Page 9 of A Rogue to Resist
A gentleman passed by, nodding respectfully. “Lord Greythorne.”
Drake returned the nod automatically, still unused to the title.
He had spent years building his own fortune, making his own way without relying on family connections or inherited privilege. He’d expected to continue that independent existence indefinitely. Now, suddenly, he was responsible for an estate, tenants, tradition—all the things he’d purposely left behind when he sailed for America a decade ago.
And standing squarely in the path of his new responsibilities was Lady Katherine, a woman who apparently held both legal leverage and intimate knowledge of the very estate he was meant to govern.
Drake gathered the papers, tucking them into his case. Whatever tomorrow brought, he would be prepared. Lady Katherine might have her brother’s support and years of experience with Greythorne affairs, but Drake had navigated far more treacherous waters in his business dealings abroad.
He leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “We’ll see about that. If she thinks I’ll let her walk all over me, she’s in for a surprise.”
As he left White’s and stepped into the cool London evening, Drake’s mind was filled with strategies and counterarguments for tomorrow’s meeting. But beneath his tactical planning lurked an unexpected current of curiosity about the woman who had survived his cousin’s supposed cruelty with her spirit intact.
Lady Katherine. The widow who stood between him and complete control of his inheritance.
Tomorrow, they would finally meet face to face.
Chapter Three
Katherine’s hands tightened on the edges of the estate ledger. “Let him come. I will not be cowed.”
No one answered her declaration, which was just as well. She had not intended to speak the words aloud and would have been mortified to discover anyone had heard her talking to herself like some madwoman. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of her study, illuminating the neat stacks of papers she had arranged and rearranged throughout the sleepless night.
She released the ledger and straightened her spine, willing her racing heart to calm itself. There was no reason for this anxiety. She had faced far worse than an ambitious new earl during her years as Edmund’s wife.
Still, her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her cup of tea, now gone cold from neglect. She grimaced at the taste but drank it anyway, needing something to occupy her hands.
Katherine gathered the most essential documents and placed them in a leather portfolio. The carriage ride to Wexford House passed in a blur of London streets and her own churning thoughts. By the time she arrived at her brother’s imposing residence, her composure had settled into something resembling calm determination.
“Lady Katherine,” Norman, James’s butler, greeted her with a respectful bow as she stepped into the familiar marble foyer. “His Grace and the Duchess await you in the morning room. Shall I take your wrap?”
“Thank you, Norman.” Katherine handed over her pelisse, grateful for the butler’s steady presence. Unlike her own modest household staff, Norman had served the Wexford family for decades and possessed an unflappable dignity that somehow steadied her nerves. “Has Lord Greythorne arrived yet?”
“Not yet, my lady. His Grace requested that refreshments be prepared for when he does.”
“Of course, he did,” Katherine murmured, then caught herself. “That is—thank you, Norman.”
The butler’s expression remained perfectly neutral, though Katherine thought she detected the faintest hint of understanding in his eyes. The entire staff at Wexford House had witnessed her difficult marriage to Edmund, though they had maintained the discretion expected of their positions.
Katherine made her way through the grand corridors of Wexford House, its opulent furnishings and soaring ceilings a stark contrast to her own modest townhouse. While she appreciated her brother’s generosity, she much preferred her own space—smaller perhaps, but entirely her own, free from Edmund’s oppressive memory.
She found James and Rosabel waiting in the morning room, their expressions a study in contrast. James, the Duke of Wexford, wore his customary serious mien, while Rosabel offered a warm, encouraging smile as Katherine entered. “Good morning,” Katherine said, hoping she appeared more composed than she felt.
James crossed the room to kiss her cheek. “You look pale. Did you sleep at all?”
“James,” Rosabel chided gently. “What a greeting.”
“It’s quite all right,” Katherine assured her sister-in-law.
“And no, not particularly well. But I am adequately prepared for the meeting.” She patted the portfolio in her hands.
“You needn’t worry,” James said, his voice firm with conviction. “Your settlement is iron-clad. I made certain of it.”
“I know.” Katherine squeezed her brother’s arm gratefully. “But there are still the western fields to consider. The ambiguity in the documentation—”
“An oversight in the original deed that predates your marriage,” James interrupted. “Not something Edmund could have manipulated, nor something the new earl can exploit if he tries.”
“Unless he contests the interpretation we’ve been working under,” Katherine pointed out. “The western fields are essential to Willow Park’s financial independence.”
