Page 89 of A Rogue to Resist
Katherine’s expression shifted subtly, a guardedness entering her eyes. “Regarding your wedding arrangements, I presume. I apologize if I’ve delayed you.”
“No,” Drake said quickly, decisively. “Not wedding arrangements. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
He watched as confusion replaced the guardedness in her gaze, followed by a dawning comprehension that she seemed almost afraid to trust. The portfolio in her hands was now clutched so tightly the leather was creasing under her grip.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Drake moved closer, still maintaining a respectable distance but near enough to observe the rapid pulse visible at her throat, the slight tremor in her hands that mirrored his own internal disquiet.
“I was going to break my engagement to Lady Eleanor,” he said simply, the words surprisingly easy to speak now that they were directed at Katherine rather than Lord Fairfield. “I’ve realized it would be a mistake to proceed with a marriage neither of us truly desires.”
Katherine’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet room. “Neither of you desires? But Lady Eleanor—”
“Views me as a means to an end,” Drake finished for her. “A title, a position in Society, a fulfillment of her family’s expectations. Just as I viewed her as a convenient solution to the entail’s requirements.”
He moved to the desk, resting his hands on its polished surface as he chose his next words carefully. “I overheard her discussing our engagement at the Countess of Westwick’s ball. The clinical way she described our arrangement—her biological capabilities in exchange for my title and fortune—made me realize what a terrible error I was making.”
“I see,” Katherine said, her voice still carefully controlled despite the heightened color in her cheeks. “And Lord Fairfield? How will he receive this news?”
“With displeasure, certainly. Possibly outrage.” Drake smiled without humor. “The scandal will be considerable, the damage to my reputation significant. But I find I no longer care.”
Katherine set her portfolio on a nearby table, her movements deliberate, as though she needed the simple task to compose herself. A charged silence filled the room, heavy with unspoken questions and possibilities. Drake felt the weight of everything he wanted to say to her—how she had never been far from his thoughts, how his hasty engagement had been born of wounded pride and misunderstanding, how thoroughly she had upended his carefully ordered life.
But something in her expression—a vulnerability mingled with determination—gave him pause. She had come to him today for a purpose, had summoned the courage to call at his residence despite all propriety. Whatever had brought her here deserved to be heard before he unburdened his own heart.
“Why are you here, Katherine?” he asked softly. “What matter was important enough to bring you to my door this morning?”
She looked up at him, her composure visibly wavering for the first time since he’d entered the study. Her gloved hands, free now of the portfolio, twisted together in a gesture of uncharacteristic nervousness.
“I came because—” she began, then faltered, the words seeming to catch in her throat. She drew another deep breath and tried again. “I needed to speak with you before the wedding. Before it was too late.”
Drake’s heart quickened at her words, hope flaring despite his attempt to maintain caution. “Too late for what?”
Katherine moved away from the table, taking a few steps toward the small fireplace where embers still glowed from the morning fire. The warm light caught the subtle auburnhighlights in her dark hair, illuminated the fine bones of her face as she turned back to him.
“For truth,” she said simply. “For words I should have spoken weeks ago, before you announced your engagement to Lady Eleanor.”
Drake remained by the desk, his fingers pressed against the polished wood as though the physical contact might anchor him against the sudden rush of emotion her words provoked. He had dared not hope that Katherine’s purpose might align with his own intentions, had not allowed himself to believe she might harbor feelings similar to those that had tormented him these past weeks.
Yet there was something in her expression now, a mixture of resolve and vulnerability, that stirred dangerous optimism in his chest.
“What words would those be?” he asked, his voice lower than he’d intended, roughened by emotion he couldn’t fully suppress.
Katherine’s gaze met his, direct and unwavering despite the flush that colored her cheeks and the slight tremor in her hands.
“I should have said this sooner,” she whispered, her voice shaking but determined. “And now I fear it may be too late.”
The naked emotion in her voice, the unguarded pain in her eyes, sent a surge of protectiveness through Drake that nearly overwhelmed his resolve to let her speak first. He wanted to cross the room, to take her hands in his, to assure her that nothing was too late if only she would trust him with whatever burden she carried.
But Katherine Halston had never needed protection from difficult truths. What she deserved—what they both deserved—was the chance to speak honestly, without interruption or assumption.
So Drake remained where he stood, offering only his complete attention as Katherine gathered herself for whatever revelation had brought her to his door.
“Please,” he said softly. “Whatever you came to say, I’m listening.”
Katherine’s eyes never left his, determination gradually overtaking uncertainty in her gaze. The moment stretched between them, fraught with possibility and the weight of words yet unspoken.
“I came to ask you not to marry Lady Eleanor,” she said finally, the words emerging with quiet intensity. “Not for the western fields, not for Greythorne’s management, not for any practical consideration whatsoever.”
