“I believe he wants to apologize,” her mother added. “He’s fallen quite out of everyone’s favor, which is a pity, as -”
She broke off, blushing, and Catherine gave her mother a sharp look. Had the viscountess actually…?
No, she decidedly didnotwant to know anything about whatever her mother and Lord Heatherton had, or had not, been up to.
But he certainly owed Catherine an apology. She hadn’t considered it at the time, but it was quite terrible how he’d abandoned her while the fire raged.
So, she nodded, and obediently drank her posset when it arrived, and sat up in bed and drew her dressing robe about shoulders her when Lord Heatherton tapped at the door. To her relief, her mother stayed to chaperone, and there seemed to be no hint of anything untoward between them.
“Miss Randall,” he said, a look of contrition on his face as he settled in the chair beside her bed, “I have behaved reprehensibly, and I am so very sorry. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
It was a pat apology, and she stared at him, trying to see how much of it he truly meant. On the one hand, his usual devil-may-care attitude had been replaced by a hangdog look. On the other, well, she couldn’t trust that anything he said was genuine.
“I will,” she said hoarsely. “But there are conditions. Firstly, that you cease needling your brother so incessantly. Secondly, that you take your own duties as Viscount Heatherton more seriously. And finally, that you and Lord Darton agree to shake hands beneath the mistletoe and a call a truce.”
“We’re hardly at war,” he said, clearly trying to make light of it.
“You are, and it must stop.” Especially if things turned out as she hoped. “Do you promise?”
He met her gaze, a light of challenge in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”
“For so long as you hold up your side of the bargain, yes.”
“Very well.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure what to do with myself, if I’m not trying to tweak Philip’s nose at every turn.”
“You’ll find something,” Lady Fortnum said dryly. “A bit of maturity sits well on a man, I do believe.”
Catherine pretended to fit of coughing then, which quickly turned real, and Lord Heatherton took his leave.
Her next visitor was much more welcome, and she couldn’t help smiling widely as Lord Darton stepped into her room.
“Cath…er, Miss Randall,” he said, shooting a guilty glance at her mother.
“Your Grace.” Lady Fortnum rose from the bedside chair. “I must step out a moment. Please, take my seat and keep Catherine company.”
It was all Catherine could do to keep from rolling her eyes at her mother’s transparent ploy to leave them alone. Still, she didn’t argue as she and the duke were given their privacy.
“My dear Miss Randall.” He stepped to the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, which she gave willingly.
“My dear Lord Darton,” she replied, wishing her voice wasn’t quite so rough.
He met her gaze, and she saw the hint of his brilliant smile lurking about his mouth. “Might I hope that you might one day call me Philip?”
“One day soon, I hope. And you will call me Catherine.”
He pressed her hand, his face undergoing that transformation that melted her heart.
“Or perhaps,” he said, “Your Grace, the Duchess of Darton-on-Rye.”
“Or perhaps,” she said, her heart suddenly beating like a hundred wings in her chest, “beloved.”
“Always that,” he said, and she couldn’t believe she’d ever thought him stuffy and impossibly proper as he bent and pressed a fervent kiss against her lips.
She returned the kiss, pulling him toward her. They were lost in delicious sensation for quite some time, until Lady Fortnum, obviously returned, cleared her throat.
“Ahem,” said Philip, pulling back and adjusting his cravat.
“I take it your suit was successful?” Catherine’s mother asked, a glint of mirth in her eyes.
