Page 73 of A Rogue to Resist
A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she called, hastily folding Hilaria’s note and tucking it into her sleeve.
Mrs. Winters entered with a tea tray. “Your tea, my lady. Cook has included some of those small cakes you favour.”
“Thank you.” Katherine gestured toward the small table by the window. “You may leave it there.”
Instead of departing immediately, Mrs. Winters hesitated, her kind face creased with concern. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lady, but are you quite well? You look rather pale.”
“I’m merely tired from the excursion,” Katherine replied, summoning a small smile that felt brittle even to herself. “A quiet evening is all I require.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Winters curtsied and withdrew, though her expression suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced.
When the door closed, Katherine moved to the window seat, leaving the tea untouched. The gardens below were bathed in the golden light of approaching sunset, the familiar view suddenly seeming alien and remote.
With mechanical movements, she began removing her gloves, staring numbly at the pale fabric as it slid from her fingers. Such a simple action, performed countless times without thought, now requiring her full concentration to complete.
Drake was to marry Lady Eleanor.
The western fields dispute would be resolved according to the widow’s practical proposal. Greythorne’s heir would be secured, the entail’s conditions satisfied. Everything settled, everything arranged—without regard for the unexpected feelings that had blossomed between its master and the dowager countess.
Had there truly been feelings on his side? Or had she imagined the current of attraction that seemed to flow beneath their argumentative exchanges, the flash of something more personal than professional respect in his grey eyes when he looked at her?
Perhaps it had always been one-sided. Perhaps Drake had only ever viewed her as a useful resource for understanding Greythorne, nothing more.
Yet she couldn’t reconcile that possibility with the man who had touched her wrist at Lady Fairchild’s reception, whose fingers had lingered against her pulse as though reluctant to break the connection. Whose voice had dropped to that intimate register when he’d said, “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known, Katherine.”
A frustrated sound escaped her as she tossed her gloves aside. This circular thinking was pointless. Drake had made his choice. Whatever might have existed between them was now irrelevant.
She should be relieved, Katherine told herself.
Drake’s marriage would resolve the boundary dispute in her favour. The western fields would remain hers, legally and unequivocally. She would maintain her independence, free from the complications that any deeper involvement with Drake would have entailed.
This was what she wanted. What she had insisted upon from their first meeting.
So why did victory taste so bitter?
Katherine rose restlessly, moving to her writing desk.
The practical thing would be to write a note of congratulations. Something polite and distant, acknowledging his engagement while maintaining the proper boundaries of their professional relationship. After all, they would still need to interact regarding estate matters that affected both Greythorne and Willow Park.
She sat, drawing a sheet of paper toward her, and dipping her pen in the inkwell.
Lord Greythorne,
She paused, the formal address suddenly feeling wrong after weeks of calling him Drake in their private conversations. But what alternative was there? Their brief window of informality was surely closed now that he was to be married.
Please accept my congratulations on your forthcoming marriage. I trust this alliance will bring you both satisfaction and secure Greythorne’s future prosperity.
The words looked stiff and hollow on the page, nothing like the tumult of emotions churning within her. With a frustrated sound, Katherine crumpled the paper and reached for a fresh sheet.
Drake,
I’ve heard of your engagement and wish to offer my sincere—
No. That was no better. Katherine crushed this attempt as well, tossing it aside with growing frustration.
How did one congratulate a man on his practical, loveless marriage? How did one pretend that such news caused no personal pain, when in fact it felt like a dagger to the heart?
