of him. A little unnerved perhaps…on occasion. Just because he was tall and strong and smelled so like a man that she…He had no right! None at all. She did not wish to speak to him. She would not eat with him. He could have his dinner in solitary grandeur tonight. Every night! Sally could bring her a tray.
At that thought, Catherine went back to the desk and gathered up the torn bits of paper. No use making extra work for Sally just because she was in a dudgeon with her husband. She tossed the scraps into the fire and glared at the figurine of a china shepherdess that adorned the mantel. The shepherdess smirked back. Catherine did not care for that figure.
“Don’t you laugh at me! You are a very ugly shepherdess. Mind your manners, or I shall pitch you into the fire.”
Somewhat pacified by the making of this dire threat, Catherine sat down on the couch with a sigh, arms crossed over her breasts. Why did the man have to be so exasperating and still so damnably attractive?
So his lovely bride was in a snit, was she? Not coming down to dinner, eh? Her message to that effect had been distinctly chilly in tone. Charles basked in the inner amusement as he tied a fresh cravat.
What did she expect him to do now? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely that he would do it. But if he was any judge of character, her indignation would not last long. He looked forward to a long life filled with her volatility and the inevitable reconciliations. Not that this little tempest qualified as a full-blown temper tantrum. The first real display of the infamous temper was still to be anticipated.
He could hardly wait.
But perhaps he should not have spoken so harshly. He had no intention of trying to rule her with an iron hand. Her impetuosity and her courage, her caring and her passion had attracted him to her in the first place. His words had threatened her. His actions had already forced her under his control. In fact, he had virtually kidnapped her. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t. Not the smallest bit. Charles told himself he appreciated her as few men could.
But he couldn’t let her risk herself that way. She or that hunter she was so proud of might easily have been killed. Charles shuddered afresh at the memory of Catherine sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe. The thought of losing her and the beautiful fire he had wakened in her the night before filled him with a cold, bleak emptiness. A too-familiar emptiness.
He must take better care of her. It was his responsibility.
He saw Her fall. Saw Her skirts fly up. Her white legs. White legs! He moaned softly. Evil! Evil, evil. It was consuming him. Eating him from within and from without. It must be scourged, cleansed.
The power was growing within him. He felt it, tasted it, tried its strength. He flung his arms wide and lifted his face to the night sky, a cry wrenched from the depths of his being. Soon! Soon.
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