Perhaps he would call her bluff.
Perhaps tonight, he would make her regret that she’d ever made a midnight visit to his library.
Catherine had known Claybourne wouldn’t come, but still as the clock ticked toward midnight, she was disappointed. It was so terribly difficult to attend this ball and not reveal how much she loathed her host. He seemed so pleasant. No one could see the monster that lived within his skin.
Even Winnie gave nothing away, keeping a stiff upper lip, and pretending that all was right with the world. Sometimes Catherine was as angry with Winnie as she was with Avendale.
But she smiled and laughed and flirted with all the gentlemen who danced with her, not revealing to any of them that he was not the one she longed to waltz with. Just once, she wanted to be held within the circle of Claybourne’s arms and hold his gaze while her feet whispered over the dance floor. Just once, she wished he would look at her the way he looked at Frannie. The depth of adoration that he showered on Frannie was
something that every woman should have at least once in her life.
He might be a scoundrel, with many faults, but he had a heart far more giving than some of the men she’d spoken with tonight.
She glanced at her dance card. The next three dances weren’t taken. She was relieved, having grown weary of pretending to enjoy herself. She was too worried about Winnie, too worried that Avendale might find fault with the evening, but all seemed to be going along splendidly. Even her hand was better. Her father’s physician had removed the stitches. The scar wasn’t too unsightly. Since she always wore gloves in public, few people would ever see it.
But she welcomed a small reprieve from being hostess. She was walking toward the doors that would lead onto the terrace when Winnie stopped her.
“Where are you going?”
“For a bit of cool air. Would you care to join me?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m basking in Avendale’s praise. He’s ever so pleased with how things are going this evening.”
“I’m glad, Winnie.”
“I should tell him that most of it is your doing.”
“No, don’t. You helped with the planning. Allow him to think it’s all you.” If it makes him easier to live with, she added to herself. She squeezed her friend’s hand. “Go enjoy yourself. I won’t be long.”
She walked onto the terrace. With the lanterns in the garden, she could see a few couples strolling along the numerous paths. She’d never had a gentleman take her on a turn about the garden. Not entirely true, she realized. Claybourne had walked through a garden with her the night they agreed to their bargain.
She wandered over to the side of the terrace where the glow from the lights didn’t reach.
She wanted solitude, she wanted—
“Will you honor me with this dance?”
Her heart very nearly stopped at the sound of Claybourne’s voice. She spun around to see him lurking in the shadows like some miscreant.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was invited.”
“No, yes, I mean, I know you received an invitation, but you’ve not made your entrance.”
“Why should I go through that bother when you’re the only one I care to dance with? I assumed sooner or later you’d step outside, so I’ve been waiting.”
And Luke had almost given up on her coming out. He’d been peering discreetly through a window, watching her. She was so beautiful this evening, her gown revealing the gentle swells of her breasts. The music drifted onto the night, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to dance with a woman.
He was aware of her watching him, studying him. He’d dressed as though he intended to attend, but once he’d arrived he’d no longer seen the point in going through the annoyance of actually being in the company of those he didn’t favor. All he truly wanted was a dance with Catherine. And now he would have it.
“You’ve been waiting in the shadows”—she peered around the corner—“looking in the windows, like some sort of voyeur?”
“It’s not as bad as all that. I was simply waiting for you to appear, and my patience has been rewarded.” Taking her hand, he drew her nearer. “Dance with me.”
“My God, you’re a coward.”
She might as well have slapped him. He released her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
