Page 68 of A Rogue to Resist
They had reached the entrance to the garden, where stone steps led back up to the house. Katherine paused, glancingtoward the drive that curved around the front of Thornfield Park. For a brief, absurd moment, she found herself half-expecting to see a familiar figure approaching—Drake, arriving dramatically to interrupt her meeting with Lord Clifton as he had interrupted her conversation with Lord Barrington at her brother’s dinner party.
But the drive remained empty, save for James and Rosabel’s waiting carriage.
Of course, Drake hadn’t come. How could he? He had no knowledge of this visit, no reason to seek her out here. And even if he had known, why would he interfere? Whatever connection existed between them, it certainly didn’t give him any claim on her attention or time.
Yet the dart of disappointment she felt at his absence could not be denied, nor could the implications of that disappointment. Somewhere along the way, despite all her defences and denials, she had developed feelings for Drake Halston that went far beyond professional respect or friendly accord.
And now she had to face the possibility that those feelings might never be reciprocated—that Drake might even now be composing his acceptance of Lady Westmore’s proposal, securing his inheritance and his future in a single practical arrangement.
“Shall we rejoin the others?” Lord Clifton asked gently, perhaps noting her momentary distraction.
Katherine nodded, gathering her composure. “Yes, of course. And thank you, my lord—for your understanding, and for your candour. Both are more valued than you know.”
As they ascended the steps, Katherine found herself wondering what Drake would do if he knew where she was today, what he would say if he could see her walking throughLord Clifton’s rose garden, considering the possibility of a life that didn’t include him or Greythorne.
Whether he would care at all, or simply wish her well as he moved forward with his own plans for marriage.
She would likely never know. And that uncertainty was perhaps the cruellest aspect of the feelings she had so unwisely allowed to develop for a man who had never indicated he wanted anything from her beyond her knowledge of his estate.
Chapter Seventeen
Drake arrived just in time to see Katherine smiling at another man.
The sight struck him with physical force, like a blow to the chest that momentarily robbed him of breath. He reined his horse to a halt at the edge of the tree line bordering Thornfield Park’s manicured grounds, far enough away to remain unobserved yet close enough to witness the scene unfolding before him with painful clarity.
Katherine stood on the terrace steps beside a distinguished-looking gentleman of middle years. Her face, turned toward her companion, wore an expression of attentive interest that Drake had come to treasure when directed at him.
Sunlight caught in her dark hair, highlighting those elusive auburn strands he had only recently noticed. Even from this distance, he could see the gentle curve of her smile as she responded to something the gentleman said.
They looked perfectly matched—the elegant widow and the dignified gentleman, framed by the graceful architecture of Thornfield Park and its famous rose gardens.
Drake’s fingers tightened around his riding gloves, the fine leather protesting.
He hadn’t planned to come here today.
After tearing up his response to Lady Westmore the previous evening, he had risen early, determined to ride to Willow Park and speak with Katherine directly. The resolution had burned in him with uncharacteristic urgency—the need to tell her how thoroughly she had upended his careful plans, how completely she had come to occupy his thoughts, how impossible it now seemed to contemplate a future that didn’t include her challenging, exasperating, magnificent presence.
But Willow Park had been quiet when he arrived, its mistress absent.
The elderly housekeeper had informed him somewhat stiffly that Lady Katherine had gone out for the day and was not expected to return until evening. No, she could not say where her ladyship had gone. No, she could not accept a message on her behalf. Perhaps his lordship would care to call another day?
It had been clear from the housekeeper’s manner that Drake’s sudden appearance at Willow Park was considered irregular at best, inappropriate at worst. He had been on the verge of departing empty-handed when he’d encountered Thomas Collins, the tenant farmer whose cottage roof they had repaired together, delivering fresh vegetables to the kitchen.
“Looking for Lady Katherine, my lord?” Collins had asked, touching his cap respectfully. “She’s gone to Thornfield Park for the day, with her brother the duke. Mrs. Collins mentioned seeing their carriage pass early this morning.”
“Thornfield Park?” Drake had repeated, the name vaguely familiar. “That’s Lord Clifton’s estate, isn’t it?”
“Aye, my lord. Borders Willow Park to the south. Fine gentleman, by all accounts, though keeps more to himself than Lady Katherine does.” Collins had hesitated, then added with the familiarity of a man who had witnessed their easy rapport during the cottage repairs, “Mrs. Collins thought it might bea match-making visit, begging your pardon for saying so. The duke’s been wanting Lady Katherine to marry again, she says.”
The casual observation had sent a chill through Drake.
Could Katherine truly be considering remarriage—to Lord Clifton, of all people? A man Drake knew only by reputation: respected, wealthy, and thoroughly conventional. The antithesis of the boundary-breaking, independent woman Katherine had revealed herself to be during their weeks of collaboration at Greythorne.
He had thanked Collins and departed immediately, riding toward Thornfield Park with a sense of foreboding that only intensified with every mile. Now, observing Katherine and Lord Clifton together, that foreboding crystallized into something sharper and more painful.
They were walking again, descending the terrace steps to continue their tour of the gardens. Clifton offered his arm with practiced gallantry, and Katherine placed her hand upon it with apparent ease. Their conversation seemed animated, heads inclined toward each other in a way that suggested mutual interest.
Drake urged his horse farther into the cover of the trees, following their progress at a distance. The rational part of his mind told him to leave—that his presence here, uninvited and unannounced, bordered on impropriety. But a stronger, more primal instinct kept him rooted in place, unable to tear his gaze from the woman who had somehow become essential to his happiness.
