His deeply cut cheeks sported stubble Katherine doubted any valet could tame—stubble that accented full, one could say even say forceful, lips. Shallow wrinkles skated across his forehead, but no creases marred the skin around his eyes.
Easy humor was not, apparently, among his strengths.
Vigor, on the other hand, he radiated—enough to suggest his spirit’s force was too large to be contained by skin, bone, and muscle. Worse still, his fine-hewn body appeared more than willing to take up his spirit’s challenge.
The man looked as if he could wrestle fate and then walk away the victor.
Who was he? More importantly, why was he here?
Katherine looked into his eyes, and her blood flooded with regret. He had extraordinary eyes, though she could not place the hue. Blue, perhaps? Or were they gray? No matter what the color, there was no mistaking the gravity in his searching, observant gaze.
A startling drop of female recognition trickled between her breasts.No. No. No. She’d smothered such feelings long ago—a mercy killing she could not regret.
She closed her mouth and then shot an angry glance toward her brother. Was this—her gaze swept back over the marquess—truly necessary?
This man was trouble. She knew it, just as sure as she knew when Julia was telling a lie. He was the worst kind of trouble—an arrogant peer who, like all she’d encountered before, mistook his will as his due.
“My lady.” Lord Bromton’s voice, deep and dark, cut through her like a spade through earth—an effect, she was certain, he intended.
The marquess reached for her hand, moving with the grace of a man assured of power. She commanded her knees to cease their ridiculous quiver. She was no eager innocent and far too firmly on the shelf to respond to a gentleman’s touch in such a fashion.
Yet, respond she did.
He took her fingers and pressed light lips to her knuckles. Then, he smiled.
She swallowed.Hard. The marquess was not just trouble. He was trouble with a master scribe’s inkiest flourish.
And her foolish heart was already craving another smile.
She stiffened her spine, resurrecting the specter of Brummell’s cold, dismissive glare. The marquess had gotten a good look at the infamous unmarriageable maiden, held her hand, even. That was all he could expect. Thanks to Julia’s plan, the marquess would be gone by morning—before morning, if Katherine maintained complete control.
“A pleasure indeed, Lord Bromton. How favored we are by your presence.” She infused her voice with shrill concern. “However, it was thoughtless of Markham to insist you take the carriage out just after riding down from London. It would not do for his recklessness to cause you fatigue. You simply must return to the house.”
There. Kill him with shrewish kindness. Thank you, Julia…and Mr. Shakespeare.
Markham’s expression turned bewildered. “I promised Lord Bromton Southford’s best aspect—Mother’s folly—and there is no telling when we’ll have another day as fine.”
“The wind is sure to be stiff on the hilltop.” She turned to Lord Bromton. “The marquess is not likely used to discomfort.”
“Markham tells me,” Lord Bromton’s spade-like voice troweled through her yet again, “the folly is your favorite spot on the estate.”
She slanted a look at her brother. “Kind of you to remember,Percy.”
Markham smirked in reaction to his boyhood name. She lifted a brow and pursed her lips.
“If,” Bromton continued with exaggerated seriousness, “you were to bless us with your reassuring presence, I believe I could manage a stiff wind.”
“Oh, but I could not—” She stopped and blinked. Was the marquess actually laughing at her behind those solemn, blue-gray eyes?
No.
The glint in his gaze was a gauntlet thrown—glittering proof she’d charged blindly into the first battle of a war he had carefully planned and intended to win.
Markham took advantage of her pause. “I’ve just realized how close we are to Linton Farm. I’ve been corresponding with Mr. Linton concerning inadequate drainage. Now would be the perfect opportunity for me to stroll over and have a look, don’t you agree?” Triumph beamed from his grin. “I would, of course, need you to take Lord Bromton up the hill.”
“I just came from Linton Farm,” she gritted.
“Well then,” Markham said with a suspicious amount of cheer, “the Lintons will be blessed by two visits in one day.”
