Page 11 of A Rogue to Resist
Katherine watched their easy affection with a mixture of warmth and wistfulness. Their marriage was everything hers had not been—a partnership built on mutual respect and genuine fondness. She had long since abandoned any hope of finding such a connection for herself, but she treasured seeing it in her brother’s life.
A sharp knock at the front door echoed through the house, pulling her from her thoughts. Her pulse quickened as she heard Norman’s measured footsteps crossing the entrance hall.
“He’s early,” she murmured, smoothing her skirts unnecessarily.
“A tactic to throw you off balance,” James suggested, his expression hardening.
“Or perhaps he’s simply punctual,” Rosabel countered diplomatically.
They fell silent, listening to the murmur of voices in the hallway. Katherine straightened her shoulders and moved to stand near the fireplace, a position that would allow her to observe the newcomer’s entrance without appearing too eager or too defensive.
The door opened, and Norman’s dignified voice announced, “Lord Greythorne, Your Graces, my lady.”
Katherine had prepared herself for many possibilities—an older man, perhaps, with Edmund’s pinched features; or a younger, dissipated version worn by excesses; or even a cold, calculating figure whose eyes would immediately assess the monetary value of everything they fell upon.
She was not prepared for the man who strode confidently into her drawing room.
Drake Halston, Earl of Greythorne, was tall and broad-shouldered, with none of Edmund’s slight, almost delicate build. His dark hair was cut fashionably but not foppishly, and his face—Katherine reluctantly admitted—was strikingly handsome, with a strong jaw and piercing grey eyes that somehow managed to convey both intelligence and wariness.
He moved with the easy grace of a man comfortable in his own skin, a sharp contrast to Edmund’s perpetually stiff posture. His clothing was impeccably tailored but understated, suggesting wealth without ostentation.
In short, he looked nothing like the dissolute rake gossip had painted, nor the cold aristocrat she had imagined. This was somehow worse.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing to Rosabel with just the proper degree of respect. “Wexford.” He bowed again to James.
Then those grey eyes fixed on Katherine, and she felt a disconcerting jolt of... something. Not recognition, precisely, but awareness.
“Lady Greythorne,” he said, his voice a deep baritone that held no trace of Edmund’s nasal tones.
“Lady Katherine,” she corrected automatically. “Or Dowager Countess, if you prefer. But I no longer use the title of Lady Greythorne, as that now belongs to your future countess.”
The words came out more sharply than she had intended, a reflection of her unexpected discomposure.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by what might have been amusement.
“Lady Katherine, then,” he amended. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”
“Did I have a choice?”
The question escaped before she could temper it with politeness, before she could mask the bitterness. Too late now. If he was here to charm her into yielding, he would know from the start that she would not go quietly.
His mouth curved slightly. “There are always choices, my lady. Though some are more palatable than others.”
Katherine was saved from having to respond by her brother’s intervention.
“Lord Greythorne,” James said, his tone coolly formal. “Welcome to London. I understand you’ve been abroad for some time.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Business interests have kept me on the Continent and in America for the better part of a decade.” His gaze returned to Katherine. “I must admit, the inheritance came as something of a surprise.”
“To us all,” Katherine replied evenly.
“Please, be seated.” Rosabel gestured to the chair opposite Katherine’s, positioning their “guest” for the negotiation to come.
Lord Greythorne settled into the chair with casual elegance, his posture relaxed yet attentive. Katherine found herself irrationally irritated by his apparent ease while her own nerves were strung as tight as violin strings.
“Tea?” Rosabel offered, ever the consummate hostess.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” He accepted the cup with a small nod of thanks before turning his attention back to Katherine. “I believe we have several matters to discuss regarding the estate.”
