Page 88 of A Rogue to Resist
“Lady Katherine is here,” his butler announced.
Drake Halston, Earl of Greythorne, froze in the act of buttoning his coat, his fingers suddenly clumsy against the fine wool. For a moment, he was certain he had misheard.
“I beg your pardon, Thompson?”
“Lady Katherine, my lord, your neighbour at Greythorne,” the butler repeated, his expression betraying the faintest hint of curiosity beneath his professional demeanor. “She is requesting a brief audience regarding estate matters. The Duchess of Wexford accompanies her but remains in the carriage.”
Drake stared at his butler, a thousand thoughts colliding in his mind. Katherine was here? Now, of all moments—when he was preparing to call on Lord Fairfield to break his engagement to Lady Eleanor?
“Did she mention what specific estate matters?” he asked, playing for time as he attempted to collect himself.
“Something regarding the western fields, my lord. A proposed joint management arrangement, I believe.”
The western fields. Their first point of contention, the dispute that had defined their initial relationship. That she would choose this particular pretext spoke volumes.
“Show her to the study,” Drake said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Offer refreshments, though I doubt she’ll accept them. I’ll join her in just a moment.”
As Thompson withdrew with a bow, Drake turned to the mirror above the fireplace, studying his reflection with critical eyes. He looked exactly as he had a moment ago—dressed for a formal morning call in a perfectly tailored dark blue coat, ivory waistcoat, and immaculate cravat. Yet he felt utterly transformed by the simple announcement of Katherine’s presence in his home.
What could have prompted this unprecedented visit? In the three weeks since his engagement to Lady Eleanor had been announced, Katherine had been conspicuously absent from every social gathering he attended. He had assumed she was avoiding him—an assumption that had contributed significantly to his growing certainty that he had made a terrible mistake.
Last night, after days of increasing doubt and overhearing Lady Eleanor’s cold assessment of their marriage to her friend, Drake had finally reached his decision. He would call on Lord Fairfield this morning and request a private audience to break the engagement. The scandal would be considerable, the damage to his reputation significant. But the alternative—proceeding with a loveless marriage to a woman who viewed him merely as an advantageous match—had become unthinkable.
And now Katherine was here, in his study, waiting for him.
Drake finished buttoning his coat with deliberate precision, drawing a deep breath to steady himself. Whatever her reason for this unexpected visit, he would face her with the composure expected of a gentleman. Even if his heart was racing with possibilities he dared not entertain.
He made his way to the study with measured steps, aware of Thompson watching him with that same barely perceptiblecuriosity. The entire household had noticed his increasing restlessness since the engagement announcement, the long hours he spent alone in his study, the abrupt changes in his plans. They would certainly notice the unusual circumstance of Lady Katherine calling at his residence without her brother’s escort.
At the study door, Drake paused, gathering himself. Then, with a resolve born of weeks of internal conflict, he entered.
Katherine stood by the window, her figure silhouetted against the morning light that streamed through the glass. She wore a walking dress of deep blue, elegantly cut but free of excessive ornamentation, her dark hair arranged in a simple style that emphasized the graceful line of her neck. At his entrance, she turned, and Drake felt the impact of her gaze like a physical force.
“Lady Katherine,” he said, closing the door behind him. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Lord Greythorne.” Her voice was steady, though a slight flush colored her cheeks. “Forgive the intrusion. I wouldn’t have called without notice, but the matter seemed too important for delay.”
“No apology necessary,” Drake assured her, moving further into the room though still maintaining a proper distance. “Thompson mentioned something about the western fields?”
“Yes.” Katherine glanced down at the leather portfolio she held, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around its edges. “I’ve been developing a proposal for their joint management. A compromise that might satisfy both our interests.”
Drake studied her carefully. Though her words spoke of estate matters, her manner suggested deeper currents beneath this ostensible reason for her visit. There was a tension abouther, a contained energy that reminded him of their most heated discussions about Greythorne’s management.
“A compromise,” he repeated. “After so many weeks of absence, I confess I’m surprised by your renewed interest in estate matters.”
A flash of something—pain? regret?—crossed her features before she composed herself once more. “My absence from Society has been due to personal matters, not lack of concern for Greythorne.”
“I see.” Drake moved to the side table where a decanter of water stood ready. “May I offer you refreshment? Water, perhaps, or tea could be arranged.”
“No, thank you.” Katherine drew a deep breath, as though gathering her courage. “In truth, Lord Greythorne... Drake... the western fields are not my primary reason for calling today.”
The use of his given name sent a jolt through him. They had occasionally used first names in their private discussions at Greythorne, but never in London, never in a context so fraught with potential impropriety.
“I suspected as much,” he replied quietly. “And I must admit, your timing is rather remarkable.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “Remarkable? How so?”
Drake gestured toward his formal attire. “I was just preparing to call on Lord Fairfield when you arrived. A matter of some urgency required my attention.”
