Lady Catriona missed a step.
With an arm snugly clasped about her waist, he held her steady, guiding her through the final strains of the waltz. He could have lied to her, of course. And perhaps he should have. He could have fed her any number of false stories. Pretty stories. Or he could have said nothing at all.
“This woman,” Lady Catriona said haltingly, drawing his attention to the fullness of her lips once more. “Why do you not marry her if you are desirous of an heir and in love with her? Why marry me, Lord Rayne?”
The music ended. They bowed and curtsied to each other, and he offered her his arm. Strictly polite.
“I already did marry her, Lady Catriona,” he revealed before he could think better of the admission.
He had not meant to make the disclosure. But once spoken, the words could not be retracted.
“I am afraid I do not understand, my lord.” Lady Catriona was matching his lengthy strides despite their difference in height.
He ought to take pity on her. Slow his gait.
He did not. And nor did he blunt the starkness of his next words. She was going to marry him, after all. It was best she knew what manner of monster would soon be hers.
“I married her, Lady Catriona,” he elaborated. “And she is dead.”
Before he said anything else, he took his leave of her, abandoning her in the midst of the ball. From the periphery of his gaze, he saw Leonora moving toward him, but this, too, he ignored. He stalked from the ballroom, desperate for escape.
He did not stop until he reached his carriage.
“To The Duke’s Bastard,” he ordered his coachman.
He required whisky.
And oblivion.
Chapter Five
Catriona was attendingher second ball in as many evenings. But unlike the previous night, her heart was heavy, weighed down by the revelation the Earl of Rayne had made to her the night before, prior to making an abrupt departure.
She had not seen or heard from him since.
Catriona watched the crush of dancers from her vantage point beside a potted palm. She had pled a headache for the last dance, seeking a refreshment and a respite instead. How had she forgotten how wearying the social whirl could be? She had not forced this many false smiles to her lips or dipped into as many curtsies in the last year as she had in the past two days.
Being back amidst the ranks of men and women who had considered her a social pariah before her engagement was discomfiting. Not one of her friends had sent her letters whilst she was in Scotland, save Hattie, which had forced Catriona into the uncomfortable realization that most of her friends had not, in fact, been friends at all.
Hattie was dancing with the Marquess of Lindsey, who looked undeniably smitten whenever his gaze settled upon her friend. Catriona felt a twinge of something uncomfortably akin to jealousy, knowing the man she was marrying in four days’ time would never look at her with such frank adoration.
Because he loved another woman.
His first wife.
The knowledge Rayne had been married before still shocked her. He had never previously made mention of such an important fact, though she supposed he would not have. The earl had made it quite clear what he expected of her, and their marriage would not involve tender sentiments or romance. He intended to share as little of himself with her as possible before returning to Spain.
Either way, her waltz with Rayne had left her shaken. Following his abrupt departure, she had been left to agonize over the stark pain she had seen in his expression before he had stalked away from her. He must have loved his wife deeply. Catriona was filled with questions.
When had he been married? When had his wife died? Why? How? She could only suppose he had not had any children, for he had not mentioned them to her. And he was quite explicit in his need for an heir. All through the remainder of the ball, and then through the night as she had been unable to fall asleep, questions had continued to assail her.
With the morning light, they had not stopped. They were teeming inside her now, along with a riot of emotions she did not dare make sense of. On a sigh, Catriona looked about the ballroom for her mother, who was deeply engaged in a discussion with her bosom bow, Lady Creeley. Although Monty had escorted them to the ball, he was nowhere to be seen. Catriona had a suspicion he had already fled in favor of his club as he was wont to do, leaving the carriage behind and hiring a hack to take him to one of his favorite dens of iniquity.
On account of all the guests and the candles, not to mention the general warmth of the air this evening, the ballroom was stifling. She fanned herself, but it did precious little to cool her. Two sets of doors led to the balcony, and Catriona could not resist the temptation to seek escape there.
Just a moment of restorative air to clear her thoughts and chase the moroseness from her, she thought as she made her way there. With the guests distracted from all the festivities within, she found the balcony blessedly empty. She settled her hands upon the stone balustrade and tipped her head back to look at the sky. A few stars twinkled down at her, nestled amongst the velvety darkness of the night.
She took a deep breath, telling herself it hardly mattered if the Earl of Rayne had been married before. That it was of no import whatsoever that he had loved his wife. That his lack of appearance this evening was meaningless and entirely unrelated to the confusing waltz they had shared at the Marquess and Marchioness of Searle’s ball.
