Dowager Duchess of Rosewood
Groaning, Felix sank into a cushioned chair and closed his eyes. For years, he’d fought his father on the issue of him becoming a vicar, as second sons of peers often did. Felix had been stubborn in his decision of not becoming a man of the cloth and so was cut off.
Regret swelled in his heart, and he wished he’d made amends with his father before he died. Truly, it was Felix’s responsibility now to take over as duke, even though the prospect didn’t sound enticing. His grandmother’s worry over Stanley stepping into the role was not misplaced. Felix’s cousin had always been a reckless man as long as Felix had known him. He wasn’t too sure becoming a duke would straighten out his cousin. Indeed, Felix should step into the role.
He rubbed his now throbbing head and glanced at the telegram. With a sinking heart, he knew what must be done. He’d been his grandmother’s favorite grandson as a child. Now she needed him, and he couldn’t let her down.
Children’s laughter rang from outside the window, drawing his attention. They played a chase game, and it reminded him of when he was young and lived at home. Nostalgic memories engulfed him, bringing with them a bitter-sweet pang to his heart. If he took over the title, this would be his last time in Macapá. Indeed, this would be one Christmas he’d never forget.
Since this was his last adventure, he might as well make it memorable.
* * * *
THE RICKETY OLD HACKNEYjerked to a stop in front of the docks a half hour before Katrina’s scheduled arrival time. She peeked out the window of the vehicle at the large white steamer with filigree and railings of shiny brass, wishing she would be sailing instead of traveling in a bumpy coach.
The sun had already begun its climb into the early morning sky, creating a palette of purple, blue, and orange. As she scanned the area, a few men loaded several crates onto the boat, but she didn’t see her escort. If Mr. Felix Knightly came late, she would never let him forget it. She’d show that all-too-arrogant man he couldn’t push her around. Although she had promised to obey, she’d do it on her own terms.
With help from a Portuguese manservant, she stepped down from her conveyance. He then picked up her trunk and carried it onto the dock. A few men glanced her way in curiosity. Unease shot through her, causing strange chills to raise the small hairs on her arms. Thankfully, she’d taken her mother’s advice and hidden a dagger in her boot just in case any man got the wrong impression and wanted to treat her any less than she deserved.
Acting her part as a well-bred lady, she daintily sat on her trunk, folded her hands on her lap, and kept her back ramrod straight while she waited patiently for Mr. Knightly to arrive. She stared up the street and watched for his carriage, but after ten minutes passed with other vehicles stopping to unload and no sign of her guide, panic welled inside of her.
Had he changed his mind? Perhaps she shouldn’t have shown him her temper yesterday, but Mr. Knightly knew how to spark anger inside of her quickly. She shouldn’t have goaded him so much when they spoke in the lawyer’s office, but there was something about him that made her want to rebel. She definitely didn’t like the way he treated her when he thought she was a spoiled little rich girl. At the same time, she knew she wouldn’t tolerate his judgmental attitude when he finally discovered she had been poor all of her life.
Several times during their conversation she wanted to shake him and make him see reason. The only reason she hadn’t followed her instincts was because she was afraid of touching his broad shoulders and liking it. She’d never met a man quite as robust as this one. It frightened her that if she made contact with him, the sensation might be too enjoyable, and she’d never want to pull away. Heavens, he was built very well. Thinking of him and his muscles wasn’t a good thing, either.
More than anything, she wished she could hate him for judging her so harshly. She wished she could stop admiring his physical appearance and concentrate on his black heart, instead.
This morning, her mother had diligently assisted Katrina with her packing and readying for this journey. Her mother’s hesitation in allowing Katrina to go alone was obvious, but really, there was nothing to be done about the stubborn Mr. Knightly.
Her mother kept reassuring Katrina how much she loved her. Mother also reminded her that because Henry was dying, he would probably say things he didn’t mean. He’d more than likely tell her that he’d thought of her often through the years and wished he had gotten to know her.
Katrina rolled her eyes. She would always resent that man for his abandonment in the same way her mother had. No matter how sweet and loving he tried to be when they finally met, she would know what had truly been in his heart for all these years. His absence had proven it.
A bead of moisture ran down her neck, and she reached up to brush it away. This weather was so searing, she wondered if this town sat in the middle of a volcano. Now, more than ever, she missed the chilly winter temperatures in England.
She grumbled under her breath. Where was Mr. Knightly who had wanted her here promptly? Couldn’t he follow his own rules? Her temperament had been spurred already by her absentee father’s request, and Mr. Knightly’s attitude wasn’t making things any easier.
From up the street, a man sauntered toward the docks. Even from where Katrina sat, she recognized the wave of the man’s raven hair and the shape of his body.
It was Knightly.
As he passed a run-down inn, a brown skinned woman called his name and darted over to him. He laughed at what the woman said, and the baritone ring sent shivers down Katrina’s spine. As he stood with the other woman in the street, Katrina assessed his appearance. His beige shirt hung open at his chest and draped loosely from his shoulders to his narrow hips.
A small gasp sprung from her throat. Glory, hedidhave muscles. Lots of them. She’d never known a man so ruggedly built, and so blindly handsome. She shook away the thought. Thinking of him in this manner was out of the question.
The woman next to Felix rose on the tips of her toes and flung her arms around his broad shoulders. In return, Felix slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The bold woman was the first to kiss him, but it appeared Felix didn’t have any problem drinking in her passion.
Katrina sucked in a quick breath. Working most of her life in a tavern, she hadn’t been sheltered from the mating rituals of men and women, but witnessing Felix openly kiss this woman stirred something deep inside Katrina, awakening her curiosity. What would it feel like if she was the woman in his embrace? The newfound feelings frightened her in an odd way, turning her mouth dry.
Felix kissed the woman one last time and then pushed her away. He stared after her as she sashayed back toward the inn, swinging her rounded hips as if trying to entice him. Thankfully, Felix didn’t take the hint, but instead, continued walking toward Katrina. A smile of satisfaction lit up his handsome face... until he saw her.
Blinking, he shook his head. He glanced up at the hints of orange streaking against the morning sky, then back to her as if not believing what he saw. He walked right up to her and met her stare.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, still swollen from kissing. She moistened her throat with a hard swallow. “I’m waiting for you, and by the looks of your laboring crew,” she stood and glanced at the steamer, “I’d say not only are you late, but you’re a poor excuse for a leader since you’re not working alongside them in preparing for our journey.”
He folded his arms across his chest, slightly tilting his head as he studied her. “If you knew anything about leaders, you’d know they delegate responsibility. And for your information, I’m not late. We’ll leave on time,my lady,so don’t get your pantalettes in an uproar.”
