For Love of the Duke (The Heart of a Duke Book 2) by Christi Caldwell Page B

name upon that unwritten list?
     

 
     
     
    ~9~
     
    My Lady,
    I’ve nearly completed my reading of Wordsworth’s latest work. If you care to attain the copy prior to your departure for the Christmastide season, I shall have it during my daily walk in Hyde Park, alongside the Serpentine River Friday morn.
    If you fail to make an appearance, I will consign the copy to a permanent place upon my bookshelf.
    ~B
    Katherine stared down at the missive she’d received earlier that week, and then squinted off into the distance through the heavy snow falling from the white-grey morning sky. She trudged through the heavy snow. Though the London streets had been uncharacteristically empty, her carriage ride had been slowed by the violent storm. Now, she quickened her step, wondering if the Duke of Bainbridge had tired of waiting for her to appear and had even now left, or…
    “My lady, it is sheer madness to be out in this weather,” her maid, Sara said, a faintly pleading note in her words.
    Katherine slowed her stride a moment, and glanced back. Sara huddled inside her brown cloak, her teeth chattered loudly in the quiet of the winter storm.
    Katherine adjusted her own cloak, pulling it closer to herself. “I’ll not be long. I merely am going to walk along the Serpentine. You may remain here. The park is empty, no harm will befall me,” she said when her maid opened her mouth to protest.
    With that, Katherine turned on her heel, and trudged through the snow. Her serviceable black boots crunched noisily through the powdery softness that covered the ground. Sara was indeed correct—it was sheer madness to be out in such weather, and yet, Katherine desperately wanted the copy of Wordsworth’s latest book. She stopped beside the Serpentine, iced over from the winter cold, and stared out across its surface.
    It wasn’t about her desire for the book.
    Though she was looking forward to reading the volume.
    For some inexplicable reason that defied logic and all good common-sense she prided herself upon—Katherine wished to see the Duke of Bainbridge. She tucked her gloved palms into the muffler and rubbed the cold digits in an attempt to bring warmth back into them.
    He wasn’t here.
    She snorted.
    Whyever would he come out in such a storm?
    She frowned. He could have had the decency to pen a note, informing her of his altered plans.
    “Are you mad?”
    Katherine shrieked, and spun around so quickly her boots skid along the snowy pavement, and she tumbled into the Duke of Bainbridge’s arms.
    His arms closed over her in a seemingly reflexive manner, as he righted her.
    Katherine swallowed, and glanced up, up, ever up his too-tall frame into his expressionless green eyes. Her breath caught. The green of his eyes put her in mind of the rolling hills and pastures in her family’s countryseat of Leeds.
    But he didn’t release her. He continued to hold her in a most improper, but highly protective manner. In spite of the cold of the winter day, an unexplained warmth seeped into Katherine at the point where their bodies touched. It fanned out, thawing the chill, and replacing it with a most delicious heat.
    Then he spoke. “What are you thinking coming out in this storm?” His words came cold and flat like the smooth icicles hanging from the wych elm tree.
    Katherine blinked. “You said to meet you here so that I might attain your copy of—”
    “Surely you have more sense than God gave a child, madam, not to brave a winter storm,” he snapped. He released her suddenly and took a step away from her. His gaze raked the emptiness around them. “And unchaperoned, no less,” he muttered that last part more to himself.
    Katherine’s brows dipped, and she counted to five in a bid to maintain her composure.
    When her efforts proved unsuccessful, she proceeded to count to ten.
    He lowered his midnight black brows; giving him the look of a devil at play in the purity of the snow. “What are you doing?”
    “I am counting,”