Page 1 of A Rogue to Resist
Chapter One
She was so used to the sounds of Society gossip that she was barely paying attention as she picked her way through the crowd. Everywhere one turned, there were voices expertly masked by the fluttering of fans. But there was one name that could pull her up short.
“Did you hear? The new Lord Greythorne has finally arrived in London. They say he’s quite the rogue.”
Katherine nearly tripped over her hem at the words, but her training as the daughter of the Duke of Wexford meant she held her dignity together. She didn’t so much as flicker her eyelashes toward the gossipy matron who had so gleefully whispered the words in a near shout to her companion. Lady Swansea’s friends prided themselves on always knowing the latest.
So, the heir had finally decided to show his face. What remarkably poor timing.
Lady Katherine Isabelle Allingham Halston, the Dowager Countess of Greythorne, had yet to meet her late husband’s heir. She wouldn’t have minded at all if the lawyers had never found the man. But why did he have to turn up just as she had set aside her full mourning to set her toes into Society once more?
She had always been the least lucky girl she knew.
Of course, others would never agree with her assessment. And of course, Katherine could never do something so common as to complain about her circumstances. She had enough wit to know most would consider her exceptionally fortunate.
She was born into wealth and privilege and position. She had also married “well”. And then her unpleasant husband had done her the great favour of leaving this earthly coil without too much fuss and after only five unhappily wedded years.
The only part of any of that which Katherine actually valued was the fact that her brilliant brother, the Duke of Wexford, had arranged for her to become a very wealthy widow if she were to ever be left without a spouse. This was especially important considering she and the late, unlamented earl had never been blessed with children, especially the ever so important male variety.
Now was decidedly not the time for this rumination.
“Your Grace,” Katherine said with the exactly correct depth curtsy and a polite smile.
Rosabel, Katherine’s sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wexford, smiled and nodded in acceptance of the greeting.
“Are you well?” Bel asked in an undertone, hidden behind a society smile.
“Perfectly,” Katherine replied.
“Liar,” Rosabel countered with a light laugh and a nod to a passing acquaintance.
“Your Grace, Lady Katherine,” Lady Swansea said, a gleeful gleam glowing in her bright gaze. “Have you met Lord Greythorne yet? The new one, of course,” she added with a titter.
Rosabel stared at the other woman as though she had trespassed, which Katherine supposed she had. It was socially maladroit to ask such a direct question in public about such a topic, knowing how awkward it might be. But Katherinesuspected allowing the duchess to give the other woman the cut direct could cause just as much discomfort.
“We haven’t yet met him, and it isn’t likely we’ll have to deal much with him, so there’s nothing to make a fuss about,” Katherine answered with a light wave of her hand as though the matter were of little consequence.
Lady Swansea’s eyes widened slightly at Katherine’s dismissive tone, clearly disappointed by the lack of drama in her response. “But surely—”
“Lady Swansea, I believe Mrs. Wilson is looking for you,” Rosabel interjected smoothly, her voice warm but brooking no argument. “Something about the refreshments for next week’s charity committee meeting.”
The woman’s face fell slightly, but she knew better than to ignore a duchess’s subtle dismissal. With a hurried curtsy, she retreated across the crowded drawing room.
Katherine released a quiet breath. “Thank you.”
“She’s like a bloodhound with gossip,” Rosabel murmured, watching Lady Swansea’s retreating form. “Particularly when she senses discomfort.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Katherine insisted, accepting a delicate china cup from a passing footman. She took a measured sip of tea, grateful for the momentary shield the cup provided.
“No?” Rosabel’s eyebrow arched delicately. “You’ve barely set foot in Society since Edmund’s death, and now the new Lord Greythorne arrives precisely when you’ve decided to venture out again.”
“A coincidence, nothing more.”
“Is that why you’re holding that cup so tightly I fear it might shatter?”
Katherine glanced down, startled to find her clenched knuckle was threatening the stitches of her gloves. She deliberately relaxed her grip.
“I simply dislike being the subject of whispers.”
