“On how many occasions have you spoken with him?” Hattie asked knowingly.
“One,” she admitted, wetting her lips.
Her friend pursed her lips. “Was he a gentleman?”
“Yes.” And also, somehow, no.
He had held her elbow, keeping her captive during their heated exchange, and his touch—the warmth he exuded, along with the potent allure—had branded her through her dress. Worst of all, and much to her shame, he had released her at some point during their dialogue, leaving her free to go, and she had not noticed. Instead, she had remained tethered to him by some strange connection she could not yet comprehend.
Hattie’s eyes narrowed. “You say that in a most unconvincing fashion.”
“He was a gentleman,” she argued. “Far more of a gentleman than others I have had occasion to be courted by.”
That was not entirely true either, but the bitterness in her voice was meant for one man alone: Shrewsbury.
“If you are telling me the truth, and Montrose did not oblige you to betroth yourself to Rayne, then the earl must have changed your mind,” Hattie observed shrewdly. “You were set against wedding him when you first returned.”
“I know.” Dear, sweet Hattie had called upon her the moment she arrived in London despite the potential damage it would cause to her own reputation. “Rayne was…I cannot explain him adequately.”
Handsomedid not do him justice.
Gorgeouscould not convey the sizzling magnetism of the man.
He had stolen all the air from her lungs. From the chamber. For a heartbeat, she had not been able to think of a single, coherent sentence when she had first seen him. Not even one word.
“He is fine-looking,” Hattie guessed.
“More than that,” Catriona admitted, flushing. “But that is not the reason why I accepted his proposal.”
And indeed, it was not. Even if he was beautiful, from his dark hair and eyes to his olive skin, to his broad shoulders, lean hips, and long, muscular legs encased in breeches that fit him like a second skin, to his finely sculpted lips and brooding countenance, she had been determined to send him away.
Until he had changed everything.
“What is the reason?” Hattie sighed. “Catriona, do not, I beg you, try to convince me you have somehow developed tender feelings for the mad earl after meeting him on only one occasion. I know you far too well to believe it.”
Catriona smiled, then took another sip of tea.
It was completely cold.
“He promised me freedom, Hattie,” she said, aware, as she revealed it to her friend, just how foolish Rayne’s proposal seemed.
His words returned to her.When I am assured you are with child, I will return to Spain, leaving you with a generous stipend to dispose of as you wish. You will also be free to do as you wish after the birth of my heir.
“Freedom,” Hattie repeated, raising a brow. “What manner of freedom can he possibly offer you if you are forced to become his wife?”
“I am not being forced,” she reminded. “He wants to carry on his line, but he does not wish to live here. I will provide him with an heir, and he will give me leave to live my life as I see fit.”
Hattie frowned. “And what of Rayne? Where shall he be, and what shall he be doing whilst you are living your life as you see fit?”
“He will be living in Spain,” she said simply.
Unbidden, the rest of what he had said returned to her as well.I will not expect fidelity from you. Nor should you expect it from me.
And suddenly, something about his admission he would be taking a lover or lovers in Spain needled her. Perhaps he already had a mistress awaiting him in Spain. Someone he loved. It would make sense given the cold manner in which he intended to leave his wife and child in England, having no part of their lives.
But she told herself this was just the manner of husband she preferred, a man who would wed her and leave her. She would not have to answer to him or be disappointed or betrayed by him.
“You mean to suggest Rayne expects you to bear him an heir, and when you have done so, he will disappear to Spain?” Hattie sounded perplexed. And outraged.
