Page 61 of A Rogue to Resist
Katherine’s heart sank. So, he would accept Lady Westmore’s proposal after all, despite this cryptic exchange. The practical solution would prevail, as it must.
“Of course,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. “You must do what’s necessary to secure your inheritance.”
“I intend to,” Drake replied. “Though perhaps not in the manner you anticipate.”
Before Katherine could ask what he meant, the terrace doors opened again to admit Rosabel, whose expression suggested concern mingled with apology for the interruption.
“Katherine, forgive me,” she said, approaching them quickly. “But your brother has just arrived and is asking for you. Something about an urgent matter regarding Willow Park.”
Katherine’s brow furrowed in confusion. “James is here? But he had meetings at Parliament this afternoon.”
“So, he told me,” Rosabel confirmed. “Yet here he is, looking rather agitated and insisting he must speak with you immediately.”
Concern for Willow Park overrode Katherine’s reluctance to end her conversation with Drake. “I should go to him.”
Drake nodded, though his expression suggested frustration at the timing. “Of course. Estate matters take precedence.”
As Katherine moved to follow Rosabel back into the drawing room, she glanced back at Drake. He remained by the balustrade, watching her with an intensity that made her heart flutter uncertainly.
Whatever he had been about to say, whatever clarification Captain Halston’s arrival had prompted, would have to wait. But as she turned away, Katherine couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had shifted between them—something that even Lady Westmore had recognized with her knowing retreat.
What that meant for their future, however, remained as unclear as the fate of the western fields that had first brought them into conflict.
Chapter Fifteen
Drake exhaled slowly, staring at the unfinished letter before him.A marriage of convenience. No emotions, no risks...
The fire crackling in the grate of his study at Greythorne House was the only sound breaking the silence of the late evening. He had retired here immediately upon returning from Lady Fairchild’s reception, determined to settle the matter once and for all.
Lady Westmore’s proposal demanded a prompt response—courtesy required it, and practicality favoured it.
He reached for the crystal decanter at his elbow, pouring himself a measure of the fine liquid before returning to the blank page that had defied his efforts for the past hour. The words should have been simple enough to compose.
A formal acceptance of Lady Westmore’s proposition. An acknowledgment of the mutual benefits their union would provide. A suggestion of next steps to formalize their arrangement.
Yet his pen remained stubbornly poised above the paper, refusing to commit the necessary phrases.
On his desk lay several sheets covered with calculations—the cold arithmetic of what Lady Westmore’s fortune would mean for Greythorne’s restoration.
The figures were compelling. Her wealth, combined with his own resources, would ensure the estate’s complete revival within five years rather than the decade he had initially projected. The tenants would benefit from improved housing and agricultural innovations. The manor itself could be restored to its former glory without compromise or delay.
And the western fields—the lands that had first brought him into conflict with Katherine—could be resolved precisely as she had always wanted. Lady Westmore had been remarkably accommodating on that point, recognizing that the dispute consumed time and energy better directed elsewhere.
“Consider it a wedding gift to the dowager countess,” she had said with a slight smile. “A gesture of goodwill that costs us little but would mean much to her.”
Drake grimaced at the memory, draining his glass in a single swallow as the bitter irony struck him anew. Everything he had fought against since inheriting Greythorne, he was now prepared to concede. Not because Katherine had convinced him, but because Lady Westmore made it seem like the sensible course of action.
And itwassensible. The entire proposition was eminently, undeniably sensible.
Lady Westmore herself had laid it out with refreshing directness during their conversation at Lady Fairchild’s reception:
“We find ourselves with compatible needs, Lord Greythorne,” she had said, her dark eyes assessing him with calm intelligence. “You require a wife to satisfy the entail’s conditions. I desire the social position and security your titleprovides. Dare I say, neither of us harbours romantic illusions about marriage? We could forge an alliance based on mutual respect and practical advantage, without the complications of excessive sentiment.”
When he had asked about children—the entail’s ultimate requirement—she had addressed the matter with the same pragmatic clarity.
“I am still of childbearing age, and have no objection to providing an heir,” she had stated. “Once that duty is fulfilled, we might establish a comfortable arrangement allowing each other appropriate freedoms within the bounds of discretion.”
It was exactly the sort of straightforward transaction that had characterized Drake’s business dealings in America. Clear terms, mutual benefit, no false pretences. He had built his fortune on such arrangements.
