Page 62 of A Rogue to Resist
So why did this one fill him with such profound reluctance?
Drake rose from his desk, moving to the window that overlooked the darkened gardens of Greythorne House.
The London Season continued in full swing beyond these walls, a whirl of balls and dinners and carefully orchestrated matrimonial campaigns. He had sampled enough of it these past weeks to know that Lady Westmore’s proposition represented a rare opportunity—a chance to fulfil the entail’s requirements without subjecting himself to the tedious courtship rituals that left him increasingly cold.
Yet each time he returned to his desk, prepared to draft his acceptance, something held him back. Something that had nothing to do with practical considerations and everything to do with a pair of blue eyes that had haunted him since their first contentious meeting.
“This is absurd,” he muttered to the empty room, turning back to the unfinished letter. “Katherine has made her positionperfectly clear. She has no interest in remarriage, to me or anyone else.”
Indeed, she had stated her intention to remain independent with unwavering consistency since their first encounter. Her experience with Edmund had left scars too deep for easy healing—a fact Drake understood and respected. He had no right to hope she might reconsider her stance for his sake.
Which made his reluctance to accept Lady Westmore’s thoroughly reasonable proposal all the more irrational.
With renewed determination, Drake seated himself at the desk once more. The sooner this matter was settled, the sooner he could return to Greythorne Manor and focus on the estate improvements that had been delayed by this matrimonial charade.
Lady Westmore,he wrote, his pen finally committing ink to paper.
I have given careful consideration to your proposal and find much to recommend it. The practical advantages to both parties are evident, and your approach to the arrangement is refreshingly direct.
It would be my honour to accept—
Drake paused, the word “accept” hovering incomplete on the page as an unbidden memory surfaced with startling clarity: Katherine kneeling beside old Mrs. Parsons after the cottage roof collapsed, concern etched on her features as she checked the elderly woman for injuries. Katherine arguing passionately with him in the village market, her cheeks flushed with indignation as she defended fair prices for quality materials. Katherine’s rare, unguarded laugh when he’d rescued her from Lord Barrington’s tedious military anecdotes at the duke’s dinner party.
These were not the calculated gestures of a woman playing a social role, but authentic moments that revealed her true character—her compassion, her principles, her unexpected humour. They spoke to something in Drake that Lady Westmore’s practical proposition could never touch, however sensible it might be.
With a muttered curse, he pushed back from the desk, the letter once again abandoned. This would not do. He needed to approach the matter with clearer thinking, unclouded by these persistent images of Katherine that seemed determined to intrude upon his rational consideration.
A knock at the study door provided a welcome interruption.
“Enter,” Drake called, grateful for the distraction.
Harrison appeared, eyebrows rising at the sight of the scattered papers and half-empty brandy decanter. “Working late, I see. Your butler said you’d locked yourself away the moment you returned from Lady Fairchild’s gathering.”
“I’m attempting to compose a response to Lady Westmore,” Drake explained, gesturing toward the unfinished letter.
“Ah.” Harrison settled into a chair opposite the desk, helping himself to brandy without waiting for an invitation. “The wealthy widow who offered you a marriage of convenience. News travels quickly in London.”
Drake grimaced. “Apparently so.”
“And have you decided to accept her proposition?” Harrison asked, studying Drake over the rim of his glass.
“It would be the sensible course,” Drake replied, avoiding a direct answer. “Lady Westmore offers a practical solution to my predicament. No romantic complications, no unrealistic expectations—merely a straightforward arrangement that satisfies the entail while allowing us both to maintain our essential independence.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” Harrison agreed, his tone suggesting he found it anything but. “Practically identical to the business partnerships you’ve established in the past. Except, of course, for the small matter of sharing your life, your home, and potentially producing children together.”
Drake shot him an irritated glance. “Those aspects would be negotiated with the same practical approach as any other element of the arrangement.”
“I see.” Harrison swirled his brandy thoughtfully. “And Lady Katherine? How does she feature in this eminently practical plan?”
Drake stiffened. “She doesn’t. Lady Katherine has made her desire for independence abundantly clear from our first meeting. She has no interest in remarriage.”
“To anyone?” Harrison asked. “Or specifically to another Earl of Greythorne, after her experience with the last one?”
The question struck uncomfortably close to thoughts Drake had been avoiding. “The distinction is irrelevant. Lady Katherine views our association solely in terms of Greythorne’s management and the welfare of its tenants.”
“Does she indeed?” Harrison’s scepticism was evident. “That’s not what I observed at the duke’s dinner party. Nor what Lady Beauford reported from Lady Fairchild’s reception today.”
Drake frowned. “Lady Beauford? What has she to do with anything?”
