Page 140 of Kathryn

Katie watched his large form as he confidently strode across the broken ground. When she raised her fingers to her lips, she discovered her hand was shaking. Badly.

What had that been about?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Gerrit knew he was behaving like a jealous, sullen beast and had done so all through dinner, rarely deigning to speak even though Scott and Everett were guests at their table tonight. He’d continued to brood and sulk after dinner in the library, when it had just been him and Kathryn.

When she set aside her needlework to play chess, Gerrit had begged off, claiming he had too much work. He did have a mountain of correspondence and bills, but he did very little of it. Instead, he’d unobtrusively observed his wife. Or at least he hoped he’d been unobtrusive.

Gerrit had long ago accepted that he was clueless when it came to reading other people’s emotions. But he would have wagered a pony—if he were the wagering sort—that something was amiss with Kathryn. And he could trace the change in her demeanor to Lord Jasper’s impromptu visit today.

Gerrit knew very little about Lord Jasper, but what he knew, he did not like.

Part of his dislike was, he admitted, because Lord Jasper so effortlessly did what Gerrit had never been able to do: he was charming.

But charming is as charming does.

To Gerrit’s knowledge Lord Jasper had impregnated at least one young woman in the neighborhood. The girl had been hastily shunted off to family in a nearby village to have her child.

Gerrit’s grandfather had fathered children on women on every one of his estates. But one of the main differences between his grandfather and Lord Jasper—not that it excused his grandfather’s behavior—was that the old duke had always supported his offspring and their mothers.

Lord Jasper had not paid any expenses for the young mother or his own child, so it had been left to Gerrit and Sir John Staniforth, the local squire, to see that the girl had ample money to live on. That had been five or six years ago, the last time Lord Jasper had come to his grandmother’s house. Gerrit knew the man had come to visit the Countess of Grimsby and meet the woman he was to marry. What sort of man impregnated one woman while becoming betrothed to another?

Not an honorable one, that was certain.

And now Lord Jasper’s wife was dead, and he had returned—probably to bleed more money out of Lady Grimsby—and he was entertaining himself not with the baker’s daughter but by sniffing around Gerrit’s wife.

Kathryn had appeared less than delighted to see the man, but it irked Gerrit that she had never told him of their connection. And it irked him even more that she’d said nothing of their meeting.

Perhaps she kept it to herself because you have been so unreasonable when it comes to other men so much as speaking to your wife…

Gerrit refused to feel guilty about his behavior. It was true he was jealous where Kathryn was concerned. She was his, dammit. He had been unforgivably stupid at the beginning of their marriage, and it made him feel ill when he thought how easily he could have lost her if she had not been brave and brought them both to their senses.

He would not make the mistake of pretending to be a detached husband again. Not to spare his pride and not to avoid conflict. Not for anyone or any reason.

The clock on the mantel chimed eleven o’clock and Kathryn looked up, meeting his gaze. The notch between her brilliant eyes told him she could sense his anger and was confused.

Gerrit folded the letter he’d had in front of him for the last half-hour and replaced it neatly on the pile before standing. “It is time for bed.”

She put her work away in the large basket she kept tucked beneath the end table.

Not a word was exchanged until he stopped in front of her door. He grasped the door handle but paused and looked down at her, his eyes lingering hungrily on the snug bodice of her gown which was a dark rose shade that he would have not expected to look so good on a ginger. But then he was beginning to suspect she could make sackcloth look good. “What are you wearing beneath that gown?”

She sucked in a breath, doing interesting things to her bodice. “Er, what do you mean?”

“I mean tell me about your underclothing.”

Her jaw sagged and she glanced about, as if somebody might be lurking in the corridor.

Gerrit raised an eyebrow and waited.

“A p-petticoat, chemise, stays, and stockings.”

“What color?”

“P—” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Pink.”

“Leave them on for me. Only remove your gown.” He opened the door and nudged her inside before she could speak, not that she appeared to be very talkative, for a change.