“You’re not mad,” Adrian said firmly. “You’re recovering. There’s a difference.”
“Is there? Society doesn’t seem to recognise such fine distinctions.”
“Lord Timothy does,” Marianne said gently. “Or have you forgotten he called your strength remarkable?”
Some of the panic faded from Catherine’s eyes. “He did say that, didn’t he?”
“He did. And he meant it.”
“Besides,” Adrian added with brotherly pragmatism, “if he proves false, I’ll destroy him. Simply. Efficiently. Permanently.”
“Adrian!” both women exclaimed.
“What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being homicidal,” Marianne corrected.
“The two are not mutually exclusive.”
Despite herself, Catherine laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m protective,” he said mildly. “There’s a difference. Now sit. Stop pacing. If Lord Timothy doesn’t value what’s before him, he’s not worthy of you anyway.”
***
At precisely two o’clock, Lord Timothy was announced. He entered bearing a large portfolio and a bouquet—not roses, but wildflowers, freshly gathered.
“Lady Catherine,” he bowed, offering them with an apologetic smile. “You mentioned Roman wildflowers were your favourite to sketch. These seemed the closest English approximation.”
Catherine’s face lit as she accepted them. “They’re perfect! How thoughtful of you.”
“You described them so vividly last night, I thought I ought to try.” He faltered slightly, remembering the others in the room. “Your Graces. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Lord Timothy,” Adrian said with even civility. “Pray, sit.”
What followed was perhaps the most thoroughly chaperoned tea in the history of London society. Adrian watched the young man with hawk-like focus, noting every movement.Marianne attempted polite conversation, but it was Catherine who finally broke the tension.
“Oh, stop it, Adrian,” she said. “You’re terrifying him.”
“I’m evaluating him.”
“You’re glaring as though choosing where to bury him.”
Lord Timothy choked on his tea. Marianne bit her lip to hide a smile.
“I am not—” Adrian began indignantly.
“You are,” Catherine insisted. “Lord Timothy, I apologise for my brother. He’s protective to the point of absurdity.”
“It’s quite all right,” Lord Timothy managed, still pale. “I have sisters myself. I understand the instinct.”
“Do you?” Adrian asked. “And what would you do if someone hurt one of them?”
“That would depend on the nature of the harm,” Lord Timothy said carefully. “But I imagine my response would resemble yours—swift and decisive.”
Something in Adrian’s face eased. “Good answer.”
The atmosphere lightened, and Lord Timothy, sensing victory, opened his portfolio. “I brought something I thought Lady Catherine might enjoy—Piranesi’sCarceri. The imaginary prisons.”
