She tried to think, but the earl was caressing her throat, his large hand slipping around to cup her nape. He began massaging the muscles of her neck, easing tension she had not even realized she possessed.
“How many times, Lady Catriona?” he asked again, his voice deceptively soft.
“Not many,” she felt compelled to defend, for she was loyal to her brother. Monty was not a villain. He was simply…lost. That was the best way to put it.
“I think you are lying to defend him,” Rayne observed, his gaze scouring hers. “I cannot believe the duel and this foolhardy race are the extent of his indiscretions.”
She thought about it.
There was the time he had brought an actress to live at Hamilton House until Mama had nearly boxed his ears and chased Mrs. Wilton from the duchess’s apartments. There had also been the evening he had gotten so inebriated; he had been attempting to hold a conversation with a potted palm at Lord and Lady Oxley’s ball. Later, he claimed he had mistaken the palm for a spinster. He had fallen down the staircase once and tripped into the statuary in the entry hall, shattering a marble bust of the first Duke of Montrose.
She still recalled Monty kicking the poor duke’s nose across the polished floor and declaring the bust had been his least favorite anyhow.
Catriona frowned.
And then, there had been the time he had fallen into the lap of one of Mama’s friends at a dinner party. The time he had engaged in a heated shouting match with their father’s portrait. He had also once decided, in the midst of the night, to paint the second-floor hall. The time she had found him lying prone on the Aubusson in the library in a drying puddle of his own vomit…
“Your face is expressive, my lady,” Rayne said grimly. “You need not speak a word, for I already have my answer.”
She did not like the judgmental tone in the earl’s voice. “Monty is a good man.”
“He is more child than man, if you ask me.” Though Rayne was curt and his expression rigid, he continued to knead the tightness in her neck. “I have a proposition for you, Lady Catriona. Montrose has done enough damage. We will wait until the doctor returns to set his bone. I will even aid him in his task. And then, this afternoon, we will wed. The special license enables us to marry whenever we wish, after all.”
Something inside her thrilled to the notion at the same time as something else within her balked. “But Dr. Croydon will likely need to give Monty more laudanum to set the bone, which will render him incoherent. I wished for Monty to be present at our nuptials.”
He was her beloved brother, after all.
Even if he was a scapegrace.
“We can speak our vows here rather than in the church,” Rayne suggested soothingly. “In the drawing room, the library, wherever you prefer. We will have Montrose brought down for the occasion. He will miss nothing.”
“But what of Torrington?” she asked next. “How can we carry on when he may be…”
Dying, was the word she had been about to say.
She would not speak it.
It was far too daunting, far too frightening.
“Torrington is not your brother,” the earl pointed out calmly as he continued his ministrations. “He is not even your family. We will pray for a complete recovery from him, but he, like Montrose, is a man grown. He, too, made the decision which led him to where he now lies.”
Once more, Rayne was not wrong. But her heart ached when she thought of Torrington’s injuries, his very life in question, and her dear friend.
“Hattie will be beside herself with upset,” she protested. “I only just sent her a missive this morning informing her of what has occurred.”
“Miss Lethbridge strikes me as a very strong sort, and I have no doubt she will carry on as she must. If she is your friend, she will not wish you to delay your future on account of the uncertainty of her brother’s fate.”
Was it Rayne’s nearness or the dexterity of his long fingers working every ache from her tensed muscles, or was it the decadent scent of him invading her senses? Whatever the cause, she was beginning to see the reason in his suggestions. They should not have to wait to marry because of Monty and Torrington.
She thought then of how many excuses she had made for her brother, how often she had raced to his defense, how many occasions upon which his lack of control had left her scrambling to cover up his foibles or somehow diminish or excuse them.
“It is time for you to live your own life, Lady Catriona,” Rayne urged. “We will see your brother’s bone set, and by that time, Lord Torrington will likely be awake. Our marriage will take place this afternoon, and by this evening, we will be on our way to Riverford House.”
Catriona bit her lip.
“Do not fret,querida.” The earl did the oddest thing then, the one gesture she could not resist.
He pressed his lips to her forehead in a chaste kiss. Like a benediction.
