At those he seemed out of place—invariably serious in the midst of the flirting and laughter. Even his expert dancing had never captured her attention. Had he been watching her then as he did now? A little shiver trailed down her back.
Here he appeared confident and relaxed, comfortably conversing with men that she knew to be among the most powerful in the kingdom. He must wield considerable influence to be able to gather those men at his invitation. Was the purpose of this party to display his prize to them? At that thought Catherine bridled. She did not fancy figuring as the spoils of war!
Still, it was becoming clear to her that, in her sudden fall from affluence, it might be said that she had landed in a pile of feather beds. It remained to be seen what bruises she might yet sustain. In spite of his courtesy, she felt a tiny prick of fear when he pursued her with those frosty eyes.
At last, in the small hours of the morning, the company departed, leaving Catherine, Caldbeck and Helen bidding the last lingerer farewell. Helen excused herself, and her carriage bore her away to her own London home. Catherine glanced uncertainly at her new husband.
Before they reached whatever came next, she recognized something she needed to do. As often happened to her, her agitation had run away with her tongue this morning. She must put her pride aside and recognize the unfair things she had said to Caldbeck. She cleared her throat.
“My lord, there is something I must say to you.”
Caldbeck tipped his head a fraction of an inch in inquiry.
“I…I am sorry for what I said earlier today. About your buying me, I mean. You have, in fact, rescued me, and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to provide me with a real wedding celebration and lovely flowers and these beautiful pearls.” She touched the strand at her throat. “You did not have to do that under the circumstances. I…it….You were very kind. How in the world did you manage it?”
Caldbeck did not quite shrug. He simply opened one hand, palm up. “Most of the arrangements were Helen’s doing. She is an excellent hostess. I have known for some time in what case your uncle stood and have been making plans.”
Catherine shook her head, eyes wide in amazement. “You have been planning….And you never even asked me?”
Caldbeck nodded. “I should have, perhaps. However, I thought it highly likely that you would refuse my suit if not given a compelling reason to accept it. I did not want you to develop a resistance to the notion.”
Some of Catherine’s annoyance returned. “And you had the effrontery—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed in thought. “But this doesn’t make sense. If you knew that I would soon be in a desperate situation, you had no need to contract with my uncle. Knowing I would be destitute, you might have just as easily given me the same argument that you did this morning. I would have had no more options. Why did you go to such expense?”
“The arrangement with your uncle made the idea of marriage to me appear a fait accompli. Besides, if Maury remained in England, he would forever be an embarrassment to you and an annoyance to us both.”
Catherine digested this information in silence, then asked, “Did you suggest that he emigrate to America?”
“I insisted on it.”
Catherine’s mind swam with revelations about this man that she had wed. “Well…I must offer my thanks for that. However, I must also say that I resent your arranging for my capitulation without ever considering my feelings! What if I had wished to marry someone else?”
“You would have said so.”
“You might have at least talked to me.”
“I did talk to you—this morning. Or, rather, yesterday.” He looked at her with mild interest.
“Yes…well…Still, if you knew about Uncle Ambrose, why did you wait so long and rush me into it this way?”
“I have always found timing to be of the essence in accomplishing one’s goals.”
Catherine heaved a frustrated sigh. Apparently, his lordship was a very cool gambler. And, damn him, he had an answer for everything—and all the efficiency and sensibility of a machine!
Suddenly Catherine felt very tired. It had been a grueling twenty-four hours. She had suddenly lost all control of her life—her home, her money, her dream of independence. And, she realized with a stab of alarm, the hardest part yet loomed. She would soon lose control of even her body. She felt the blood flooding into her face.
Caldbeck brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “Do not be anxious, Kate. You are exhausted, and while I could not give you the time you wanted to become accustomed to the idea of marriage to me before, I now can. I shall not press you tonight to fulfill your part of our bargain. We have a great deal to do tomorrow, and I then wish to be on the road to Yorkshire the next day. I shall welcome you to Wulfdale as my bride.”
Relief and disappointment fought for ascendancy in Catherine’s breast. It seemed she was to remain in ignorance for a few more days. Yet she could not but be glad for the reprieve. Perhaps she would be better prepared to accept this man as her husband after being in his company for the time it would take to travel to Yorkshire.
She smiled up at him. “You are very considerate, my lord. I am very weary. However, I do keep my word. If you want—”
“No, Kate. Even though I am eager to consummate our agreement, I shall wait.”
Eager? Caldbeck sounded as cool and polite as if they had been discussing a trip to the theater.
The next morning Catherine, an early riser, surprised his lordship at the breakfast table. He rose and helped her seat herself across the table from his own place, drawing out her chair.
“You are abroad early. It is my experience of ladies that they rarely appear before noon.”
My experience of ladies? What experience? Catherine racked her brain for some gossip that she might have heard concerning Lord Caldbeck’s mistress—or lack thereof. Nothing came to mind. Could it be possible, at his age, that he did not have one? And come to think of it… “Excuse me, my lord. May I know how old you are?”
It could not be said that Caldbeck appeared startled, but he lifted his gaze from his breakfast and looked at her. “I am five-and-thirty. Why do you ask?”
Catherine flushed. “No real reason. I have just been realizing how little I know about you. Your hair…” She stopped, fearing to offend him. He, of course, showed no sign of offense, or of anything else.
“Yes. The men of my family gray very early.” The earl returned his attention to his beef and eggs. Catherine studied her new husband. Five-and-thirty. Yes, in spite of his hair, he did not look old. A few marks of maturity could be seen. Just the slightest receding at the temples, perhaps, revealed by the austere style. How did he keep his hair so smoothly brushed back without the pomade so many men used?
Only a few lines marred his face—a handsome face of angular planes, narrow with a straight nose and a decisive jaw. The firm lips did not frown, but neither did they smile, remaining consistently uncommunicative. But warm. Warm lips. Catherine flushed a bit at the memory.
The object of her scrutiny had a few more bites of his beef, flicked a crumb from his dove gray coat and changed the subject. “I
