The word “wife” had sparked something stunning within Katherine’s eyes.
What had he seen? A particularly feminine tenderness? A bone-deep longing? Whatever the proper description, the spark had made him choke.
Her vision cried out for masculine protection.
He—a bastard, scorned by his mother, his only remaining family—had no hope of protecting tenderness. No matter the number affixed to the title, the Marquess of Bromton’s sole purpose had always beenDynastywith a capitalD. Words like “wife” and “family” belonged to a world beneath their notice.
He was not worthy of the title, and he had nothing to give Katherine but the lie of that name. Pursuing Katherine when he knew he was not a gentleman made him a true scoundrel. A brute, just like she’d accused.
Perhaps he should leave Southford.
But he couldn’t.
He simply could not. He had sworn on the grave of the man he’d called father to deliver Bromton Castle to an heir of Langley blood, however soul-draining the cost of succession.
Tonight, Katherine’s fate had been sealed with one extraordinary kiss.
He’d seen her weakness, and he would not hesitate to use it.Wife. She wanted—no, longed—to be a wife.
He’d lure her back into his arms and unpin her protections. Then, for the sake of a blood-worthy heir, he’d bereave her of everything she valued, from her home to her pride, and shackle her to the monument of greed and power he called home with an imposter husband.
She had been right. A raw, aching condemnation shredded his heart. She would hate him in the end.
He was a bastard, after all.
Chapter Four
Anger lines of determination framed Bromton’s lips as he peeled off the wax. He forced himself to his feet and strode through the corridor. With each step, his body cooled. He had a purpose at Southford, a mission. And the sooner he completed his mission, the easier it would be to assess and address the carnage.
He reached the top of the stairs and hesitated, peering in the direction of the family wing.
No, tonight was not the time to forge ahead, not if he planned to win. He swiveled back toward his rooms.
“Don’t move.” A young lady in a high-waisted, fashionable gown barred his path. Though she was unfamiliar, her expression was not. He’d seen the same mutiny affixed to the features of the older Stanley siblings.
“The elusive Lady Julia.” He paused. “If I may presume.”
“No, you may not presume,” she replied.
“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked.
“My sister came upstairs muttering and sniffling.” Julia’s squint turned malevolent. “Katherine is never ill. She does not mutter.” She backed him up against the wall. “And she never, ever sniffles.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “she met a mishap?”
“I am conversing with her mishap,” Julia replied.
Footsteps sounded in the shadows of the family quarters. Before Bromton had time to think, a latch snapped and he stumbled backward into darkness. Julia ducked inside the hidden chamber and clicked the panel closed.
He shut and then reopened his eyes…nothing but complete darkness. He dared not reach out, lest he unintentionally compromise the young lady.
“Lady Julia,” he said warningly, “I do not think—”
“Shh,” Julia hissed. “The paneling is foolscap-thin.”
The footsteps grew louder—whoever roamed the corridors had a definite destination. In a short while, a door opened then immediately closed with a slam. Julia exhaled.
“Open the panel,” he ordered under his breath.
