Page 1 of In Search of a Husband
PROLOGUE
London
March 1822
Kate hidher smile with another bite of lemon trifle. Her cheeks blazed hot from his attention, nevertheless, even as the bright citrus custard danced across her tongue.
This was no girlish fancy. No, she was quite certain she was in love with the Marquess of Brookhouse. And only yesterday while they rode through Hyde Park, he had proposed marriage.
She agreed, even when he pressed her to keep it a secret. That he needed more time to sort out some family matters, and for the time being, they would share an understanding.
When a handsome man makes a lady his world, she waits. Or so Kate vowed to do. She flashed him coy smiles all evening, desperate to take a moment to speak to him alone. Desperate that he might finally steal a kiss from her.
Well, not steal exactly. It would be freely given.
After all, their courtship had been only a few weeks. To say it had been a whirlwind romance would do a grave disservice to whirlwind romances the world over. No, their love was all-encompassing. It wasmad passion. It was as if nothing else mattered. He was the very first person she thought of in the morning and the last before she fell asleep.
The marquess was that kind of man. So perfectly handsome. Even tonight, with his fine Saville Row jacket and buckskins and that left dimple of his that popped out right before he winked at her. The wicked, delicious man.
An hour later, after the dinner and dessert courses were finished, Kate rose from the table, feeling his warm honey eyes on her. She had purposefully worn her new red gown this evening, shrugging when her mother fussed over the low-cut bodice. It didn’t matter if her hair was a mess of black curls, or she possessed startling gray eyes. The marquess didn’t even object to the freckles that dotted her cheeks. And why would he when she intentionally displayed her bosom for him to admire?
It wasn’t as if it was a secret Kate was beautiful. She knew she was, but that didn’t stop her from becoming annoyed at how she wasn’t as fair-haired or petite as the other debutantes.
Two Seasons had passed, as well as several marriage proposals. And she had refused each, much to the disappointment of her family. But she was so glad of it now. Since her coming-out, she had harbored a crush on the marquess. Now he not only knew she existed, but he wished for her to be his wife.
A thrill shot up her spine as he watched her exit to the drawing room with the rest of the women. She craved the heat in his eyes and that smile laden with appreciation.
“Excuse me, Miss Bancroft, did you drop this?” he called out after her.
She paused, certain she hadn’t dropped anything, then grinned as she looked up and saw that he held the handkerchief she had given him yesterday.
The clever devil.
“Yes, thank you, Lord Brookhouse.” She cast her eyes down to the floor, her heart fluttering in her chest. The very nearness of him completely undid her. Kate had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, andsomehow the marquess blunted that. She melted around him like an ice from Gunter’s in the summer.
His fingers brushed against hers for a moment too long. The heat of his skin seeped through the silk of her gloves, stoking a fire in her core. This silly, girlish desire was consuming her in the strangest ways.
When she glanced back up, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a sinful grin. “You look lovely,” he whispered.
She pulled the handkerchief from his hand. She felt the crisp edge of a slip of paper against her palm.
“Thank you,” Kate said, clearing her throat. Everything within her whirred around, and she was certain the dining room had suddenly been transported to some far-off tropical locale. Her body burned and buzzed with anticipation.
The marquess nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded before he spun on his feet and returned to his friends, calling out for more port.
Kate hurried out to the hallway and fell back into the shadows, opening the small slip of paper that asked for her to meet him in the garden in half an hour.
Women across London knew never to step foot into a garden at night unchaperoned. Only trouble awaited that decision.
But Kate wouldn’t say no. For better or worse, she followed her heart, and her heart wanted the marquess. They were to be married anyhow. She saw no harm in spending a few stolen minutes outside, alone with her secret fiancé.
“Kate, darling,” her friend Charlotte called out to her as she entered the drawing room. “That dress is lovely.”
Charlotte Gairdner, otherwise known as the Duchess of Dandridge, had known Kate since they were young girls. Along with their friend, Lily, they were an inseparable trio. While Lily lived to study the stars and often had her nose in a book, Charlotte was much more maternal, always patient and wise. Which was terribly unfortunate given she was married to the ghastliest man ever to become a duke in England.
Luckily, he made himself sparse wherever Charlotte was around.This was also unfortunate because, as of late, she was very interested in Kate’s budding relationship with the marquess.
“I don’t feel well,” Kate sputtered, her mind racing ahead and searching for a clock in the drawing room.
