Page 35 of Seducing an Earl under the Mistletoe
“No.” He had to wait to continue because he swirled her away from himself, then waited a moment to have her back. “She doesn’t, and neither do I. She told me she wanted to be sure of that, and after that, she was. I don’t know who saw us, but trust me, if I ever find out, they’ll be sorry for every word of that article, which are nothing but baseless fabrications about two people dealing with the grief over the loss of a loved one.”
He gazed into her eyes. He knew that she wanted sincerity, and that was what he wanted to give her. He owed her that much. Yet, his declaration seemed to have a dual effect on her. He could see relief wash over her, but at the same time, she still seemed confused. He wondered where that confusion stemmed from.
“I understand,” she nodded, her voice carrying a note of gratitude.
“I have told you the truth. There is nothing between Margot and me,” he repeated.
“Arthur, I appreciate your honesty,” she smiled. “But…you owe me nothing beyond that.”
Arthur, touched by her understanding and struck by the genuine sincerity of her sentiments, nodded in acknowledgment. “I understand, Catherine. But it is also about respect and sincerity. I couldn’t stand the thought of any misunderstanding tarnishing what we have.”
At that moment, the music stopped, and the dancers bowed and curtsied respectfully before each other.
“How about we go for some refreshments?” he suggested, still feeling his lips now dryer than the Sahara itself.
Catherine followed him, resting her hand on his arm. Amidst the swirling emotions and flickering candles, Arthur sought solace in the embrace of a drink. The liquid’s amber glow mirrored the turmoil within him.
He wasn’t accustomed to these depths of emotion, the push and pull of desires and responsibilities. He handed her a glass of wine, and they found a solitary corner, a bit away from the crowd. Only, he was not looking in their direction. All he could see was Catherine.
“There are too many people here,” she commented, taking a sip. He watched her lips touch the rim of the glass and wanted to taste her again. He couldn’t resist this pull, this power she had over him without even being aware of it. Then, she turned to him and smiled mischievously. “Maybe we could get lost, you and I, away from all the prying eyes.”
He wanted nothing more than that, but in this moment of vulnerability, he needed clarity. He turned the questions back to her, curious about the life she envisioned for herself, her desires and aspirations.
“Do you not seek a life with a husband and a family?” he inquired, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity and a touch of longing.
Catherine was obviously caught off guard by this unexpected question, which was, at the same time, more direct than anything he had ever asked her before. He could see she was speechless, unable to reply. A moment later, her lips parted, but before she could articulate any of her thoughts, a sudden shout from outside jolted both of them.
They hurried to the commotion, finding Marcus and Henry entangled in a heated brawl in the moonlit garden. Panic surged through Arthur as he witnessed the scene. Marcus, usually composed and level-headed, was now caught in a tempest of emotions. The sight tore at Arthur’s heart, a feeling of helplessness consuming him.
“What has come over them?” Catherine whispered, her eyes wide with concern and bewilderment.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, as the weight of his own inadequacy pressed heavily on his shoulders, for he knew that he was not there when his friend needed him the most, and now they all had to face the repercussions of Arthur’s own failure.
Chapter 15
In the moonlit garden, a surreal scene unfolded before Catherine’s eyes. The gasps of shocked onlookers merged with the crisp night air as Marcus and Henry grappled, their anger and frustration boiling over into a physical confrontation. It was a stark contrast to the genteel ambiance of the engagement party, a sudden eruption of raw emotions.
Her heart raced as she witnessed the clash, her brother caught in a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions she had never seen from him before. The refined, composed Marcus was replaced by a man consumed by a storm of feelings, a tempest that seemed to have been brewing beneath the surface, aided by too much liquor.
“No, stop!” Catherine cried out, her voice carrying a mix of fear and desperation.
She moved instinctively, her feet carrying her towards the altercation. As she approached, she could see the furrowed brows and clenched fists, the anguish in Marcus’ eyes, and the anger in Henry’s stance.
With her heart in her throat, Catherine hurried towards Isabel, her steps urgent and her worry escalating as she noticed her brother’s unsteady gait and the glassy look in his eyes. The scent of alcohol clung to Marcus, an unpleasant reminder of the depths of his current despair.
It took three men, Arthur and another two gentlemen, to try and tear Marcus away from Henry, who was shouting something that Catherine couldn’t hear clearly, because Isabel was sobbing in her arms. Despite the fact that the fight was over, emotions continued to run high. Catherine watched as tears streamed down Isabel’s face, while they both trembled with fear and anguish.
“Marcus, he…” Isabel sobbed, her short breathing cutting off her words. “He said he loved me, that he would always love me…that he is willing to duel for my hand…” her voice quivered with desperation and disbelief. “Oh, Cate, what have we done?”
Catherine held her friend close, her arms wrapped around Isabel’s tiny frame, offering what little comfort she could in that moment of uncertainty. “We’ll find a way to handle this, Isabel. We’ll talk to Marcus, we’ll reason with him. He won’t throw his life away in a senseless duel…”
They both knew, though, that Marcus’ actions were driven by a complex web of emotions: love, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal. As the men struggled to pry Marcus away from Henry, the gravity of the situation deepened.
“I demand retribution for this!” Henry shouted, and now, everyone could hear him clearly. There was no denying a single word he said, which was echoing all around them. “There will be a duel, Lord Winters, and you will die!”
The air was charged with tension, words exchanged in hushed and urgent tones. Arthur, his voice firm and authoritative, tried to reason with Marcus, attempting to steer him away from the path of violence.
“We’ll find a way to resolve this without bloodshed,” Arthur implored, his voice laced with concern for his friend.
