“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, curtseying. “As ever, I am the heart and soul of discretion.”
With that, she exited the room.
Catherine looked at John, shocked by his proclamation. She had no idea if he said they were engaged for show or if he really meant it. Was this a proposal or just another cover?
He returned her gaze, saying nothing. She couldn’t read the line of his mouth.
Her face was blazing. He had to say something. He couldn’t just leave her to sort out his meaning for herself.
And yet he remained silent.
His quiet was killing her. She couldn’t bear it.
“Are you sure that was wise?”
“My apologies,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said such a thing without asking you. But it was the only thing that seemed plausible to staunch her concern.”
He still hadn’t clarified what he meant. With these words, however, it seemed far less likely that he was seriously making her an offer of marriage.
“Of course,” she said, unable to decipher his expression.
“I am sorry for having disturbed you.”
And then he left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Four
John wasn’t exactlysure where last night had gone wrong. He had been headed to Catherine’s bedchamber to speak with her aboutthem. While he didn’t exactly have a speech memorized, he had had the broad contours of a plan, which somehow he had ended up revealing to Mrs. Morrison instead of the woman who brought him to his knees.
Once Mrs. Morrison had left the room last night—meddling woman, he would sack her for interfering in his relationship, if she wasn’t a second mother to him—he had turned to look at Catherine.
And the expression on her face—the horror—had convinced him immediately that it was better that he hadn’t presented his plan to her in private. This way, he could pretend it was just for Mrs. Morrison’s sake that he had unfurled such an option. He had saved himself some humiliation. She clearly did not want a future with him. He had been an idiot to think she would.
Worse, after this rejection, John would now have to endure being once more in a close-quartered coach with Catherine Forster. They were finally going to question her aunt’s friends.
In fact, he was waiting for Catherine to meet him at this very moment.
And, of course, he cursed, it was raining, which worked very well for their subterfuge, but did nothing for his black mood.
Finally, his footman handed Catherine into the coach and he tapped the ceiling.
“I really could have gone alone, Your Grace,” she said, once they had set off, her tone cool. “Honestly, your company is an unnecessary risk.”
John gritted his teeth. He had taken pains to disguise his presence. They were driving a hired hack from the village and Marcel was not at the helm. The hack itself was so unremarkable that no one could tell it apart from a thousand others. He had instructed the man to drive to the Edington town center and then out of town, before calling on the first house, so that no one would suspect they had come from Edington Hall directly.
“I will obviously stay in the coach.”
“Good.”
“I would appreciate it, however, if you could tell me where in the hell we are going.”
Catherine was supposed to have complied a list of gentlewomen of her aunt’s acquaintance. She still had not shared this list with him.
“Fine.” She took a list from her reticule and handing it to him. “Most of these ladies will be worth asking. We should end with Lady Trilling, who was my aunt’s closest acquaintance. They were girls together.”
John grunted. Lady Trilling was also a friend of his family.
“What?” Catherine said, in response to his sound.
