Wych House for the Christmas holiday was because she didn't think the man deserved weeks of peace and quiet away from Katie.

She still didn't trust Shelton, but he was Sylvester's only close family aside from his horrid mother and the men had once been as close as brothers. Sylvester believed with all his heart that Shelton could still be salvaged.

Hy was not sure she agreed, but she loved her husband fiercely, and if having Shelton along made Sylvester happy, then tolerating the handsome rake's presence was a small enough price to pay.

***

Outside the Duke of Chatham's Coach…

Andrew shivered as a chill wind cut through his heavy layers of clothing. The journey had been a frigid one, the weather uncharacteristically cold even for December. The sky was a relentless slate gray, and the sun burned sullenly, unable to penetrate the leaden clouds and offer any warmth.

Their ducal cavalcade of three coaches and six outriders—including Andrew and his cousin—was drawing ever closer to the ancestral home of the Bellamy family. With every mile that passed the unease in his belly grew stronger.

He had been a fool to accompany Sylvester, his duchess—a woman who hated Andrew, and rightfully so—and the duchess's pestersome little sister to their family's country house to spend Christmas.

But Sylvester, who appeared to be so mellowed by marriage as to have gone soft in the head, had engaged in underhanded dealing to force Andrew's compliance.

"You are my only close family, Drew, and I would like to spend Christmas with you. We have not done so in years, and I have greatly missed you. Surely you yearn for those long-ago celebrations when we were lads as much as I do?"

Andrew had been alternately shamed, embarrassed, and pleased by his cousin's candid affection. And also nearly reduced to tears.

He had attempted to conceal his emotional response by quipping, "Your mother is family and she is not going." When Sylvester had merely raised an eyebrow, Andrew had felt a genuine stab of alarm. "Good God, Sylvester! The Dowager is not accompanying us, is she?"

The duke had laughed. "How easily you snapped at my bait, Drew. No wonder Kathryn enjoys teasing you so much. I think you have forgotten that my mother despises me even more than she does you."

Andrew hadn't forgotten because the Dowager Duchess of Chatham had given them all—Sylvester, Andrew, the new duchess, Kathryn, and that fool Fowler, as well as all the servants and neighbors—daily proof of what a disappointment her son was to her. It was bloody irksome to sit by and watch the Dowager insult Sylvester in every imaginable way.

But it had been amusing to see how Sylvester had not permitted his mother to engage in the same belittling behavior toward his new wife. Indeed, it was the first time Andrew had seen actual anger flare in his cousin's eyes. And that was an emotion he had been trying to goad out of Sylvester for eleven years.

"Not only will it be good to spend time together, but it will give you an opportunity to begin mending the breach between you and Lady Shaftsbury."

Ha! A breach. More like a canyon.

And yet here Andrew was, quickly approaching the ancestral home of a woman he'd wronged terribly. Even though his abduction of Selina Bellamy had led to her meeting her husband—a marriage that was evidently a love match—that still didn't excuse his cruel behavior.

Andrew felt the telltale prickle of somebody watching him and turned toward the coach. He immediately regretted the impulse when he met the malicious green gaze of the duchess's fiendish sister.

Kathryn smirked, puckered her lips as if she were blowing him a kiss, and then winked.

Andrew was annoyed when his face heated. He scowled at the little monster and swiftly looked away.

Christ! How could he constantly be unmanned by a seventeen-year-old country chit?

He was nearing five-and-thirty years of age and yet he found himself incessantly lured into arguments and wagers and competitions with the little viper. Even worse was the fact that he had lost almost every single argument or verbal joust with the maddening hellion, who possessed the olfactory senses of a bloodhound, tracking him down no matter where he had hidden on his cousin's vast estate.

The only consolation—and it was slight—was that she tormented Sylvester's blockheaded best friend Baron Angus Fowler just as relentlessly.

Unfortunately, Fowler would not be at Wych House to draw the redheaded witch's fire for the next few weeks. Chatham had invited the man, but Fowler had wisely rejected Sylvester's offer and scuttled home to Scotland with some pitiful excuse of spending Christmas with his own family.

The coward.

Andrew sighed.

"Why the heavy sigh?" Sylvester asked.

"No reason," he lied, shifting in his saddle with a grimace. His arse had become accustomed to easy living after months of luxury at Chatham's. This was the first ride of any duration he'd had since the summer.

Andrew had been a soldier for more than eight years, which had meant living in the saddle. Even after he'd sold his commission and returned to England he'd rarely stayed put for more than a few weeks. In fact, Andrew couldn't recall the last time he'd remained in the same place so long.

It was back during those heavenly, and eventually hellish, few weeks with Mariah.

He hastily shoved away the unwanted memory and turned to Chatham. "How much farth—"

The sound of the carriage window sliding open interrupted his question and he and Sylvester turned as Kathryn thrust her gloved hand out the opening and pointed. "There is Queen's Bower."

Both she and the duchess were staring at a small manor house in the distance. Kathryn was always beautiful, but right then—with a wistful, fond smile on her face—she was breathtaking.

Andrew thought it might have been the first time he'd seen her look genuinely happy. As frequently as she laughed or smiled there was always a brittleness to both. He had always thought her high spirits were youthful enthusiasm, but now he wondered if there wasn't something a bit… desperate about her behavior.

Before he could ponder the matter any further, the carriage rounded a gentle curve.

"And there is Wych House," the duchess said.

Like her younger sister, Her Grace sounded different. Excited, Andrew decided, although it was so subtle that it would probably evade the notice of a person who hadn't lived the last few months in the same house with her.

Sylvester's new wife was not a conventionally attractive woman, but there was a strength of character in her face that made a person look twice. Her pale green eyes were brilliant even in the weak winter sun, the shade of green as close to peridot as he had ever seen.

She cut him a glance, as if feeling his gaze, and Andrew quickly turned to look at the building they were approaching.

He was no stranger to magnificent houses. Not only had he grown up at Chatham Park, but his own property—Rosewood— was an ancient, if ramshackle estate that was grand enough, at least from a distance, to rob a person of breath.

But Wych House, a rare example of Gothic architecture that wasn't a church or monastery, was quite something else. Like York Minster, Wych House had been built in a style commonly referred to as Perpendicular Gothic. The long, gently curving drive made the most of the structure's four-centered arches, buttresses, and towers. There was even a grand rose window set in a pointed arch with tracery.

"The South Tower has a new roof and is no longer boarded up," the duchess said in a wondering tone. "They must be brand new as the old lozenge windows had all but rotted away."

"And it will all be for Doddy," Kathryn added, awed.

Andrew had heard that Viscount Paul Needham, who'd married Phoebe Bellamy, was one of the wealthiest men in Britain. The man must have deep pockets indeed if he was able to pour thousands of pounds into a house he was only leasing. Kathryn was correct: Lord Dauntry Bellamy—Doddy as his sisters called him—was the heir to the Addiscombe earldom and would one day benefit from all the money his wealthy brother-in-law was spending on Wych House.

"I would like to see the house Needham is building," Sylvester said, turning to his wife. "Is it far from here?"

"Less than five miles. We must ride over and see it," Her Grace answered, her voice eager.

Andrew knew the duchess hated going anywhere in a carriage when she could be on horseback. She was only sacrificing her pleasure on this journey because Sylvester had put his foot down. The tall, gangly woman was several months pregnant—although it was difficult to tell just looking at her— and his cousin was already hovering and fussing around her like a mother hen with one chick.

It was nauseating.

You're just jealous.

Andrew didn't bother to deny it. Who would not be jealous of such deep affection—nay, such love ?

Servants were already milling around two carriages and footmen were bearing valises and trunks into the house when Sylvester's retinue rolled up.

A very pregnant woman waddled down the terraced flagstone steps, smiling broadly, one hand waving wildly while the other supported a belly that looked large enough for twins.

"Katie! Hy!"

"Pheeb!" Kathryn shrieked, the door to the carriage flying open before it had even come to a halt.

"Damnation, Hyacinth!" the duke barked when it looked as if his wife might vault out after her younger sister. "You will wait for the steps to be let down," he commanded, using his ducal voice.

To Andrew's astonished amusement the duchess meekly obeyed her husband, waiting until he could help her from the coach before hurrying to join her siblings.

Kathryn flung herself into the arms of the very pregnant Lady Needham hard enough to make Andrew wince.

But the viscountess just laughed. "Katie! Where has my scruffy little sister gone? Who is this grand, elegant woman who has replaced her?"

Choked sobs answered her and Andrew looked away, unexpectedly moved by the obvious love between the siblings.

There it was again: love.

Andrew sighed and slid from his mount. He stretched his aching muscles and stayed back from the flurry of activity, feeling distinctly de trop as Sylvester greeted not only his new sister-in-law, but also her husband, Viscount Needham, a tall, powerfully built man who came out of the house trailed by a golden-haired, blue-eyed stripling who looked so much like Selina Bellamy that he could only be the heir, Dauntry Bellamy.

Behind the young viscount trailed a girl a few years younger. Andrew knew that Kathryn was the youngest Bellamy sister so this must be one of the other guests.

"Might I take him, sir?"

Andrew turned from the joyous reunion to find a groom politely waiting for Drake's reins.

"Ah, yes, thank you. Give him an extra helping of oats," he said, flipping the servant a coin that earned him a smile.

Andrew was just wondering if he could sneak past the cluster of embracing, laughing, crying Bellamy siblings when the sound of approaching carriage wheels made him turn.

Another grand coach, as large as Sylvester's, was rolling toward them. The postilions and outriders wore black and silver livery and the team of six pale gray horses was as well-matched as any Andrew had ever seen.

Unease uncoiled in his belly as the coach neared. It had to contain one of the only two Bellamy siblings not currently squealing and hugging on the steps.

He swallowed as the carriage approached, his gaze flickering over the massive black lacquered equipage in search of an escutcheon.

But his eyes stopped dead in their tracks when they met a pair of celestial blue orbs in a face that could probably have launched a thousand ships, had Lady Selina Bellamy ever cared to engage in naval warfare.

As the coach rolled to a smooth stop the new Marchioness of Shaftsbury locked gazes with Andrew, her full, shapely lips pulling into a wry smile that made Andrew's ears burn.

He sighed and strode toward her carriage, motioning the footman aside and opening the door himself.

It was time to face the music.