fine thank you for all my efforts today. Are you aware that there is a caricature of you and the lovely Miss V?’
‘I am. However, I’m warning you. Do not toy with me. I will not be responsible for my actions.’
‘Then you’ve seen it?’
Julian strode across the room and poured himself two fingers of brandy. ‘No, I intend to acquire one tomorrow.’
‘Luckily for you I’ve brought one with me to give to you.’
The pounding of Julian’s heart echoed in his ears as his gaze was drawn to the paper resting on his desk. He took a long gulp of brandy and moved slowly to get a closer look. When he spotted his crest on the carriage door he saw red. Burning with rage, he let his eyes scan the print illustrated by Cruikshank. He crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.
‘I will destroy him!’
‘I must confess I never thought I’d see the day your likeness appeared in a print shop window.’
Julian was so enraged he barely heard his friend’s words. ‘Tell me you have the plate!’
Shaking his head, Hart narrowed his eyes. ‘Odd, but when I enquired I was told the plate had already been sold. Perhaps Vandenberg bought it.’
Julian dropped down into a chair. Dear God, Katrina will hate me when she sees this! Her reputation was in tatters, and it was all because he had been selfish enough to risk her good name for a few extended hours with her before he committed his life to an unhappy marriage. What kind of man did that make him?
He was a man of honour, and he would fix this.
He turned to Hart. ‘I need to borrow your coach.’
* * *
Julian sat across from Mr Vandenberg in the man’s study and wondered if Katrina’s father had poisoned the brandy he had just poured for him. The man was not pleased. That was plain to see from his stern expression and detached demeanour.
‘I wondered if you would call here,’ he said in a controlled tone. ‘The hour is rather late.’
In all his life he had never been uncomfortable sitting across from a man. He was now. ‘I was in session today. However, I felt it best to discuss matters before word travels further than it already has.’
Mr Vandenberg sat back in his wingback chair. The amber liquid in his glass held his attention. ‘I see. Am I to assume you are here to discuss a certain caricature?’
‘I am.’ He had never asked for anyone’s hand before. He probably should have thought about what to say before he’d entered Katrina’s home.
‘I have been assured it is not an accurate depiction of events. Is that true?’
His heart dropped at the realisation that Katrina had been forced to explain her actions to her father. What exactly would she have told him? ‘No, sir, it is not. I—’
Mr Vandenberg held up his hand. ‘There is no need to continue, Your Grace. I imagine you are here to offer an honourable solution to this unfortunate matter. However, I assure you that won’t be necessary. You have no wish to marry my daughter, and she has no wish to marry you. There is a way to address this without forcing you both into a trip to the altar.’
He should have felt relief at the words. Instead, hearing that Katrina didn’t want to marry him was like a hard fist into his gut. ‘I don’t understand.’
Mr Vandenberg folded his hands on his desk and pierced Julian with his gaze. ‘If you voice an interest in the upcoming negotiations between our two countries people will assume that the print is a satirical depiction of your interest in the United States and not a bit of gossip about a scandalous ride with my daughter.’
The suggestion ruffled Julian’s principles. He sat up taller and pulled his shoulders back. ‘That almost sounds like blackmail.’
‘Not at all. I am not asking you to voice your support of my country—just to meet with me at the Chancery so we can discuss the issues. You are known to be a fair and honest man. You can make up your own mind if you think we are being unreasonable with the boundaries we are suggesting. Regardless of what you decide, you can express your opinions on the matter openly and present that print as a political satire attacking your involvement with us.’
It was not an unreasonable request. The logic behind it was sound. He hadn’t admitted to anyone today that he had actually taken a drive with Katrina. They could each move forward with their own lives and there would be no scandal associated with their names. He could have his reputation back.
‘There is one more thing, Your Grace.’
Julian cleared his vision and focused on the man across from him.
‘Whatever fascination you have with my daughter, it needs to end now—for both your sakes.’
All Julian could do was nod his agreement. Blackness was swallowing him up as he realised that he would never again know what she was thinking, or receive one of her smiles, or make her laugh.
Their time together was over.
* * *
Katrina waited until the front door had closed before she stood up from where she had been perched on the top step of the staircase.
Her father did not even have to look up. ‘He has agreed to my proposition. It is done.’
Those three little words sliced into her.
He wasn’t going to marry her.
Tonight her father gave him an easy way to avoid scandal—and he had taken it.
‘It is for the best, my dear.’
If it truly was, why did her heart feel as if it had been ripped into tiny pieces that would never be put back together? How could this be for the best when the man she loved had just walked away without even saying goodbye?
‘Men are dogs.’
Surveying a plate of sweet delicacies, while seated at a table on the terrace of Hipswitch House, Katrina wished she could openly agree with Sarah’s declaration. Unfortunately she knew that if she did, it would instigate a discussion that would open the wound she was trying desperately to heal.
She had foolishly fallen in love with a man who was more concerned with what the world thought of him than he was with her. If Julian believed she was lacking, then he deserved a life devoid of the love she could give him. She only wished she could feel that way without wanting to dissolve into a puddle of tears each time she thought of him.
Sarah leaned closer from her seat beside Katrina. ‘I said men are dogs.’
‘I heard you.’ Katrina finished her last bite of moist almond cake and eyed a small bowl of trifle.
‘Am I to receive no reply?’
