Page 45 of A Rogue to Resist
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Though I don’t feel particularly strong or intelligent for having endured it for five years.”
“Survival is its own kind of strength,” Drake replied. “And you did more than survive—you protected the estate and its people despite Edmund’s neglect. That required both courage and cleverness.”
Katherine felt a warmth spreading through her chest at his words. When was the last time anyone had acknowledgedher efforts at Greythorne as something worthy of admiration? Even her brother, who loved her dearly, had focused more on securing her financial independence after Edmund’s death than on recognizing what she had accomplished during her marriage.
“You give me too much credit,” she demurred, uncomfortable with his praise despite how it affected her.
“I doubt that very much,” Drake replied, his gaze still intent on her face. “If anything, I’ve likely given you too little.”
Something passed between them then—a current of understanding, of mutual recognition that transcended their usual careful distance. For a brief moment, Katherine felt truly seen in a way she hadn’t experienced in years, possibly ever.
The clock on the mantel chimed three, breaking the spell. Katherine blinked, suddenly aware of how long she had lingered and how personal their conversation had become.
“I should go,” she said, gathering her composure. “Willow Park requires my attention this afternoon.”
Drake nodded, visibly shifting back into a more formal demeanour as well. “Of course. Thank you for bringing the planting schedules. They will be most helpful.”
“You’re welcome.” Katherine moved toward the door, then paused, feeling she should acknowledge his predicament in some way. “I hope you find a satisfactory resolution to your... situation.”
“As do I,” Drake replied, his expression once again guarded. “Though I confess, it’s not how I envisioned spending the remainder of the Season.”
“No, I imagine not.” Katherine hesitated, then added, “If there’s any way I can be of assistance while you’re in London, please don’t hesitate to write. I’m happy to oversee the ongoing repairs in your absence.”
The offer surprised them both, judging by Drake’s raised eyebrows. But it was practical, Katherine assured herself. The repairs shouldn’t be delayed simply because he was required to fulfil an antiquated marriage clause.
“Thank you,” Drake said after a moment. “I may take you up on that. It would ease my mind to know Greythorne was in capable hands during my absence.”
Katherine nodded, unsure why his trust in her abilities should affect her so strongly. “Good day, then, Lord Greythorne.”
“Drake,” he corrected once more, with a small smile that made her heart skip. “After all we’ve discussed today, surely we’ve earned the right to first names, at least in private.”
“Drake,” Katherine conceded, liking more than she should the way his name felt on her lips. “Good day.”
As she turned to leave, she caught his gaze once more—and something passed between them, an acknowledgment of shifting boundaries, of a connection neither had anticipated nor sought, yet which was undeniably forming despite their best intentions.
Katherine hurried from the study, her thoughts in turmoil.
Drake would be leaving for London soon. He would find a suitable bride—young, beautiful, well-connected—and return to Greythorne a married man. The estate would continue to improve under his direction. The boundary dispute would eventually be resolved, one way or another. Life would proceed as it should.
And yet, the thought of Drake courting in London, of him bringing a new bride to Greythorne, stirred an emotion in Katherine that she refused to name. It was not jealousy—could not be jealousy. She had no claim on Drake Halston beyond their shared concern for Greythorne and its people.
Still, as she rode back to Willow Park through the spring countryside, Katherine found herself dwelling not on the planting schedules or estate repairs, but on the expression in Drake’s grey eyes when he had thanked her for her counsel on finding a bride.
He had looked at her as if she mattered. As if her opinions and experiences held value beyond their practical application to estate matters.
It was a dangerous thought. A dangerous feeling. One that Katherine had no intention of examining too closely.
After all, Drake Halston would soon be someone’s husband. And she had sworn never to entangle her heart or freedom with any man again—least of all another Earl of Greythorne.
Chapter Eleven
Drake stared morosely into his brandy, watching the amber liquid catch the light as he swirled it in the crystal glass.
“Marriage,” he muttered under his breath. “Confound it all.”
The elegant confines of White’s felt stifling tonight. All around him, London’s elite gentlemen engaged in quiet conversation, placing wagers in the famous betting book, or reading newspapers by the ample light of expensive beeswax candles.
Normally, the club’s atmosphere of restrained masculine privilege suited Drake perfectly. Tonight, it felt like a prison.
