Page 56 of A Rogue to Resist
Katherine’s gaze snapped to his, searching his face as though trying to determine his sincerity. “Yet she meets all the requirements for a suitable countess.”
“On paper, perhaps.” Drake shrugged. “But marriage is more than a list of suitable attributes, isn’t it? At least, it should be.”
“Says the man who must marry within months or lose his inheritance,” Katherine pointed out, though without her earlier sharpness. “One would think practicality might necessarily outweigh sentiment in such circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” Drake acknowledged. “Yet I find myself stubbornly resistant to making what would amount to a business arrangement with a stranger, however suitable she appears.”
Katherine studied him curiously. “What would you prefer, then? Love at first sight? Romantic passion? Those seem unlikely prospects given your constraints.”
“Not love, necessarily,” Drake replied carefully. “But understanding. Compatibility. The sense that we share a fundamental view of what matters in life.”
He hesitated, then added, “The kind of connection where disagreement itself becomes engaging rather than merely irritating.”
Something shifted in Katherine’s expression—a fleeting vulnerability quickly masked by practiced composure. “A lofty aspiration for an arranged match.”
“Perhaps,” Drake agreed. “Yet I cannot help but think such connections exist. Even if they emerge in the most unexpected circumstances.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. The noise of the gathering seemed to recede, leaving only the charged silence between them.
“Your new countess might not appreciate your continued association with me,” Katherine said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most women would find it unusual.”
“Then she would not be the right countess,” Drake replied simply. “Greythorne needs your knowledge and connection to its people. I won’t sacrifice that for convention’s sake.”
Katherine drew a small, sharp breath. “You speak as though my involvement with the estate supersedes all other considerations.”
“Doesn’t it?” Drake asked quietly. “For both of us?”
Before she could answer, the duchess approached, her expression apologetic. “Katherine, I hate to interrupt, but Mrs. Wilson is demanding an introduction to you. Something about a charity committee.”
Katherine nodded, visibly gathering her composure. “Of course. Thank you, Bel.”
As she moved to step away, Drake found himself reaching for her wrist, his fingers closing gently around it before he could consider the impropriety of the gesture. Katherine froze, her gaze dropping to where his hand touched her.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The duchess glanced between them, a knowing expression crossing her face before she tactfully stepped back. “I’ll tell Mrs. Wilson you’ll be along shortly.”
As Rosabel moved away, Katherine remained motionless, her wrist still captured in Drake’s light grasp. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingertips, matching the sudden acceleration of his own heart.
“This is dangerous,” Katherine whispered, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that stole his breath.
Drake released her wrist slowly, reluctantly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”
What exactly “this” was, neither of them specified. But as Katherine moved away to join the duchess, the phantom warmth of her arm lingered on Drake’s fingertips, a sensation both exhilarating and deeply unsettling.
Because regardless of what his rational mind might argue, Drake knew with sudden, inescapable clarity that no woman—not Lady Elizabeth, not Lady Eleanor, not any eligible young lady in London—could possibly engage his interest the way Katherine Halston did.
And that realization was as inconvenient as it was undeniable.
Chapter Fourteen
“She’s perfect for him,” someone whispered nearby, loud enough for Katherine to hear despite the crowded drawing room of Lady Fairchild’s afternoon reception.
Katherine’s teacup paused halfway to her lips as her attention was reluctantly drawn to the conversation taking place just behind the ornate settee where she sat.
“Lady Westmore, you mean?” another voice replied with equal indiscretion. “I quite agree. A widow of independent means, no troublesome family connections demanding attention, and mature enough to understand a marriage of convenience without romantic expectations.”
