Page 50 of A Rogue to Resist
So why did the very idea fill Katherine with such inexplicable dread?
“How thoughtful of you,” she managed, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Though Lord Greythorne may have his own ideas about suitable matches.”
James waved a dismissive hand. “Every gentleman benefits from guidance in these matters. Particularly one who has spent so many years abroad, away from proper Society.”
Katherine bit back another retort. Drake was perfectly capable of selecting his own bride without her brother’s interference. Indeed, despite his reluctance, she had no doubt he would approach the task with the same thoroughness and intelligence he applied to his business ventures.
The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it only intensified the strange hollowness spreading through her chest.
“I should finish these place cards,” she said, eager to end the conversation. “Dinner is in less than two hours.”
James rose, apparently satisfied with her acquiescence.
“Rosabel will be down shortly to help. Oh, and Katherine?” He paused at the doorway. “Do wear the blue silk tonight. It brings out your eyes.”
Katherine stared after her brother as he departed, torn between exasperation and reluctant affection. That he genuinely believed she might be enticed into remarriage by the rightgentleman was both touching and infuriating. She had meant what she said—her freedom, so dearly purchased through five years of Edmund’s cold disdain, was not something she would willingly surrender again.
So why did the prospect of watching Drake court eligible young ladies make her feel slightly ill?
Katherine set down the place cards with unsteady hands.
This was ridiculous. She had no claim on Drake Halston beyond their shared interest in Greythorne’s welfare. His marital prospects were none of her concern, provided he chose someone who would not interfere with the estate’s proper management.
Yet as she arranged the seating to place Lady Elizabeth Crawford conveniently near Drake, Katherine couldn’t suppress a twinge of what felt disturbingly like jealousy.
It was merely concern for Greythorne, she assured herself. Nothing more.
~~~~
By eight o’clock, Wexford House’s grand dining room glittered with candlelight reflected in polished silver and fine crystal. Katherine stood beside her brother and sister-in-law, greeting each arriving guest with practiced courtesy while silently cursing his matchmaking ambitions.
Lord Barrington, the widower James had mentioned, bowed over her hand with particular attention, his aging features arranged in what he clearly believed was a gallant expression. Sir William Harding followed, younger and more handsome, but with the slightly pompous air common to successful barristers.
Katherine smiled and nodded and made appropriate responses to their compliments, all while keeping one eye on theentrance, anticipating Drake’s arrival with a mixture of dread and something else she refused to name.
When he finally appeared, she was engaged in conversation with an elderly dowager about the unseasonably warm weather. The sudden hush that fell over the gathering drew her attention to the doorway, where Drake stood in formal evening attire, his tall figure commanding attention without apparent effort.
Katherine had seen him in many contexts over the past weeks—giving orders to workmen, inspecting fields, negotiating with suppliers. But never like this, in the formal black and white of evening dress, his dark hair slightly tousled as though he’d run impatient fingers through it before entering.
He looked every inch the aristocrat—and yet somehow different from the polished, artificial gentlemen who populated London ballrooms. There was a vitality to him, a substance that made the others seem like pale imitations of manhood.
Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Katherine felt a jolt of awareness that had nothing to do with Greythorne or boundary disputes or estate management. For one unguarded moment, she simply appreciated the sight of him—the breadth of his shoulders beneath impeccably tailored wool, the clean line of his jaw, the intensity of his grey eyes as they held hers.
Then he moved forward to greet her brother, and the moment passed, leaving Katherine slightly breathless and deeply unsettled.
“Lady Katherine,” Drake said moments later, bowing over her hand with perfect correctness. “A pleasure to see you again.”
“Lord Greythorne,” she replied, striving for her usual composure. “I trust you’re finding London to your liking?”
“It has its diversions,” he acknowledged, though something in his tone suggested he found those diversions less than compelling. “Though I confess I find myself strangely eager toreturn to Greythorne. The repairs to the Collins cottage should be nearing completion.”
Katherine felt a rush of pleasure at his evident concern for the tenant family. “Mrs. Collins sent word that the new roof is already in place. She’s most grateful.”
“The credit is yours as much as mine,” Drake replied, his voice dropping slightly so only she could hear. “Your insights regarding the proper reinforcement of the north wall proved invaluable.”
This easy acknowledgment of her contribution—so unlike Edmund’s constant dismissal of her efforts—warmed Katherine in ways she knew were dangerous. Before she could respond, however, James appeared at Drake’s elbow, a fair-haired young woman in tow.
“Greythorne! Allow me to present Lady Elizabeth Crawford, daughter of the Earl of Montrose. Lady Elizabeth, the Earl of Greythorne.”
