By the time she reached Hattie’s side, her inner misery must have been written all over her face, for her friend took one look at her and frowned.
“What is the matter, dearest? You look as if you saw a ghost,” Hattie said.
In a way, she had.
A ghost from her past meeting the grim wraith of her future.
“Shrewsbury and Rayne are on the balcony,” she said, biting her lip.
Hattie’s brows shot up. “Shrewsbury and the earl?”
She nodded miserably. “I fear they are going to either break into a bout of fisticuffs or challenge each other to a duel.”
“Oh dear.” Hattie sighed. “That is rather unfortunate, but if anyone deserves to be shot, it is the Marquess of Shrewsbury.”
Unfortunatedid not begin to adequately express the situation.
“Shrewsbury asked me to cry off my betrothal to Rayne,” she revealed. “Rayne found us. He was most displeased.”
“How dare Shrewsbury?” Hattie fumed on her behalf. “Has he not already done enough damage? If Rayne does not plant him a facer, I will be more than happy to do so on your behalf.”
The notion of Hattie walloping the Marquess of Shrewsbury spurred a reluctant smile to Catriona’s lips. Her beloved friend’s ceaseless championing of her was heartening, though it did little to put her mind at ease. Her eyes remained upon the doors to the balcony until at last, Rayne stalked back into the ballroom. His expression was thunderous.
There was so much about the earl she did not know. He was an enigma. A mystery.
And soon, he would be her husband.
Chapter Six
Alessandro ate histurbot with lobster sauce and pretended to listen to the Marquess of Searle.
Lady Catriona was seated across from him, but she may as well have been an ocean away. Just as well, for if she were nearer in proximity, he would be tempted to touch her. And if he touched her, he would not be able to control himself.
As it was, he was already a wild, ravening beast, hungering for her in a way that perplexed him. Three days until she was his.
Purgatorio.
“Where shall you and Lady Catriona go after the wedding?” Leonora asked, stealing Alessandro’s attention away.
Dinner tonight was, blessedly, a small affair, attended by only family and close friends. Leonora, her mother, Searle—who he reluctantly counted as family—Lady Catriona, her mother, Montrose, and the Honorable Miss Harriet Lethbridge and her mother. Miss Lethbridge was a friend of his betrothed’s who had the good sense to scowl at Montrose as if he were lower than a louse.
Which he was.
“We will honeymoon in Wiltshire,” Alessandro told his sister.
Although this was to be a marriage of convenience, he had not been to his country seat in several years. Since he was to be landlocked in England until Lady Catriona was with child, it stood to reason he may as well see Marchmont himself rather than continuing to rely on the reports of his steward. Especially since Searle had warned him his steward had been badly mismanaging the estate.
“How lovely that shall be,” Leonora said, giving him a look of sisterly approval.
“I deemed it best to ascertain the state of things myself before I return to Spain,” he said, needing to undercut any hopes his sister harbored that he had changed his mind.
It would not do for either Leonora or Lady Catriona to imagine he had any intention to remain in England. The approval in his sister’s countenance was replaced by a frown. “I do hope you shall change your mind about Spain. You are needed here.”
He inclined his head and proceeded to continue eating his fish. There was nothing he could say which would please his sister, and he was not going to change his mind. Wedding Lady Catriona would not alter the course of his future.
After an awkward pause, Montrose began a conversation about the weather.
“I confess, I am shocked you have been outdoors enough of late to realize there is weather at all,” Miss Lethbridge told the duke tartly, her condemnation almost palpable.
