“You are badly in need of money. I have a great deal of it.”

Catherine felt the color flooding her face again. “I hope I am not so mercenary.”

“No, I don’t perceive you as mercenary—the word I would use would be desperate.” He waited patiently for a reply.

Catherine struggled with warring emotions. He was right—her situation was desperate. Still, she balked at being forced into anything, let alone a marriage she didn’t want to a man she hardly knew and had no hope of understanding. She took refuge in anger, a much stronger and more comfortable emotion than desperation.

“And you wish to take advantage of my predicament!”

Caldbeck’s expression never changed. “I simply propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And what do you hope to gain?”

“Your beauty, your energy, your superb elegance. You…warm me….”

Harlequin Historicals is delighted to introduce debut author Patricia Frances Rowell

#619 BORDER BRIDE

Deborah Hale

#620 BADLANDS LAW

Ruth Langan

#622 MARRIED BY MIDNIGHT

Judith Stacy

A Perilous Attraction
Patricia Frances Rowell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and PATRICIA FRANCES ROWELL

A Perilous Attraction #621

For Judy Elise Rhodes,

my friend in this world and all others.

And for my chosen sister, Sue Harvey Harrison.

No one has encouraged me more.

And—always—for my hero, Johnny.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Prologue

Yorkshire, England, November 1783

The boy stood unmoving, one hand clutching his father’s, the other held rigidly in a fist at his side. The rain beat down on the umbrella his father held above them, while the sound of sodden clods of dirt striking the casket mingled with the vicar’s words.

“But thanks be to God who giveth us the victory….” The boy gritted his teeth, willing his lip not to tremble. He would not cry. He felt proud to be allowed to stand with the men of the funeral party. If they considered him old enough, he certainly did not want to disgrace himself with tears. Yet a very small, childish part of him wanted to turn and flee—back to the house. Back to hide his face in the skirts of the women waiting there, and to sob the pain away.

“In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek succor…?”

The child dared a glance up into his father’s face. It might as well have been carved in stone. He saw no tears. No sign betrayed the man’s thoughts or feelings, but his hand tightened encouragingly around his young son’s.

“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, immovable….”

The boy took a long breath and drew himself up in emulation, schooling his own face to stern control. His father was strong. He would be strong. Men didn’t cry.

The vicar finished the reading and stepped forward to murmur a few private words. Then the boy’s father turned and led him away from the grave of the woman who had been the anchor of both their lives.

Chapter One

London, England, October 1810

“You did what?” Catherine leaned her clenched fists on her uncle’s desk and scowled at him across it, bristling with outrage.

He winced. “There is no need to shout. I am not deaf.”

“I can only wish that I were! I cannot believe I heard you correctly.”

“Of course you heard me. I said I have accepted an offer from Lord Caldbeck for your hand in marriage.”

Catherine straightened up and stared at him in disbelief. “But, Uncle Ambrose, why? Aside from the fact that I have no wish to marry at all, I hardly know the man. I’ve danced with him a few times, but he has never shown any partiality for me. I’ve never even heard that he was hanging out for a wife.”

“Caldbeck is well known for hiding his thoughts. One never knows what he intends. The man’s an enigma.”

“An automaton, rather.” Catherine spun away from the desk, snatched her modish hat from her head and sailed it across the room into a chair. She felt her hair spring forth in its flaming halo, and ran her hands over it in a vain attempt to restrain it.

“Lord Caldbeck might as well be made of wood. He never smiles, he never laughs, he never…” Having paced the width of the library, she whirled, savagely kicking the train of her velvet riding dress out of her way, and again bore down on the desk. “What can you have been thinking? You have no right….”

Ambrose Maury’s face began to show a tinge of red as he came to his own defense. “On the contrary. As your guardian it is my duty to speak for you. It’s a damn good match. Caldbeck is as rich as Croesus. He made a very advantageous offer. I accepted it. It’s that simple.”

Catherine, who knew her uncle well, stopped her pacing midway across the room and turned to look at him, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Exactly what sort of offer?”

Maury fidgeted a bit, blotting perspiration from his bald pate with his handkerchief. “Now, Catherine, you must understand certain things.”

“What things? What sort of offer?”

“I’ve had a bit of bad luck investing in the Funds of late.”

“Ah. And Lord Caldbeck is offering a handsome settlement. I begin to understand. But you must understand that I will not marry—I can’t! I won’t! Within six months I come into control of my fortune, and I shall no longer be dependent on your hospitality. Can’t you wait until then to get me off your hands?”

“Catherine, I can’t wait six months—not even six days.”

“Are you run completely off your legs, then?”

“I don’t know why you insist on using these cant phrases, young lady, but yes. You could say that. In fact, I haven’t a feather to fly with. Caldbeck will settle all my debts, forgive my mortgages and give me enough to emigrate to America.”

“America! I have no more wish to live in America than to marry Lord Caldbeck. Surely, as my trustee, you can arrange for me to receive enough from my inheritance for me to set up a small establishment here for the next half year.”

Ambrose leaned back in his chair and folded his plump hands across his ample midsection. Just a hint of malice glinted in his eyes. “What you do not understand, Catherine, is that you no longer have an inheritance.”

Catherine stood for a moment dumbfounded. Then she spoke very carefully. “Do you mean to tell me that you have lost, not only your own fortune, but mine, gambling on the Funds?”

Her uncle nodded. “On the Funds and some other…er, unfortunate investments.”

“But…how…? You were supposed to hold that money for me—in trust—until I am five-and-twenty. How could you…?”

“Come now. Don’t be missish. You know I had the authority to invest it.”

“Yes, but not to gamble with it!”

“I used it better than you would—throwing it away on those damn brats at the foundling hospital.”

“You have bankrupted us both?”

“That’s the long and the short of it. You may make your own decision, of course, about what to do, but I strongly recommend that you accept Caldbeck.”

“You…you scoundrel! You have the nerve to sit there and tell me…I’ll have you before the magistrate!”

“Little good it will do you. If I could replace the money, I wouldn’t be emigrating to some backwater in America.”

Longing to slap the smug expression off her uncle’s face, Catherine fought for control. “You cannot make me do it!”

Scowling, Ambrose stood and stepped around the desk. “Now see here, young lady. Caldbeck has already bought up my mortgages and is prepared to pay my creditors. He will do so on the understanding that you will wed him.”

“You sold me!”

“Oh, have done with your dramatics! He is expecting that you will do as we agreed. It is going to be damned awkward for me if you don’t.”

“You should have thought of that before you created this situation.”

Maury lifted his hand in a threatening gesture, then let it fall to his side. “Let me make your situation abundantly clear. This house no longer belongs to me. As of today you have no home, no money and no source of income.”

Catherine stopped pacing and stood for a second as still as a statue. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m bloody serious. And let me tell you something else, Catherine Maury, I don’t give a damn what you do! Your aunt and I are both ready to wash our hands of you—and your bloody brats, and your temper, and your high-handed manner. Not marry indeed. You should have been wed and had a brace of children by now, but no! You must play savior to every sooty sweep’s boy, every street urchin and little thief who crosses your path. Much fortune you would have had soon, in any event, between your extravagance and your philanthropies. You may accept Caldbeck or go live on the street with your protégés. I don’t care, but you are not going with us!”

Catherine stared at him for the space of three breaths, then, grabbing her hat from the chair, turned with a great swish of skirts and marched out of the room.

Out of sight of her uncle, Catherine abandoned dignity and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber. Slamming the door, she turned the key in the lock, threw her hat at the bed and resumed her pacing, her thoughts boiling.

My God, this can’t be happening! Her uncle’s announcement refused to become reality in her mind. No home? This house had been a refuge for half her life—not a comfortable one, perhaps, but a home. No money? She had been counting heavily on quarter day, as she had already all but depleted her allowance for the current quarter. There had been the clothes for the boys in the new home and the new beds for the foundling hospital and the expense of the reception for the contributors.

And, of course, there had been the new hunter.

She brightened a bit. Her horses! The hunter alone would bring enough to lease a house for a year. She could sell her horses, but…what if Uncle Ambrose had already sold them? Or more probably, lost them? She had no doubt that many of his investments took place at the card table.

At that thought rage consumed her once again, and the kick she gave her train as she turned almost undid her. Her foot tangled in the fabric, and only sheerest luck stopped her from falling headlong onto the carpet. Too much! It really was too much.

She seized the edge of her jacket and yanked, all but pulling the buttons off. She struggled out of it and flung it at the wardrobe. Her boots followed, and she tore at the fastenings of the treacherous dress. It came to rest under the bed.

Thus liberated, Catherine resumed her prowling, trying to relieve her frustration. Greedy! A sofa cushion bounced off the wall. Grasping! The small footstool clattered as it fell on its side near the window. Stupid man! A book tumbled off the table she struck with her fist. Sucking her bruised knuckle, she looked about for something else on which to take out her fury.

She caught the barest glimpse of her maid’s head as Sally peeked around the dressing room door. The sight of her mistress stamping around her bedchamber in her shift evidently dismayed the abigail, for she quickly withdrew her head and closed the door. Catherine paused.

What would become of Sally? The question sobered her. Catherine suddenly realized that she was not the only victim of this disaster. All the servants would suffer. How could she prevent it? No home, no money, no income. Nothing with which to pay the loyal girl, no place for them to live. Fear began to replace anger. Her unseeing gaze fixed on the scene outside the glass, Catherine pulled the footstool to the window and sat down.

She must think. What was she to do? Income represented the greatest problem. Even if she could wrest her horses from Uncle Ambrose’s grasp, the money would not last long enough to give her the independence she’d so eagerly anticipated.

At least, whatever she decided, she would be free of her venal uncle and his lachrymose wife. What a relief that would be! They had never wanted her in their home. The control of her fortune was the only reason they had accepted the guardianship of a twelve-year-old girl at all. At least Papa had been shrewd enough to link the two in his will. But apparently even he had not realized to what depths his brother would sink.

Catherine sighed and rested her elbows on the window ledge, chin on hand. She had friends who would take her in, but having been an unwelcome addition to one household, she did not relish the idea of repeating that experience. Could she possibly find gainful employment? For a gently bred young woman it would prove almost impossible. So…what?

A tentative tap sounded at her door, followed by the voice of her uncle’s footman. “Miss Catherine, are you ‘in’?”

“Not now.” In no frame of mind for visitors, she turned on the stool to face the door. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“The Earl of Caldbeck is below stairs, miss. He requests a few minutes of your time.”

“I said no! Tell him I cannot see him now.” Hearing the retreating footsteps of the servant, Catherine returned to staring out the window. Caldbeck himself—the last person she wished to see at that moment. Heaven help her, what could she do? Her thoughts simply would not come to order.

Reluctantly she considered Lord Caldbeck. She found nothing objectionable in his person—quite the opposite, in fact. Tall and elegantly slender, but with shoulders whose width owed nothing to his tailor, he might be very attractive were he not so cold. She could do worse.

But she had been determined for so long to avoid marriage. For one thing, Catherine had learned the hard way not to trust anyone but herself to take care of her, and a husband, by law, would have so much power, so much control over her.

Giving up her longed-for independence would be a bitter pill to swallow, but it was already lost. Her money was gone. Swallow she must. But the other thing, the bigger thing…So much more important; the loss of the decision so much harder to accept.

And so tempting to accept.

Children. Marriage meant children, and nothing stirred her heart as a child did. It fell within her reach at this moment to allow herself her dearest, most secret wish—a family of her own, a home of her own, children on which she could lavish the love and attention she had lacked since she was twelve years old.

But children were so appallingly vulnerable!

Catherine sighed. She could not take the risk. She’d long ago made up her mind to that, though it tore her very soul. Now, if she accepted Caldbeck, that wonderful, terrifying possibility again became a reality. But if something happened to her…If her children were left alone in the world as she had been, as the waifs she befriended were…The very thought brought tears to her eyes.

She dashed them away. She must think. Could she possibly live with someone like the reticent earl? Her emotions were always evident and vigorous. Surely a man so reserved would stifle her, try to restrain her, want her to be a docile and efficient wife. Could she change her nature enough ever to be that? Very unlikely—not for anyone. They would both be mad with aggravation within six months!

A half-smile touched her lips. Caldbeck obviously did not know what he had bargained for. What a shock he would get if she did accept him. He might find this a marriage of inconvenience. It would serve him right, thinking he could buy her.

At that moment a firmer knock rattled the door panels. Annoyed, she glared at the door.

“I told you, I am not to be disturbed.”

“It is I, Caldbeck. I would like to speak with you.”

Catherine sat silent for a startled moment. Good heavens, the man stood at her door! How dare he? What in the world could she say to him? She couldn’t talk now. She needed more time. Time to think…

“I do not wish to talk now. Come back tomorrow.” As soon as she spoke the words, Catherine realized that she might not be in that house tomorrow. She no longer lived here. Already she heard the sounds of packing and the preparations to close the mansion. She began to feel a bit panicky.

“I believe it would be of benefit for us to talk now.” The voice on the other side of the door was flat, without inflection. Catherine heard not a smidgen of persuasion in it. How could he sound so…so unfeeling at a time like this? Had the man no sensibility at all?

“Of benefit to whom? You are trying to buy me. Go away!” She turned her back and resumed staring at the street.

An instant later, with a thunderous crash, the door flew open.

Catherine leapt to her feet. Strangling on a scream, she spun to face this new menace. She beheld Lord Caldbeck, his tall frame filling the doorway. As she watched with frightened eyes, one hand pressed against her mouth, he straightened his dove-gray coat and tugged his snowy shirtsleeves into position.

Catherine stood frozen in place, for once in her life speechless. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth, and her heart pounded in her ears. Caldbeck pushed the door shut, and after a cursory inspection of the broken latch, nudged a dainty boudoir chair in front of it to hold it closed.

He then turned to her and bowed politely.

“Miss Maury.”

Catherine nodded silently as he crossed the room to stand a few feet from her. She looked up into an impassive face dominated by ice-gray eyes. The mouth did not smile. The once raven-black hair brushed severely back from the face was now so liberally streaked with gray that it shone the color of gunmetal. Catherine swallowed, trying in vain to think of something to say.

Running footsteps in the hall mingled with alarmed voices.

“Miss Catherine, are you all right?”

“What the devil is going on here?” Her uncle shoved past the footman, pushing the chair out of the way to stick his head into the room. “Oh. Caldbeck. I see you found my niece. Did you make that confounded racket?”

Lord Caldbeck nodded wordlessly at the door. Maury examined the broken wood and scowled. “I told you she would be unreasonable, but couldn’t you find some way of gaining admittance without destroying my door?”

Caldbeck sent him a level stare. “I believe the door is now my property.”

Maury flushed. “Yes, of course.” Then, with a sneer, “Very well, we shall cease disturbing your visit with your bride.” His glance took in the clothes scattered around the room. “You certainly have not wasted any time.”

He jerked his head at the footman, and they both departed, the servant covering a grin with one hand. Caldbeck replaced the small chair holding the door and returned to Catherine.

Catherine felt the wave of heat creeping up from her breasts to the roots of her hair. Great heavens! She stood before his lordship in nothing but her shift!

How could she have forgotten that rather significant fact? What must Lord Caldbeck be seeing, with the light from the window behind her shining through the sheer linen? And what must he be thinking of her? Catherine started to cover herself with her hands, realized the futility of that measure, and was about to turn her back to Caldbeck when his voice arrested her.

“It doesn’t matter. His opinion is no longer important.”

The blush deepened. Catherine, knowing her milk-white complexion, inwardly cursed it. Her face must be absolutely crimson! And she could not fathom the least clue to his thoughts. Even though he had kicked the door in, neither his face nor his voice betrayed any sign of ardor or anger. His eyes gleamed as cool and gray as ever. Stabbed again by fear, she wanted to turn and run, but her pride would not let her.

She decided instead to muster what dignity she might.

Catherine lifted her chin and drew herself up, her face a haughty mask. “Well, my lord? What is it that you are so eager to discuss?”

“The conditions of our marriage.”

“I thought that you and my uncle had already made those arrangements.” Catherine’s voice dripped acid. “That the two of you had completed the terms of sale.”

Caldbeck raised one eyebrow a hair’s breadth. “I am sorry to hear that you view the contract in that light.”

He watched silently as Catherine stalked past him to the other end of the room, then stalked back, anger gradually replacing fear.

“How else am I to view it? How my uncle thought he could force me into it, I can’t imagine. I fear you have spent your money for nothing, my lord.”

“Indeed?” Caldbeck’s expression held nothing but the smallest amount of polite inquiry.

Catherine considered herself the equal of any man in a verbal battle, but she found Caldbeck’s icy reserve to be just the least little bit daunting. He did not rise to the hook of her barbed words. Hunting for a new tack, she cleared her throat. “It is obvious, my lord, that I can’t marry you. I hardly know you, but surely you must see, as I do, that we are utter opposites.”

Caldbeck nodded in agreement.

“You are aware of that?”

“Of course.”

“But…but surely we would drive one another into Bedlam within a twelve-month!”

“I believe the results of our marriage may not be quite so unpleasant as all that.”

His tone was as even as ever, and Catherine studied his expression once again for some clue to his feelings. Finding none, she sighed in exasperation. “My lord, this is madness in itself. We would not suit.”

“On the contrary, Miss Maury, I believe we shall deal together very well.”

“You can’t mean that. How could two such different people possibly live together?”

“Very happily. We each have that which the other needs.”

Catherine felt intrigued in spite of herself. “What in the world could that be?”

“I think we can agree that, at the moment, you are badly in need of a means of support. Your uncle—” somehow, without having altered his tone of voice whatsoever, Caldbeck imbued the word with disdain “—has placed you in a highly untenable position. You need money. I have a great deal of it.”

Catherine felt the color flooding her face again. “I hope I am not so mercenary.”

“No, I don’t perceive you as mercenary—the word I would use would be desperate.” He waited patiently for a reply.

Catherine struggled with warring emotions. He had the right of it, of course. Her situation was desperate. Still, she balked at being forced into anything, let alone a marriage she didn’t want to a man she hardly knew and had no hope of understanding. Nor any hope of his accepting her. She took refuge in anger, a much stronger and more comfortable emotion than desperation.

“And you wish to take advantage of my predicament!”

Caldbeck’s expression never changed. “I simply propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“And what do you hope to gain?”

“Your beauty, your energy, your superb elegance. You…warm me.” Even as he searched for the words, his countenance remained composed, his voice without emotion. “I also admire your ability to consider the plight of those less fortunate than yourself. It is a very rare trait in our time. I need someone to assist me with my responsibilities to society.”

For years, Catherine had heard nothing but disbelief, irritation or amusement on the subject of her charities. Astonished, she could only stammer, “You—you do?”

“I do, and I am prepared to offer you some assistance. My seat is situated in Yorkshire. Countless children are in unfortunate circumstances in the cities of that area—in the mines, the woolen mills, the foundries. The district provides endless scope for your talents and my funds.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes in thought. “Yes, I have heard many horrifying tales of children in the mines and mills. But what of my work here? I have only just succeeded in organizing a board of contributors for the foundling hospital, and I am still trying to do so for the new boys’ home.”

“I have no objection to an occasional trip to London, although I prefer to live on my estates so that I may oversee them myself. But one can place only so much dependence on others.”

“Yes, that is certainly true. It is one of the reasons I desire to remain in London.” And unwed.

“I understand that, but I believe that you may accomplish a great deal of the groundwork for your London projects through the post, if you plan your visits to best advantage. In time you will be able to shift your attention to Yorkshire.”

Catherine turned and once more looked without seeing at the scene outside the window. Caldbeck waited calmly for a response. His offer indeed tempted her. He had the power to help her causes in so many ways, if only he would. It would be a relief to have a supporter. The money was important, of course, but…She turned back abruptly.

“Would you speak in the House of Lords on the laws governing child labor?”

Caldbeck paused, considering. Catherine tapped her foot impatiently.

At last, he nodded. “Yes, from time to time, if you provide me with the information. I rarely speak in Parliament, but I shall do so now and then. I do not wish to involve all my time with your projects. I have business of my own. That is one reason I need you.”

Catherine again directed her gaze toward the window. Could she believe his promise, or was he just trying to convince her to accept him? How long would it be before he lost interest in her, and his own business took precedence over hers? She could not know until too late. She still did not entirely understand his wish to make her his wife.

You warm me. Could anyone warm this human icicle? Beauty? Elegance? Perhaps he simply wanted a tall, well-dressed woman at his side as an ornament, one he could enjoy in his detached way, who would perform the duties of his countess. Perhaps he would make no demands on her in the marriage bed. That might be an advantage. She would not have to fear for her children. But…was that entirely an advantage?

Catherine felt the color rising again in her face and kept it carefully turned to the window. A woman of strong feelings, she had been aware for some time in this conversation that Caldbeck’s presence created sensations in her that she had rather avoid. She must make this decision with a cool head, not in response to unruly prompting from her lower body. Though what in that unmoving visage inspired passion, she was sure she didn’t know. Just because he had broad shoulders and well-muscled legs…

Her next thought stopped her. What a miserable existence it would be to live with a man who aroused these desires if he had no inclination to explore them with her! Catherine had been aware for years of a burning curiosity to understand the intimacy of the bedchamber, but except for a few discreet kisses, she remained in ignorance. She understood too well the penalties for pursuing the subject in her unwed state to risk them. Her impetuosity did not extend that far. She shuddered to think of having a child under those circumstances.

Besides, she would be compromising her integrity to use another person in that way only to satisfy her curiosity. And she would not allow herself to be used thus. Did she, in effect, contemplate that very thing in this proposal of a loveless marriage?

She pivoted and again gave her attention to Caldbeck. “My lord, I appreciate the value of what you are offering. However, let us have some plain speaking. Only vaguely do I comprehend what you want from me in return.”

He paused for so long that Catherine wondered if he intended to continue. At last he answered.

“I desire you.”

“Oh.”

That answered that question.

“Did you think that I might not want you in my bed?”

Catherine cursed the hot blood again creeping up her neck, but she held her ground. “I didn’t know…It is very difficult to…Never mind, the bargain is now clear.”

And was it a bargain she was willing to make? His wealth for her body? She didn’t like the sound of that! Yet many marriages were based on no more. And Catherine was a realist. Her situation would oblige her to wed someone sooner or later. When she considered the good that marrying Lord Caldbeck might allow her to do…Would he uphold his part of the bargain? She could not be sure, but his very rigidity indicated that he would keep his word. And she must admit he wasn’t asking for something she felt unwilling to give in return.

And she had no idea what else she might do.

“Very well, my lord. I fear that we are engaging in folly of monumental proportions, but my decision is made. I accept your proposal.”

Chapter Two

Lord Caldbeck waited so long to reply that Catherine feared he had suddenly changed his mind.

“I am relieved.”

Catherine shook her head in disbelief. If his lordship had been laboring under any anxiety whatsoever, it certainly was not apparent.

“When do you wish to have the ceremony performed? I…I may not be able to stay here much longer.” She gestured toward the door, through which the thump of boxes and trunks being moved about was audible.

“As soon as possible. I already have a special license. Perhaps you need to do some shopping. Have you a white dress?”

Catherine looked at him blankly. “A white dress?”

“To be married in. I would like to see my bride in white.” He paused and then inquired neutrally, “I assume it is appropriate?”

Catherine’s face positively flamed. “Of course, it is appropriate! Do you think…?”

Caldbeck held up a restraining hand. “Like you, I believe in the need for plain speaking. It is one thing I believe we have in common. Have you a dress?”

“Yes.” Catherine hated herself for stammering. How did this man manage to put her out of countenance so easily? And without ever raising his voice? “Yes, I have a white ensemble that will be suitable. It is quite new, in fact. When…?”

“This afternoon. At four o’clock. I have made the arrangements with the chapel. If you have anyone whom you wish to be present, give me their names at once, and I shall have my secretary send cards. I have already taken the liberty of inviting a few of the people I know to be your friends to join us for dinner at my London house.”

So soon! Irate again, Catherine put her fists on her hips. “Wait just a minute! You have already invited my friends to a wedding dinner? How could you be so sure I would accept your bargain?”

Caldbeck lifted her chin on one finger and looked intently into her outraged face. “You had very little choice, Kate. You were not bred to toil…and that would be a dreadful waste. I thought you would want to have your friends with you, and that you would wish to say goodbye. We shall be returning to Yorkshire very soon.”

This time Catherine could not fail to hear a certain gentleness in his tone. Perhaps he understood more of her feelings at this unsettling moment than she did. In her need to reach a decision she had not let herself feel the pain of losing her comfortable life, all her hope of independence, of leaving everything and everyone she knew. At the unexpected sympathy a lump formed in her throat. She nodded without speaking.

“Good. You will stay at my home, of course. You’d best have your maid pack your belongings, and I shall send my footmen to transport them.”

Lips compressed, Catherine nodded again, blinking back tears. Caldbeck extended a hand. She placed hers in it, and he carried it to his lips. Then, as if thinking better of it, instead of kissing her fingers, he pulled her to him. Catherine felt the warmth of his big hand on her back through her shift. Before she had fully taken in that sensation, the roughness of his coat pressed against her breasts. She felt the light scrape of a carefully shaved cheek as he lifted her face with his free hand and covered her mouth with his.

The warmth of his kiss flowed through Catherine from her lips to her knees. Without thinking, she leaned into the embrace. His arms tightened around her, pulling her up against a bulge between his legs. Catherine had never been kissed in her shift. Heavens, she could feel so much of him! She was aware of the bulge as never before. Apparently the Earl of Caldbeck was not devoid of all feeling.

The fabric of his breeches and the smooth leather of his tall boot brushed against the skin of her legs as he slipped a foot between hers. Catherine sighed and her legs went weak. The hand on her back pressed her closer, supporting her against him. Just as her senses began to reel, he released her and stepped back. She stumbled, and Caldbeck quickly steadied her.

He touched her face with one finger. “That’s better. I do not wish to have a red-eyed bride.”

Catherine hunted once again for traces of laughter—or perhaps displeasure—but as usual, found none. She drew in a deep breath.

Caldbeck turned and started for the door. “I shall call for you at half after three.”

Somewhat before half after three, Catherine sat at her dressing table, attired in the new white dress and pelisse. A good thing that white became her! Even though it was associated with young debutantes, she liked the dramatic effect it created with her vivid coloring. Satisfied by the reflection that looked back at her from the dressing mirror, she fingered the pearl necklace, which had been delivered to her an hour earlier. Lord Caldbeck was nothing if not efficient.

She reached up to alter slightly the tilt of the tiny hat that Sally was fastening to the fiery mass of ringlets piled at her crown. Tipping her head, Catherine watched the play of sunlight from the window across her gleaming locks. She always marveled at the way the sun brought out the deep colors, turning them almost purple in the shadows.

Red hair was far from fashionable, but Catherine liked hers, nonetheless. It suited her. She dabbed a tiny bit of powder over the all but indiscernible freckles across her nose. Freckles were another matter. She really should wear nothing but wide-brimmed hats, she told herself for the thousandth time.

While Sally rummaged in the wardrobe for gloves and reticule, Catherine had time—unfortunately—to reflect on her situation. In less than a day she had gone from being a wealthy young woman, looking forward to the independent control of her own fortune, to being a pauper. Now, a few hours later, she faced becoming the bride of a man with a face of stone. She shivered.

His bride! She would spend tonight in his house. Her stomach sank. Now that her curiosity was about to be satisfied, she found herself pulling back. Tonight she would lie in the bed of a total stranger. She would be completely at his mercy, and she had no idea of his true nature or of what to expect from him. Catherine considered herself a bold woman, but even if he had not broken the door, those glacial eyes held enough menace to strike terror to a heart braver yet than hers.

For a moment panic gripped her. She jumped up from the vanity stool and strode around the room. She couldn’t go through with it! She couldn’t. She started at the sound of her maid’s voice.

“Miss Catherine? Come and sit down, do, Miss Catherine. I need to put your gloves on you. See? I’ve picked the stitches loose on the ring finger so you can tuck it under. And you’ve a strand of hair come loose.”

Catherine sighed and, returning to the dresser, sat and extended her hand. While Sally coaxed the tight kid gloves into place, Catherine took several deep breaths and strove for calm. It would not be so bad. Surely it would not. He was a handsome man, and the kiss they had shared…Oh, dear! This line of thought didn’t help. She was turning red again.

“Are you warm, miss? To me the room is just a thought too cool.” Sally began to fan her with the pierced ivory fan from her reticule.

“No, no.” Catherine pushed the fan away. “I’m fine.”

At that moment they heard the crunch of carriage wheels in the street. Sally hurried to the window. “I think that’s him, Miss Catherine,” she reported. “Oh! Would you look at that carriage! All silver-gray like, and with the finest dapple grays. Alike to a hair, they are!”

Catherine, none too fond of the idea of being caught peeking out the window at her bridegroom, peered over Sally’s shoulder. The shield and wolf’s head coat-of-arms on the door of the carriage undoubtedly identified it as the property of the Earl of Caldbeck. As the earl emerged and made his way up the steps, the hall clock chimed half after three.

“Well,” Sally observed, “at least he’s punctual.”

Of course he was punctual. What else would he be? Catherine stepped a little closer to the window and looked down into Caldbeck’s upturned face. Drat! She dodged back. And what else would he do but catch her peeping! Perhaps she should let him cool his heels awhile. Always begin as you mean to go on.

But even that bit of rebellion was to be denied her. A tap at the door and the footman’s voice announced that the Earl of Caldbeck awaited her downstairs. Sally slipped the cord of Catherine’s reticule over her hand and hustled her to the door.

“You best be going, miss. You can’t keep the vicar standing. Oh, wait. Let me pin up that curl. There, now. You’re done.”

Catherine allowed herself to be led to the door—and her waiting fate.

No guests waited in the quiet dark of the chapel when they arrived, save two. A well-dressed gentleman Caldbeck presented as his friend, Adam Barbon, Viscount Litton. The earl introduced the stylish, dark-haired woman—more handsome than beautiful—to Catherine as his sister, Helen, Lady Lonsdale. They made an attractive pair, he with his fair hair and laughing brown eyes, she with shining black curls and black-fringed eyes as blue as Catherine’s own. Startled, Catherine stumbled over her response as she clasped the other woman’s hand.

Caldbeck had a sister! How little she knew of him, indeed.

She was just wondering whether her marriage would take place with only her bridegroom’s associates present, when Mary Elizabeth flew into the chapel. Catherine hastened to meet her.

“Oh, Liza, I feared my note had not found you at home.” Catherine gratefully embraced her dearest friend. “I am so glad to have you here!”

“I was out. You can’t imagine the hurry I have been in to be here by four.” As usual, Mary Elizabeth’s short, plump figure looked a bit rumpled. “I am positively out of breath. Oh, that plume on your hat is perfect, just perfect. You are getting married! I can’t believe…And without a word to anyone. How could you? And to Lord Caldbeck! I couldn’t believe my eyes when we received his invitation to dinner tonight. I told George—oh! George? Are you…? Well, of course you are. We came together….”

“How do you do? I am Caldbeck.” The gray-clad earl took advantage of Liza’s indrawn breath to cut through the monologue and extend a hand to her escort.

“Oh. This is my husband, George,” Mary Elizabeth finished, quite unnecessarily.

“George Hampton, your most obedient servant, sir.” The trim younger man bowed and shook Caldbeck’s hand.

Hampton then took his wife firmly by the arm and led her to where Caldbeck made the balance of the introductions. Those having been completed, Caldbeck gravely presented to Catherine a magnificent bouquet of white roses and lilies, with ribbons trailing to the floor. Their intoxicating scent flowed over her as she took them in her arms. Murmuring her thanks, she looked up into unreadable gray eyes.

The waiting vicar, balding and well padded, cleared his throat for attention and directed the party to assemble before him. Suddenly Catherine stood at Caldbeck’s side. The vicar was reading the service.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and these witnesses to join together….”

To join together! Oh, heaven, what was she doing here? She was marrying this man—this man who, until this morning….

Children. Oh, God! Children!

“Who giveth this woman in marriage?”

A resounding silence ensued. Catherine had not even invited her uncle to be present, let alone to give her away. She heartily hoped that the tearful, if insincere, farewell that her aunt had bestowed upon her would be the last she ever saw of either of them. Nonetheless, a major contretemps loomed.

She looked helplessly at the vicar, who was peering over his glasses at her. Stepping gallantly into the breach, George Hampton took her arm and announced, “I do.”

He placed Catherine’s shaking hand into the earl’s outstretched one, and Caldbeck’s fingers immediately closed warmly around hers. The vicar resumed his reading.

“If any man knows any reason that these two should not be joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” The churchman looked sternly around the all but empty room.

Me! I do! The words echoed through Catherine’s mind, but apparently she had not said them aloud, for the vicar was again speaking.

“Do you, Charles Eric Joseph Randolph, take this woman, Sarah Catherine Maury, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold….”

Charles. His name is Charles Randolph. How could she not have known that? Did no one ever call him Charles? His strong voice answered.

“I do.”

“Do you, Sarah Catherine…” Now or never. Once the words of the vow passed her lips, she could never take them back. Children. Her children. Silence seemed to stretch into eternity. Then she heard a whispered, “I do.”

Was that she? Had she spoken those words? She must have, for the vicar was saying something about a ring. Catherine looked in confusion at the flowers in the crook of her left arm. Then she smelled Liza’s perfume, and the flowers disappeared. Caldbeck fitted a heavy band of gold onto her trembling finger. The vicar was praying.

She looked up at him as he placed a hand behind her head, her eyes questioning. He carefully drew her toward him. She felt his mouth warm on hers for a moment—then it was gone. Catherine took a deep breath and turned to Liza, who was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief and trying simultaneously to return the bouquet. The men were congratulating Caldbeck. Helen’s hand was soft on hers, and her voice warm.

“Welcome to the family.”

Family. A husband. Children. God help them.

Once again Catherine sat at a dressing table while Sally fussed with her hair. This, however, was a completely different table in a completely different room in a completely different house. A very grand house. Sally was ecstatic.

“Did you never see such a place, Miss Catherine? And to think, you are mistress of it now!” She tugged the brush through Catherine’s springy curls. Catherine had removed the pelisse to reveal the elegantly simple silk dress beneath. The fabric skimmed low above her firm breasts—much too low, her aunt had insisted when Catherine bought the dress—and clung to her small waist and full hips. Satin slippers replaced the kid half-boots, and Sally replaced her hat with flowers from the bouquet.

“It sounds as though there are ever so many people here.” Sally readjusted a hairpin. “Must be half of Lunnun.”

Catherine had been wondering about that herself. His lordship had said that he’d invited a “few” of her friends. The windows of her new room opened onto the garden, so they were unable to see the carriages as they arrived, but certainly the hubbub rising from below required a great many voices.

The entrance of the earl himself followed a brief knock at the door. He yet wore gray, but now it was gray satin. He bowed and held out one hand, his eyes scanning her face. “Are you ready? Our guests are eager to meet the new Lady Caldbeck.”

Catherine nodded and got shakily to her feet. What ailed her? She loved parties. Why did her knees threaten to buckle? She was to make a dramatic entrance on the arm of her new husband. She loved being the center of attention. Why, tonight, did she want to bolt?

With great determination, she pasted a smile on her lips and laid her hand on Caldbeck’s arm. He covered it with his own briefly, then led her out of the room. They descended the marble stairs slowly, pausing at the first landing. The crowd at the foot of the staircase ceased their murmuring, and every head turned in their direction.

A cheer went up, and applause echoed against the tall ceilings. Catherine blossomed at the sound, and her smile became real. These were her friends. She glimpsed nearly everyone she knew in the assembled throng—and many, many more faces to boot. How had Caldbeck done this? And why? There was clearly more to Charles Randolph, Earl of Caldbeck, than met the eye.

The evening proved long, but exciting. Helen, elegant in lavender silk, assumed the duties of hostess so that Catherine had nothing to do but enjoy the attention. Surrounded by friends and well-wishers, Catherine found her misgivings beginning to fade. She pushed her anxiety to the back of her mind, talking and laughing with friends at dinner and afterward presiding over the dancing. She also made the acquaintance of several people whom she had long wished to approach as supporters for her charities. Already her alliance with Lord Caldbeck was bearing fruit.

Her uneasiness returned somewhat when Caldbeck led her onto the floor and took her in his arms for the first waltz. He was a superb dancer, however, and the pleasure of skimming over the floor with him soon overcame the strangeness. Catherine was acutely aware of the sureness of the hand on her back, of the power of the legs brushing against hers, the ease with which he moved her about the room. She had danced with him before. Why had she never noticed his strength?

Later, though she was claimed by other partners, her attention remained on Caldbeck. He played the perfect host, chatting easily—if solemnly—with his guests, but now and again she could feel his glacial gaze on her. Each time, rather than feeling a chill, a sensation of warmth washed over her. And each time she missed a step of the dance.

How different he seemed in his own home than he had at other social engagements. At those he seemed out of place—invariably serious in the midst of the flirting and laughter. Even his expert dancing had never captured her attention. Had he been watching her then as he did now? A little shiver trailed down her back.

Here he appeared confident and relaxed, comfortably conversing with men that she knew to be among the most powerful in the kingdom. He must wield considerable influence to be able to gather those men at his invitation. Was the purpose of this party to display his prize to them? At that thought Catherine bridled. She did not fancy figuring as the spoils of war!

Still, it was becoming clear to her that, in her sudden fall from affluence, it might be said that she had landed in a pile of feather beds. It remained to be seen what bruises she might yet sustain. In spite of his courtesy, she felt a tiny prick of fear when he pursued her with those frosty eyes.

At last, in the small hours of the morning, the company departed, leaving Catherine, Caldbeck and Helen bidding the last lingerer farewell. Helen excused herself, and her carriage bore her away to her own London home. Catherine glanced uncertainly at her new husband.

Before they reached whatever came next, she recognized something she needed to do. As often happened to her, her agitation had run away with her tongue this morning. She must put her pride aside and recognize the unfair things she had said to Caldbeck. She cleared her throat.

“My lord, there is something I must say to you.”

Caldbeck tipped his head a fraction of an inch in inquiry.

“I…I am sorry for what I said earlier today. About your buying me, I mean. You have, in fact, rescued me, and you have gone to a great deal of trouble to provide me with a real wedding celebration and lovely flowers and these beautiful pearls.” She touched the strand at her throat. “You did not have to do that under the circumstances. I…it….You were very kind. How in the world did you manage it?”

Caldbeck did not quite shrug. He simply opened one hand, palm up. “Most of the arrangements were Helen’s doing. She is an excellent hostess. I have known for some time in what case your uncle stood and have been making plans.”

Catherine shook her head, eyes wide in amazement. “You have been planning….And you never even asked me?”

Caldbeck nodded. “I should have, perhaps. However, I thought it highly likely that you would refuse my suit if not given a compelling reason to accept it. I did not want you to develop a resistance to the notion.”

Some of Catherine’s annoyance returned. “And you had the effrontery—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed in thought. “But this doesn’t make sense. If you knew that I would soon be in a desperate situation, you had no need to contract with my uncle. Knowing I would be destitute, you might have just as easily given me the same argument that you did this morning. I would have had no more options. Why did you go to such expense?”

“The arrangement with your uncle made the idea of marriage to me appear a fait accompli. Besides, if Maury remained in England, he would forever be an embarrassment to you and an annoyance to us both.”

Catherine digested this information in silence, then asked, “Did you suggest that he emigrate to America?”

“I insisted on it.”

Catherine’s mind swam with revelations about this man that she had wed. “Well…I must offer my thanks for that. However, I must also say that I resent your arranging for my capitulation without ever considering my feelings! What if I had wished to marry someone else?”

“You would have said so.”

“You might have at least talked to me.”

“I did talk to you—this morning. Or, rather, yesterday.” He looked at her with mild interest.

“Yes…well…Still, if you knew about Uncle Ambrose, why did you wait so long and rush me into it this way?”

“I have always found timing to be of the essence in accomplishing one’s goals.”

Catherine heaved a frustrated sigh. Apparently, his lordship was a very cool gambler. And, damn him, he had an answer for everything—and all the efficiency and sensibility of a machine!

Suddenly Catherine felt very tired. It had been a grueling twenty-four hours. She had suddenly lost all control of her life—her home, her money, her dream of independence. And, she realized with a stab of alarm, the hardest part yet loomed. She would soon lose control of even her body. She felt the blood flooding into her face.

Caldbeck brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “Do not be anxious, Kate. You are exhausted, and while I could not give you the time you wanted to become accustomed to the idea of marriage to me before, I now can. I shall not press you tonight to fulfill your part of our bargain. We have a great deal to do tomorrow, and I then wish to be on the road to Yorkshire the next day. I shall welcome you to Wulfdale as my bride.”

Relief and disappointment fought for ascendancy in Catherine’s breast. It seemed she was to remain in ignorance for a few more days. Yet she could not but be glad for the reprieve. Perhaps she would be better prepared to accept this man as her husband after being in his company for the time it would take to travel to Yorkshire.

She smiled up at him. “You are very considerate, my lord. I am very weary. However, I do keep my word. If you want—”

“No, Kate. Even though I am eager to consummate our agreement, I shall wait.”

Eager? Caldbeck sounded as cool and polite as if they had been discussing a trip to the theater.

The next morning Catherine, an early riser, surprised his lordship at the breakfast table. He rose and helped her seat herself across the table from his own place, drawing out her chair.

“You are abroad early. It is my experience of ladies that they rarely appear before noon.”

My experience of ladies? What experience? Catherine racked her brain for some gossip that she might have heard concerning Lord Caldbeck’s mistress—or lack thereof. Nothing came to mind. Could it be possible, at his age, that he did not have one? And come to think of it… “Excuse me, my lord. May I know how old you are?”

It could not be said that Caldbeck appeared startled, but he lifted his gaze from his breakfast and looked at her. “I am five-and-thirty. Why do you ask?”

Catherine flushed. “No real reason. I have just been realizing how little I know about you. Your hair…” She stopped, fearing to offend him. He, of course, showed no sign of offense, or of anything else.

“Yes. The men of my family gray very early.” The earl returned his attention to his beef and eggs. Catherine studied her new husband. Five-and-thirty. Yes, in spite of his hair, he did not look old. A few marks of maturity could be seen. Just the slightest receding at the temples, perhaps, revealed by the austere style. How did he keep his hair so smoothly brushed back without the pomade so many men used?

Only a few lines marred his face—a handsome face of angular planes, narrow with a straight nose and a decisive jaw. The firm lips did not frown, but neither did they smile, remaining consistently uncommunicative. But warm. Warm lips. Catherine flushed a bit at the memory.

The object of her scrutiny had a few more bites of his beef, flicked a crumb from his dove gray coat and changed the subject. “I would like for you to be present today for a meeting with my man of business. We must finalize the arrangements for your jointure.”

“My jointure! Good heavens, this is the first I have thought of that. Surely my uncle did not—”

“No. Maury did not think of that, either.”

Did she hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice—of contempt, perhaps? Catherine could not be sure. “Then why…?”

“Because, along with your beautiful person, I have accepted a responsibility. I must see you are provided for in the event of my demise. Would you like to have your uncle’s house as a part of the settlement? We have no way of knowing at this moment who my heir might be in future years. You should have a place of your own.”

His heir! Catherine swallowed her bite of eggs abruptly. Another issue that had not been discussed. She put her fear firmly aside and considered his question for a moment. She had never been happy in that house. “No. I am not fond of the place.” A roguish expression lit her face. “Besides, it has a broken door.”

Her husband looked at her quickly, and one eyebrow twitched. “So it does.”

“However, since you already own it…”

“No. I shall sell it and buy something you prefer. We shall meet with Guildford at two. Until then I have other errands. Meantime, you should be preparing to get an early start in the morning.”

Rising from the table, he started for the door, then turned back. “If you need to do any shopping in London, I have had your allowance deposited to your account. Good day.”

Catherine watched his departing back thoughtfully. Perhaps she had not made such a bad bargain, after all. Her new mate might not be as exciting as she could wish, he might be just a bit intimidating, and he was definitely controlling her, but he also had a number of sterling qualities. At the present they were behaving as strangers—courteous, distant, uninvolved—as if they were both taking care to be on their best behavior. How long would that last? And what would replace it?

She still simmered over his high-handed arrangements to constrain her to accept him. He had not exactly tricked her into marriage, but he had certainly maneuvered her, and she resented it. She knew that in time she would erupt. How would he react? The small spark of fear flared for moment, but considering his restrained manner, Catherine did not believe he would hurt her in anger. Perhaps he would not react at all.

A depressing thought.

At least she would not have to worry about her security.

Stifle her he might, but abandon her he would not.

It was upon him again. The restlessness, the guilt, the disgust. The peaceful Yorkshire Dales held no peace for him, gazing at the soft moon, no solace. He jabbed the horse’s sides impatiently, cursing when the animal reared before pounding down the slope into the valley. It was of no use. He could not outrun the torment. Soon he must act. Soon.

Chapter Three

Catherine’s vivid carriage ensemble splashed emerald against the silver-gray of the traveling coach, contrasting brightly with the few glowing curls revealed by her bonnet. Caldbeck, as usual in immaculate dove-gray, handed her up while she yet called instructions to Sally. Her maid, nodding her understanding, climbed into the coach she would share with his lordship’s valet, Hardraw. Gray-liveried footmen found their places, and the postilions set the powerful team of matched grays in motion.

Catherine, excited to be starting on the longest journey she had ever made, yet felt sad to be leaving London. She had lived in Town all her life, as did all her friends. When might she see Liza again? Yorkshire was much too far away from London for a casual visit. It might be months or even years.

How she would miss her! Liza’s veneer of outward silliness covered a shrewd mind and a kind heart. She had been Catherine’s confidante for all the lonely years since Catherine had lost her parents. And lucky Liza had a husband who adored her!

Catherine, one cheek resting against the window, watched the passing scene as they swept through the busy streets. In spite of herself the warmth of a tear trickled down her face. She surreptitiously blotted it away with her scrap of a lace handkerchief. A second tear followed the first, and soon the handkerchief became a soggy mess. Catherine dropped it into her reticule, sniffing as quietly as she could manage. A flicker of white from the far side of the coach caught her eye. Turning ever so slightly toward it, she discovered a large, white square of linen being offered to her.

Catherine took it, choking out her thanks. As she blew her nose, she felt the warmth of a large hand on her knee. Caldbeck said nothing, but did not move his hand until they had left London behind. At last her sobs grew silent, her eyes were again dry and her nose ceased running. He then began to point out items of interest along the road, calling her attention to the rich colors of fall and the beauty of the countryside.

“And the roads, so far, are better than I had hoped. I’m afraid that the farther north we get, the worse they will become. We’ve had a very wet summer followed by a dry autumn. The ruts will be hardened into stone.”

“How long do you expect us to be on the road?”

Caldbeck shifted to lean comfortably against the velvet upholstery in his corner, facing her. Catherine followed his example in her own corner.

“Ordinarily four days. If we encounter very bad roads, it will take another day, and if you like, we might take a day of rest near the Peak District. It is quite a pleasing sight at this time of year.”

A pleasing sight. Catherine smiled to herself. His lordship was hardly given to hyperbole. Thinking back, she remembered that the strongest word she had ever heard him use was “beautiful.” At the time she had thought it only a gentlemanly compliment, but she begin to hear a different significance.

“You seem to have a great appreciation of beautiful sights.”

Caldbeck considered a moment. “Yes. I have.”

Silence fell. So much for that conversational gambit. Catherine tried again. “Is Wulfdale very lovely?”

“I consider it so.”

She waited a moment, then sighed. “Tell me about it.”

After a thoughtful minute, Caldbeck nodded. “The house is very old and has been enlarged in many stages, some of them more attractive than others. It began in the twelfth century as a pele tower. Then a hall was added, and it continued to grow from there. The Tudor portions are a veritable maze, but the recent sections are more tasteful. The Georgian front was finished in 1750, and is quite impressive. I think you will like it.”

Well, thought Catherine, that’s some progress. “Are there gardens?”

“Yes. Several, in fact.”

Did she hear a bit more warmth in his voice? Catherine pricked her ears, but could not be sure.

“We have a knot garden, and one for roses, but my favorites are the natural garden and the woodland. You should find them very pretty in their autumn foliage.”

Sudden perception dawned on Catherine. He wants me to like the place. He should, after trapping me into this marriage! In spite of the annoying reflection, the thought touched her.

“I’m sure I shall like it very much.” She smiled. “And tell me…does Wulfdale have a ghost?”

“A ghost?”

“Yes, of course. A house that old must surely have at least one ghost?”

His lordship appeared to consider. “Nothing much. Unless you count the headless bride. She is very seldom seen.”

Catherine, who loved ghost stories, clapped her hands over her mouth in delight. “The…the what?”

“Headless bride. But she carries her head, of course, with her veil draped over her arm.”

“Oh.” Catherine felt a little thrill slide down her backbone. “And how…?”

Caldbeck viewed her levelly. “How did she lose her head?”

Catherine nodded.

“She displeased her husband, the first earl.”

His frigid voice blew over her like a winter storm, quenching her enjoyment of the story. For a moment Catherine sat silent with horror. What did that frozen countenance hide? She looked more closely at her new husband. She could see no change in the chill eyes, but felt something….She couldn’t quite put her finger on it….She spoke uncertainly, eyes narrowed.

“My lord, are you teasing me?”

Caldbeck’s silvery eyes regarded her without expression.

“I?” asked his lordship.

Taking stock of her new husband, Catherine decided that she did know more about him than she had when she married him. But not much.

He was quite ruthless. She still felt very cautious with him. He had not hesitated to kick her door in, and the way he had orchestrated her acceptance of his proposal was as masterful as it was infuriating. Catherine still chafed at having been so manipulated. Nonetheless, her faults did not include repining. Having agreed, she would do what she could to make the best of the situation.

Her curiosity regarding the marriage bed increased in direct proportion to the time spent with him in the close confines of the carriage. A subtle scent surrounded him, warm, almost smoky, mixed with wool and starch. It stirred her senses. She found herself casting furtive glances across the width of the carriage. Caldbeck sat as coolly as ever, one booted leg propped on the opposite seat to buttress himself against the lurching of the coach.

As he had predicted, the roads had gotten steadily worse. Catherine rocked back and forth in the seat, clinging to the overhead strap and bouncing against the wall of the narrow space. By the fifth day, having slept—alone—in several inns, in varying degrees of discomfort, she felt decidedly buffeted and bruised. Her long legs would reach the far seat, and unladylike though it might be, she was on the verge of steadying herself as he did.

As though he read her mind, Caldbeck turned his gray gaze on her and held out one hand. “Come here, Kate.”

Startled, Catherine looked at him in question. Surely he would not choose such a moment to make love to her!

“You are being unmercifully battered by this infernal jolting. Here…No, turn, so.” Following his guiding hands, Catherine found herself leaning across his lap, her breasts against his chest, her feet drawn up onto the seat. One strong leg, knee bent, now braced her back, and an equally muscular arm gripped the strap and supported her head. “Is that better?”

She looked up shyly to answer and found penetrating eyes looking intently into hers. Her breathing faltered, and her loins flooded with warmth. Without taking his eyes from her face, Caldbeck untied her bonnet ribbons with his free hand and tossed the confection onto the opposite seat. Liberated, her bright hair flared into a nimbus around her face. His fingers threaded through the glowing cloud and lifted her head.

His eyes might be cold, but his lips were very warm. So was his tongue. He brushed it along her mouth, inviting her to open. After a moment’s hesitation she did so and felt an intriguing tickle on the inner side of her lip. She gasped for breath, and his tongue slid farther into her. Catherine went suddenly weak.

At that inopportune instant the coach hit an especially deep pothole, jerking her face away from his. She lifted her eyes and found him gazing into them. She thought that, perhaps, he sighed.

“Try to sleep, Kate. I believe we should push on to Wulfdale tonight, and it will be quite late before we arrive.”

So, protected by his strong body, she did.

It was indeed late when the carriage turned onto better-kept roads and made its way across Wulfdale’s rolling hills to the lights of the looming gray-stone mansion. At the sound of wheels in the drive, the old house came to life. Footmen in gray livery hastened down the front steps, and grooms came running from the stables. Catherine shivered with fatigue and cold as Caldbeck lifted her off the coach steps into the chill night air.

With great dignity a portly, silver-haired man descended the steps and bowed. “My lord, welcome home. My lady.” The butler’s appraising glance rested on her only a moment before he bowed again. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Wulfdale.”

Before Catherine could answer, a plump woman hurried down the steps and curtseyed. “Welcome! Welcome, my lord! We were sure you would be here by tonight. You have brought us a bride at last! Do come in, my lady.” The housekeeper extended an inviting hand. “You must be perishing of weariness.”

Caldbeck nodded at the couple. “Allow me to present to you Hawes and Mrs. Hawes, Lady Caldbeck. I’m sure Mrs. Hawes will see to your comfort immediately. I must confer with Hawes for a time, but I shall show you around your new home tomorrow.”

“Right you are, my lord.” Mrs. Hawes guided Catherine up the steps. “It’s very happy we are to have you here, my lady.”

The housekeeper led her into a hall of grand and impressive proportions and up two pair of graceful, curving stairs to the second floor. They crossed an elegant salon to the door of a huge bedchamber decorated in feminine fabrics and soft greens. A Dresden clock graced the mantelpiece, along with several dainty china ornaments. Catherine was torn between collapsing on the bed, half seen in the shadowy corner, or on the cushiony sofa before the cheerfully crackling fire.

The sofa was closer.

“Now, my lady, don’t you worry about a thing. I shall help you this evening myself. I’m sure your young maid will be as done up as you are. She’ll be shown right to her room.”

A twinge of guilt assaulted Catherine. She had hardly spared a thought for Sally. The girl must indeed be exhausted.

“Good, here’s Betty with the tray. There’s cheese and biscuits and some mulled wine. I knew you would be chilled. Just let me help you off with your pelisse and pretty bonnet. Now…You have a little taste of wine while I see to getting your dressing case and trunk up here.”

Mrs. Hawes bustled out of the room, and Catherine took a grateful sip of the mulled wine, too tired to do more than nibble at the cheese. But she found the wine sweet and strong and warm. She had almost dozed off when the housekeeper returned with footmen carrying her baggage.

As soon as the men had been shooed out of the room, Mrs. Hawes set about laying out Catherine’s nightgown and brushes, and before she knew it, Catherine found herself tucked up in the big curtained bed, drowsily watching the flicker of the fire through the drapes. It seemed that her husband, once again, would not join her, but that was just as well. She was too tired to have even a shred of curiosity left.

Catherine awoke shortly before noon the next morning, as Sally pulled back the bed curtains. The welcome smell of hot chocolate wafted to her from the bed table.

“Good morning, miss…oh!” Sally giggled. “I mean, my lady. Have you had a look at this house? Did you see your very own drawing room? Grand, miss, very grand! I believe his lordship’s room is through the dressing rooms. That door leads to his, and that one to yours.” She waved a vague hand and turned to open the window curtains. “And a fine day it is, too. Chilly a bit, but fine.”

Catherine sat forward while Sally arranged her pillows. “I must have slept half the day.”

“Very nearly, mi—my lady. And I slept till a sinful hour myself. So kind as Mrs. Hawes is, she told them to let me rest. I wouldn’t have waked you yet, but his lordship is to take you around the place himself. I know you’ll want to look your best.” Sally giggled again.

Catherine viewed her henchwoman through a half-open eye. Speculation must be running riot among the staff. Sally could not help but know that she and his lordship had not yet shared a bed, and if any member of a household knew something, everyone knew it. Catherine groaned to herself. Heaven help her the morning after they did take that step!

By two o’clock she had breakfasted and—dressed in a deep purple morning dress, her fiery hair subdued with many pins and a pair of gold combs—set forth to find his lordship. After asking directions twice, she discovered him in his library. He came quickly to his feet as she stepped through the door.

“Good day. I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you. Sally let me sleep an unconscionably long time. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

“No. I wanted you to rest. I did not arise at my usual hour myself. Are you ready to meet your staff?” He offered her his arm.

They spent the next two hours in a tour of the reception rooms and introductions to every member of the staff, from Caldbeck’s secretary to the bootboy. Catherine found it astonishing that Caldbeck knew them all. Her head swam with names and faces. Without a guide, she might never find her way from the formal dining room to her bedchamber.

Caldbeck’s secretary, Richard Middleton, was the younger son of the local vicar. A slender young man with a shy expression, he greeted Catherine gravely, welcomed her to Wulfdale and quickly returned to his duties.

Caldbeck did not take her through every part of the mansion. “I’m sure you will find the older sections interesting, but you will likely enjoy exploring them at your leisure.”

Catherine looked sideways at him. “Is that where I shall find the headless bride?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps you’d best escort me.”

Caldbeck paused for a minute before answering. “That might be best,” he finally agreed.

Catherine eyed him suspiciously, but he made no further rejoinder.

They toured the gardens until the late-afternoon nip in the air sent them back inside.

“We dine at seven o’clock here. I trust that is acceptable to you?” Caldbeck paused at the foot of the stairs, but did not wait for an answer. “You have time enough for a nap.”

Catherine smiled, but shook her head. “I slept all morning. Besides, I am not accustomed to sleeping in the afternoon.”

“Nevertheless, it is advisable that you do so today.”

Catherine lifted her chin rebelliously. She was just opening her mouth to explain to him that she was not a child, when she looked into a countenance so chilling, the words froze in her throat. “Oh…oh, very well. I shall at least go to my room for a while.”

Taking no notice of her pique, Caldbeck lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes on hers. “Until later, then.”

After stalking around her room for fifteen minutes, muttering about men who thought they could order one about as soon as one married them, Catherine began to ask herself why this particular man insisted so firmly that she nap. The answer to that followed so closely on the heels of the question that she stopped dead still in the middle of the room, eyes wide.

A fierce tingling in her stomach dropped suddenly into her pelvis, creating a most disturbing sensation.

Tonight she would know.

Tomorrow she would be curious no longer.

Good heavens!

Catherine tried to lie down for a few minutes, but her agitation would not let her rest. Reading proved to be out of the question. She stared unseeing at the pages of a usually thrilling romance until, in annoyance, she tossed the book onto a table. When Sally appeared to help her dress for dinner, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Joining Caldbeck in the family dining room, Catherine tasted not one morsel of the food that passed her lips. The chef had completely wasted his skill on her. Caldbeck made polite conversation, as though she were no more than a casual acquaintance, but Catherine responded with monosyllables. Richard, the secretary, did his best to hold up his end, but excused himself and fled as soon as they finished the meal.

As the party included no other gentlemen with whom Caldbeck might drink his port, and no ladies with whom Catherine might drink tea, they each retired very early to their respective bedchambers. Catherine arrived at hers to discover a tray with brandy and glasses on a table near the sofa and a pitcher of mulled wine on the hob. She took a deep breath and tried to rub the knot out of her stomach.

She stared into the middle distance, her mind a blank, while Sally brushed her brilliant curls and pulled them up to the crown of her head, tying them with a satin ribbon. She didn’t question Sally’s choice of gown and negligee, but slipped her arms into the soft, creamy silk without comment.

The smooth fabric molded over her breasts and skimmed down her body, causing her to shiver. She was adjusting the lace edging the robe when a tap sounded on the door to the adjoining room. Sally quickly straightened the dressing table and looked inquiringly at Catherine.

“That will be all, Sally. You may go.” As Sally departed, and Catherine turned toward the door, a second knock sounded. Caldbeck stepped in, and the sight of him took Catherine’s breath away. He had removed his coat, his cravat and his shoes. His breeches clung to muscular legs, and the top few buttons of his shirt were unfastened, revealing the strong column of his neck. Sleeves turned back at the cuff showed sculptured forearms. As usual, he bowed.

“Will you take a glass of wine with me, Kate?”

Catherine nodded silently, suddenly acutely aware of the revealing neckline of her gown and diaphanous robe. The telltale warmth flooded her face and breasts, and she quickly turned and walked to the sofa. The clinging fabric whispered around her legs and generous hips, and she could all but feel Caldbeck’s gaze on her bottom as he followed.

Catherine sat, and after pouring the warm wine for her and brandy for himself, Caldbeck sat beside her. She kept her eyes on her glass and searched in vain for something to say. Caldbeck showed no sign of unease. He sipped his brandy comfortably and studied the fire. Catherine leaned into the sofa cushions and took a long swallow of the hot wine. The comforting heat seeped through her, spreading into her limbs. After several more swallows had warmed her, Caldbeck turned to look at her.

“Tomorrow, if you like, we shall ride, and I shall show you some of the estate.”

“Oh, yes. I love to ride. But…what happened to my horses?” She had had no time to think about them, but held little hope that they had survived her uncle’s fall from grace.

“I redeemed them. They arrived this morning. That is a very fine chestnut hunter.”

“Indeed she is.” Catherine always warmed to a discussion of her horses. “I have not tried her in the field yet. I’ll ride her tomorrow.” The wine and the fire began to have their effect. She relaxed a little more and leaned toward him. “And thank you so much for thinking of my horses. So much has happened.”

“Yes, we have been much too occupied. I have had no opportunity to give you this.” He reached for a small, velvet box on the wine tray and handed it to her. Catherine set her glass down and took it. Slipping the ribbon from it, she removed the lid and stared in wonder at the contents.

“Oh, how beautiful!” She lifted out a delicate necklace of deep blue sapphires set in gold. Catherine looked into Caldbeck’s face. “I—I don’t know what to say. You are too generous. You have already given me the lovely pearls.” She rocked her hand so that the jewels caught the light of the fire. “It’s gorgeous!”

“Pearls are for a bride. These are for my wife.” Leaning forward, Caldbeck took the necklace from her. He circled her with his arms and deftly fastened the necklace. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gazed at her for several breaths. “Yes,” he said finally, “they are just the color of your eyes.” He stroked her slim shoulders, pushing the silk of the negligee off onto her arms. “And breathtaking against your exquisite skin.” He drew her toward him.

Catherine could not see that his lordship’s breath had been taken, but hers certainly had. She opened her mouth for air just as his came over it. His hands tightened on her arms as he flicked his tongue over her lips. Without taking his mouth from hers, he shifted and pulled her across his lap, thrusting his tongue into her and pressing her body against the growing bulge at his groin.

The room lurched for Catherine. Sensation poured through her lower body as never before. All of it mingled with the feel of his hand pushing her negligee off her arms, and slipping her gown down to reveal one high, firm breast. He took his mouth from hers to gaze intently as his fingers circled the nipple.

“Ah.” As the rosy crest tightened, he leaned down to cover it with his mouth. His tongue made lazy circles, and Catherine moaned, arching upward. Caldbeck’s hand slid down her, across her stomach to the joining of her legs, and applied a gentle pressure. Her head dropped back, and instinctively she lifted her hips against his hand. All at once he stood, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. Her robe fell unnoticed to the floor.

Caldbeck set her upright long enough for the gown to follow, and then lifted her onto the bed. Still breathless, she watched as he stripped off his clothes. His erection sprang outward from the thick, night-black curls spreading across his groin. The same dark hair covered his broad chest in a black veil and ran in a V down his stomach. His warm, male scent washed over her.

He lay down beside her, propping his head on his hand so that he could see the length of her body. He touched the sapphires briefly, tasting the skin around them with small kisses. He began to lightly stroke her breasts, her belly and the inside of her thighs, brushing them with his fingertips.

Catherine had never felt anything like this. Every muscle in her body tightened. Heat and sensation throbbed at the apex of her legs. She sighed and stretched her arms over her head against the pillow.

“So beautiful. So much fire.” Caldbeck trailed his tongue over her breasts and kissed one taut nipple. Catherine’s whole body quivered. His mouth moved over her, to her waist, her navel.

Now his hand was doing something between her legs, while his lips tantalized her nipple. Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision, and her world narrowed to the touch of his hand, the warmth of his mouth and the rush of feeling they were creating. Desire grew in her until she thought she must explode.

Suddenly, she did explode.

The world went dark. Myriad tiny lights sparkled across her vision, and every inch of her skin tingled and throbbed. She could hear her own voice gasping and crying out as the flood of sensation engulfed her. She writhed in his arms.

His weight came down on her, and he joined his body with hers while she yet fought for breath. She was dimly aware of pain and pressure and the rhythm of his movements. The world still whirled around her as she heard his hoarse cry, felt his powerful hips pumping his seed into her. Gradually he quieted, and with him, the world settled back into its accustomed place.

Withdrawing, Caldbeck rolled to one side, taking her with him so that her head rested on his shoulder, and his arms clasped her tightly against him. Catherine lay relaxed and drowsy, listening as his breathing and heartbeat slowed.

After several minutes he asked, “Are you in pain?”

Catherine shook her head. She ached and stung a little, but not enough to disturb her lassitude. “No,” she answered, “not to signify.”

“Did you find the experience satisfactory?”

Catherine pulled back enough to smile at him. “Well, my lord, I have nothing against which to judge it, but I should say that I found it entirely satisfactory.” His eyes did not change, but his lips softened a little, and for a moment she thought he would smile.

Then he pressed her close again. “Your passion is quite as wonderful as I imagined.”

Catherine waited for more words—an endearment, perhaps?—but none were forthcoming. She sighed. At least, thus far, the earl seemed pleased with his bargain. She was foolish to wish for more.

Another woman. Now his lordship had brought one into the dale. He had seen her. The earl had lifted her out of the carriage, his hands on her body. Her body! A shudder convulsed him. The hateful warmth spread across his loins, and he struck at it with his fist, wailing his anguish. Pain burst over him, but the heat was not cast out. She glowed in his memory. Burned like a flame against the black sky. Like a demon, screaming in his soul. He could endure the evil no longer! It was claiming him. He must drive it out! Out of all of them!

Chapter Four

Catherine wakened in the curtained bed to the sound of hot water cans scraping against the hearth, and the refreshing smell of lavender. Apparently Sally was preparing a bath for her. That was strange. Catherine hadn’t ordered one. She rolled over and winced, every part of her stiff and aching. Little wonder! She had spent several hours, with very short periods of rest, either twisting and moaning in ecstasy under his lordship’s expert hands and mouth, or caught up in the rhythm of his hard body against hers. A small, delicious shiver of remembrance took her. However icy his features and manner, the frost clearly did not extend to his blood!

She was no longer curious.

She sat up and cautiously peeked under the covers. Oh, yes. A largish red smear definitely stained the bedding. She groaned silently. Now there was no doubt at all that the whole staff would shortly be apprised of the change in status of their lord’s and lady’s relationship. How could she look Sally in the eye?

And what had happened to her nightgown?

She found it lying across the foot of the bed. Caldbeck must have placed it there when he arose, leaving her to sleep on. She gathered up his empty pillow and buried her face in it. Yes, she could still smell the smoky, masculine fragrance. It sent another shiver through her.

She pulled the gown over her head and slipped her feet out of the covers. Sally turned as she heard the rustle of the drapes, and hurried to help Catherine pull them back. The maid was all cheery nonchalance.

“Good morning, my lady. Hardraw gave me your message to prepare your bath.”

Hardraw? Oh, yes, Caldbeck’s valet. That explained the bath—the earl’s instructions, no doubt. A twinge of annoyance swept through Catherine. What did he think he was doing, ordering her bath? She pushed the irritation aside and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She needed that bath.

“I hope you slept well, miss. It’s another lovely day.”

Sally bustled about pouring hot water into the copper tub. When the temperature satisfied her, she motioned to Catherine, who stepped into it. Ahh! She slid down until the hot water lapped at her chin.

“Mrs. Hawes suggested I steep the lavender first. So refreshing it is.” Sally handed her a face cloth.

Catherine resisted making an unladylike grimace. Another person minding her business. She replied with noncommittal murmurs until the warm water and soothing herbs had soaked away her discomfort.

An hour later, feeling quite renewed, Catherine made her way to the breakfast parlor and found her husband—yes, truly her husband now—finishing his breakfast. He stood as she entered the room.

“Good morning. I trust you rested well?” Caldbeck’s cool gaze took in the flush that Catherine could feel burning in her face.

“Uh…yes.” She decided to be gracious. “Thank you for ordering the bath. You are very considerate.”

“The mark of a gentleman.” His eyes never flickered, but this time Catherine was sure she detected the slightest change in his voice. Was he teasing her? It seemed so unlikely, yet…

“I see you are attired for riding. Are you certain you still wish to do so this morning?”

Catherine could feel her face positively flaming. “I believe I do. I…I do not ride astride.”

“A fortunate circumstance.”

Catherine cast him a suspicious glance. There it was again—that minute change of tone. He was teasing her.

Wasn’t he?

“Indeed.” She put a touch of ice into her own voice.

His lordship, of course, did not react to it. “Then when you have eaten, let us be on our way.”

They rode in the crisp fall air across the rolling dales, Catherine’s new hunter and Caldbeck’s dapple gray cantering along companionably. The hills, crowned here and there with autumn woods and dotted with white sheep, rose green against an indigo sky. Small watercourses raced down from the heights, cutting into the soil and plunging over outcrops of stone in diminutive waterfalls. A hint of wood smoke prickled their nostrils.

Catherine flung a quick look at her husband. He sat ramrod straight in the saddle, his shoulders square, his muscular thighs expertly guiding his mount. The superfine of his coat fit smoothly across his back, and his hat rested at what could only be called a dashing angle. How could she ever have missed that bold physical aspect of him? Now she could see nothing else.

Her happy mood expanded to encompass the whole landscape. To her, all the colors glowed with unusual brightness, and the breeze blew soft and caressing. “Oh! This is so beautiful.” Catherine’s gesture took in a complete circle. “Is Yorkshire always so lovely?”

“The Dales are well known for their beauty,” his lordship replied with his usual moderation.

Today his tone did not dampen Catherine’s spirits. “I have always loved visiting in the country, though I wanted more opportunity to do it. My uncle always lived in London.”

“I much prefer the country.” Caldbeck drew rein. “I especially wish to show you an old manor house on a piece of land I am thinking of buying—known as the old Buck Manor. It might make just the headquarters for your children’s relief work. It has plenty of room to house orphans, also. Like Wulfdale, it has some very old sections, plus some newer ones, and a home farm.”

“Oh! That would be wonderful. I would love to see it.” Catherine restrained herself with difficulty from bouncing excitedly in her saddle. “A farm would be perfect. Children need chores to teach them responsibility—but not all the time, mind you. They need some time to play. In some of the institutions for homeless children the conditions are so strict as to be abusive. Even in the foundling hospitals so many of the babies die. I don’t want mine to be like that. I want them to have a home.”

Caldbeck nodded his head to the west, and they cantered off in that direction. “And were you assigned chores, Kate, as a child?”

Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yes. Or, at least, while my parents were living. My aunt and uncle never bothered. They let me do pretty much as I wished, as long as I stayed out of their way. But when I was little, I had to sort and wind all Mama’s embroidery silks and yarn, and to walk her little dog and read to my grandmother when I grew older. I never minded reading to Grandmama, though. She was such a dear.” Her face clouded a little. “I missed her very much when she died.”

“You have a tender heart.”

“Do you think so?” Catherine pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I never thought of myself that way, nor has anyone else, apparently. Everyone talks only of my terrible temper.”

The earl glanced at her again. “So I have been told.”

She rolled her eyes skyward. “You are very calm about it now. I wonder how you will feel when you encounter it.”

“An interesting speculation, indeed.” Caldbeck reined in his mount and pointed down into a little valley. “There is the house, and just beyond it is the byre. Shall we inspect it now?”

“Certainly!” Catherine nudged her horse, and Caldbeck followed her down the hill.

The house was, in fact, quite large. Four wings enclosed an old courtyard, and numerous chimneys made their way to the roof to stand out against the blue of the sky. The mildewed gray stones needed mortar in places, and shrubbery grew over the few windows that were visible.

“Why are most of the windows filled in with stone? Did they do it for defense?” Catherine turned to her husband.

“More likely because of the window tax. It should be no great task to uncover them.” Caldbeck evaluated the structure with narrowed eyes. “The house is defensible, however. The windows were probably added long after the house was built.”

Squinting dubiously, Catherine urged her chestnut through the portal into the courtyard. Following her in, Caldbeck dismounted and lifted her from the sidesaddle. As Catherine scanned the yard, a shudder ran down her spine. She stopped in her tracks. “My lord, do you feel that someone is watching us?”

“No.” Caldbeck looked around. “And I don’t see anyone.”

Catherine’s gaze followed his around the enclosure. “I…it’s odd. Probably I am just being fanciful.”

He looked down at her and took her arm. “You do have a lively imagination, Kate, but also a strong intuition, I should think. But there does not seem to be anyone here.”

Catherine nodded, gratified by his seriousness. Her uncle had always declared her notions to be foolish past permission. Together they entered the largest door opening onto the yard. The hall smelled musty, but not damp. As they wandered from room to room through lopsided doors and up and down odd little staircases, Catherine’s enthusiasm for the house increased.

“This is a delightful place! One never knows what lies beyond the next door. Children will love it.”

“Very well, then. If you like it, I shall complete the sale.”

“You believe it can be restored?”

Caldbeck examined the plaster near him. “Yes, it’s sound enough. We can begin with the newer portions and leave the very old ones to the end.” He pushed open a door and stopped in the doorway. “That must certainly be removed. It’s a wonder the place has not burned to the ground.”

Catherine squeezed past him to look and giggled. Hay filled the room. “Oh, my. Someone has used it as a hay barn.” She kicked at a pile of hay. “But not recently, I think.”

“No, the hay is old.” Caldbeck came up behind her and circled her waist with his arms. “It is dry, however.”

He bent to kiss the back of her neck. A tiny quiver ran through Catherine. The familiar melting sensation started in her stomach as he touched his tongue to her ear. His hands slipped, one upward and one downward, cupping her breast and stroking her belly. Catherine relaxed against him.

Just as Caldbeck turned her toward him, they heard a rustle in the hay, and something darted across Catherine’s foot. She shrieked. Caldbeck tightened his hold and swung her quickly away from the pile of hay.

“There are rats!” She shrunk back against him.

Caldbeck ushered her toward the door. This time she was certain he sighed. “Yes,” he agreed, “there are rats.”

Riding homeward, Catherine discoursed on her plans for the orphanage. Her husband listened indulgently, occasionally offering a comment or suggestion. She rattled on about tutors and a matron and a manager for the farm. She describe her vision for the interior. She debated what livestock would be suitable and how the children should be dressed. “And we shall call it the Buck Orphan Asylum.”

“I believe,” his lordship interjected, “that the Lady Caldbeck Home for Orphans would be more appropriate.”

“Do you think so? I would love that!” Catherine launched anew into her vision for her charges.

At last the earl threw up an arresting hand. “Enough. I can see that you are going to bankrupt me in a twelve-month.”

Catherine looked quickly to see if he were in earnest. Of course, she could not tell. Annoyed by that fact, she looked at him archly. “Worrying about your investment, my lord?”

“Not yet.”

“Very good, then. I shall race you back to the stable.”

Without further warning she kicked her mount and tore away at a gallop. She could hear the thunder of hooves behind her as the gray responded to her challenge. Laughing, she leaned into the wind and urged the hunter on. The stable could be seen across a gentle hill, and she made for it, easily clearing several dry-stone walls as she came to them.

Her mare came from fine stock, but the earl’s stallion was both larger and stronger. Inexorably the gray head began to pull alongside her. As she coaxed the chestnut to greater speed, she realized that it was Caldbeck’s superior knowledge of the terrain that was going to bring about her certain defeat. He was veering off to the right.

Seeking the reason, Catherine spied, hidden in a fold of the land, a small watercourse with a low stone wall on the other side. She would have to turn to the right, also, and that would throw her far behind her husband. She considered her options.

If she followed the earl and avoided the barrier, she would never catch the faster horse. The ravine, however, extended too far for an easy jump, and the wall on the other side might conceal a yet unseen hazard. It was a dangerous obstacle. Apparently, Caldbeck did not want to make the attempt, and he knew the land. Or perhaps he thought that she could not manage it and thus led her away.

Suddenly Catherine fervently wanted to win.

She did not want to lose to this icy, enigmatic man who had taken control of her life. She eyed the ravine, gauged the narrowest spot and put the hunter straight at it.

The hunter was a good horse. With a mighty lunge she sailed over the ravine and cleared the wall, her hind hoof just clipping the stones. As the chestnut landed on the rough ground, her speed carried her too far forward, and she broke stride to regain her balance. The change of rhythm, added to the momentum of the leap, jarred Catherine’s knee free of the saddle, and she parted company with her mount.

She fell hard. The breath knocked out of her, she sat up gasping like a landed fish, her skirts around her waist. She vaguely heard pounding hooves coming toward her. Caldbeck had come around the end of the ravine and had his horse at a dead run. He pulled in a few feet from her, vaulted out of the saddle before his mount had stopped moving, and ran to where she sat.

“Kate! Are you hurt?” For once she could actually hear urgency in his voice.

“N-no. I’m fine. I think.” She became able to breathe again. “‘No fence you can’t get over with a fall’,” she quoted, trying to grin carelessly. She looked up into her husband’s face. He did not wear a comforting expression, and she hastily looked elsewhere. The small tingle of fear returned as he looked coldly down at her. The fall had shaken her worse than she wanted to admit, and she didn’t feel up to bravado.

Caldbeck pulled her to her feet and picked up her hat. He then silently examined her horse and led it back to where she stood. He did not give her the reins, but stood watching her for a moment. Finally, he spoke. Quietly.

“If you ever overface your horse like that again, I assure you that it will be the last time you ever see her.”

Even spoken softly, the words hit Catherine in the face like a freezing wind.

“How—how dare you!” She grabbed angrily for the reins. Caldbeck calmly moved them out of her reach.

“I mean it, Kate. You will not endanger yourself and your mount in that way again.” He handed her the reins and, putting his firm hands on her waist, tossed her up. She turned the chestnut and rode to the stables in haughty silence.

The knowledge that she was absolutely in the wrong did nothing to ameliorate Catherine’s anger. On the contrary. Just because she had acted imprudently, perhaps—well, perhaps rashly even…and, yes, possibly irresponsibly—he had no right to threaten her. Take her horse away, indeed! Treating her like a child! Just because she had agreed to marry him did not make him her lord and master. Never mind the law.

Never mind that he was right.

She plunked down in the chair and attacked the implements on her desk. Arrogant bore! Scolding her! A half-written letter she ripped into pieces, scattering them on the floor. Ordering her bath! Who did he think he was? She threw the pens into the pigeonhole and shoved the wax jack against the wall with a resounding thump. Telling her when to nap! Did he think her an infant? Nobly forbearing to throw the inkwell, she got up and stamped around the room.

She would not let him get away with such high-handed treatment. He would regret it. She wasn’t afraid of him. A little unnerved perhaps…on occasion. Just because he was tall and strong and smelled so like a man that she…He had no right! None at all. She did not wish to speak to him. She would not eat with him. He could have his dinner in solitary grandeur tonight. Every night! Sally could bring her a tray.

At that thought, Catherine went back to the desk and gathered up the torn bits of paper. No use making extra work for Sally just because she was in a dudgeon with her husband. She tossed the scraps into the fire and glared at the figurine of a china shepherdess that adorned the mantel. The shepherdess smirked back. Catherine did not care for that figure.

“Don’t you laugh at me! You are a very ugly shepherdess. Mind your manners, or I shall pitch you into the fire.”

Somewhat pacified by the making of this dire threat, Catherine sat down on the couch with a sigh, arms crossed over her breasts. Why did the man have to be so exasperating and still so damnably attractive?

So his lovely bride was in a snit, was she? Not coming down to dinner, eh? Her message to that effect had been distinctly chilly in tone. Charles basked in the inner amusement as he tied a fresh cravat.

What did she expect him to do now? Whatever it was, it was highly unlikely that he would do it. But if he was any judge of character, her indignation would not last long. He looked forward to a long life filled with her volatility and the inevitable reconciliations. Not that this little tempest qualified as a full-blown temper tantrum. The first real display of the infamous temper was still to be anticipated.

He could hardly wait.

But perhaps he should not have spoken so harshly. He had no intention of trying to rule her with an iron hand. Her impetuosity and her courage, her caring and her passion had attracted him to her in the first place. His words had threatened her. His actions had already forced her under his control. In fact, he had virtually kidnapped her. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t. Not the smallest bit. Charles told himself he appreciated her as few men could.

But he couldn’t let her risk herself that way. She or that hunter she was so proud of might easily have been killed. Charles shuddered afresh at the memory of Catherine sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe. The thought of losing her and the beautiful fire he had wakened in her the night before filled him with a cold, bleak emptiness. A too-familiar emptiness.

He must take better care of her. It was his responsibility.

He saw Her fall. Saw Her skirts fly up. Her white legs. White legs! He moaned softly. Evil! Evil, evil. It was consuming him. Eating him from within and from without. It must be scourged, cleansed.

The power was growing within him. He felt it, tasted it, tried its strength. He flung his arms wide and lifted his face to the night sky, a cry wrenched from the depths of his being. Soon! Soon.

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