leapt to her feet. Strangling on a scream, she spun to face this new menace. She beheld Lord Caldbeck, his tall frame filling the doorway. As she watched with frightened eyes, one hand pressed against her mouth, he straightened his dove-gray coat and tugged his snowy shirtsleeves into position.
Catherine stood frozen in place, for once in her life speechless. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth, and her heart pounded in her ears. Caldbeck pushed the door shut, and after a cursory inspection of the broken latch, nudged a dainty boudoir chair in front of it to hold it closed.
He then turned to her and bowed politely.
“Miss Maury.”
Catherine nodded silently as he crossed the room to stand a few feet from her. She looked up into an impassive face dominated by ice-gray eyes. The mouth did not smile. The once raven-black hair brushed severely back from the face was now so liberally streaked with gray that it shone the color of gunmetal. Catherine swallowed, trying in vain to think of something to say.
Running footsteps in the hall mingled with alarmed voices.
“Miss Catherine, are you all right?”
“What the devil is going on here?” Her uncle shoved past the footman, pushing the chair out of the way to stick his head into the room. “Oh. Caldbeck. I see you found my niece. Did you make that confounded racket?”
Lord Caldbeck nodded wordlessly at the door. Maury examined the broken wood and scowled. “I told you she would be unreasonable, but couldn’t you find some way of gaining admittance without destroying my door?”
Caldbeck sent him a level stare. “I believe the door is now my property.”
Maury flushed. “Yes, of course.” Then, with a sneer, “Very well, we shall cease disturbing your visit with your bride.” His glance took in the clothes scattered around the room. “You certainly have not wasted any time.”
He jerked his head at the footman, and they both departed, the servant covering a grin with one hand. Caldbeck replaced the small chair holding the door and returned to Catherine.
Catherine felt the wave of heat creeping up from her breasts to the roots of her hair. Great heavens! She stood before his lordship in nothing but her shift!
How could she have forgotten that rather significant fact? What must Lord Caldbeck be seeing, with the light from the window behind her shining through the sheer linen? And what must he be thinking of her? Catherine started to cover herself with her hands, realized the futility of that measure, and was about to turn her back to Caldbeck when his voice arrested her.
“It doesn’t matter. His opinion is no longer important.”
The blush deepened. Catherine, knowing her milk-white complexion, inwardly cursed it. Her face must be absolutely crimson! And she could not fathom the least clue to his thoughts. Even though he had kicked the door in, neither his face nor his voice betrayed any sign of ardor or anger. His eyes gleamed as cool and gray as ever. Stabbed again by fear, she wanted to turn and run, but her pride would not let her.
She decided instead to muster what dignity she might.
Catherine lifted her chin and drew herself up, her face a haughty mask. “Well, my lord? What is it that you are so eager to discuss?”
“The conditions of our marriage.”
“I thought that you and my uncle had already made those arrangements.” Catherine’s voice dripped acid. “That the two of you had completed the terms of sale.”
Caldbeck raised one eyebrow a hair’s breadth. “I am sorry to hear that you view the contract in that light.”
He watched silently as Catherine stalked past him to the other end of the room, then stalked back, anger gradually replacing fear.
“How else am I to view it? How my uncle thought he could force me into it, I can’t imagine. I fear you have spent your money for nothing, my lord.”
“Indeed?” Caldbeck’s expression held nothing but the smallest amount of polite inquiry.
Catherine considered herself the equal of any man in a verbal battle, but she found Caldbeck’s icy reserve to be just the least little bit daunting. He did not rise to the hook of her barbed words. Hunting for a new tack, she cleared her throat. “It is obvious, my lord, that I can’t marry you. I hardly know you, but surely you must see, as I do, that we are utter opposites.”
Caldbeck nodded in agreement.
“You are aware of that?”
“Of course.”
“But…but surely we would drive one another into Bedlam within a twelve-month!”
“I believe the results of our marriage may not be quite so unpleasant as all that.”
His tone was as even as ever, and Catherine studied his expression once again for some clue to his feelings. Finding none, she sighed in exasperation. “My lord, this is madness in itself. We would not suit.”
“On the contrary, Miss Maury, I believe we shall deal together very well.”
“You can’t mean that. How could two such different people possibly live together?”
“Very happily. We each have that which the other needs.”
Catherine felt intrigued in spite of herself. “What in the world could that be?”
“I think we can agree that, at the moment, you are badly in need of a means of support. Your uncle—” somehow, without having altered his tone of voice whatsoever, Caldbeck imbued the word with disdain “—has placed you in a highly untenable position. You need money. I have a great deal of it.”
Catherine felt the color flooding her face again. “I hope I am not so mercenary.”
“No, I don’t perceive you as mercenary—the word I would use would be desperate.” He waited patiently for a reply.
Catherine struggled with warring emotions. He had the right of it, of course. Her situation was desperate. Still, she balked at being forced into anything, let alone a marriage she didn’t want to a man she hardly knew and had no hope of understanding. Nor any hope of his accepting her. She took refuge in anger, a much stronger and more comfortable emotion than desperation.
“And you wish to take advantage of my predicament!”
Caldbeck’s expression never changed. “I simply propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“And what do you hope to gain?”
“Your beauty, your energy, your superb elegance. You…warm me.” Even as he searched for the words, his countenance remained composed, his voice without emotion. “I also admire your ability to consider the plight of those less fortunate than yourself. It is a very rare trait in our time. I need someone to assist me with my responsibilities to society.”
For years, Catherine had heard nothing but disbelief, irritation or amusement on the subject of her charities. Astonished, she could only stammer,
