She followed his gaze and saw that he was watching Elizabeth dancing. He did not look jealous. The closer she looked, the more he appeared simply satisfied by what he saw. She narrowed her eyes. Lord, the look on the man’s face was nothing short of proprietary. He looked quite pleased with his newest acquisition.
Catherine straightened her shoulders. Caveat emptor. “You are still intent on marrying my sister, I see.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “And you are still intent on persuading me otherwise.”
She shrugged. “I did try. But now that we are to be brother and sister by marriage, perhaps we should begin anew.”
Without taking his eyes from Elizabeth, he answered, “If that is your wish.”
And then they stood in silence.
Four, five, six, seven . . .
Catherine sent an appealing look to Josephine across the room. What was she to do now? Valentine had not asked her to dance; and he did not seem at all interested in continuing their conversation. This sort of behavior would only please Lizzy, not tempt her into throwing a tantrum.
Josephine bit her lip and consulted with Ashley, who was beside her. The two whispered while Catherine shifted from foot to foot, hoping no one came between her and Valentine.
Eight, nine . . .
The ballroom was growing more crowded as the theaters let out, and the late arrivals made their appearance. Catherine watched the crowds and was forced to take a shaky breath. She could not panic now. Breathe, breathe.
Nine, ten, ten, ten . . .
“Are you well, Miss Fullbright?” Valentine said suddenly. She turned, and he was staring at her, concern in those lovely mahogany eyes.
Her first instinct was to assure him she was quite all right. Her family mocked her fears of crowds and tight places, and the weakness embarrassed her. But now that his eyes were on her, she wanted to keep them there. What would Elizabeth have done in this situation? Catherine had watched her flirt and charm men for years. Elizabeth would have wrapped Valentine around her fingers. She already had.
Catherine took another shaky breath—quite authentic—and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I do not feel well at all. I think a bit of air—”
That was all she need say, and his hand was on the small of her back, and he was assisting her toward the French doors of her uncle William’s ballroom. The doors opened directly onto the lawn, and Catherine had entered through similar doors into other areas of the house often. As soon as she stepped outside, she recognized where she was and remembered the stone bench just a few feet away.
“If I might sit down for a moment,” she said before Valentine could leave her to fetch one of her cousins or aunts to help her, “I believe it would help.”
“Of course,” Valentine said, taking her arm and leading her to the bench. He walked stiffly beside her, and Catherine was well aware he did not wish to be there.
He seated her on the bench, then moved an appropriate distance away, and Catherine had to think quickly to keep him close by. It was imperative her sister find them talking together. The very sight would so anger Elizabeth that she would finally show her true self. Then Valentine wouldn’t possibly wish to marry her, and Catherine would be free of the marriage threat hanging over her head long enough to escape with Josie.
“Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said softly, so that he was forced to move a step closer to hear her. “I am feeling better already.”
“Yes, your color is back,” he said, though his eyes were on the house and the activities of the ballroom. No matter. She did not need him to pay attention to her, merely to be by her side rather than Elizabeth’s. But there was something rather exciting about having him all to herself like this. In the semidarkness and shadows, his expressions were a mystery to her. And yet she could feel his presence and smell the scent he wore. She shivered, afraid and intrigued all at once.
She had not forgotten what men were capable of. She had not forgotten her father’s vicious words and roughness, and so she could not understand why she, who knew what men were, wanted a man to touch her, caress her in that moment. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Valentine’s strong hand on the small of her back. The hand had guided and reassured her, and yet she knew that same hand could hurt.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, and to her surprise, he was staring at her. He did not look away when their gazes locked. He shifted and then he was closer, his knee brushing hers as he stood over her.
One, two, three . . .
“Are you still intent upon not marrying, Miss Fullbright?” His voice was lower than it had been. It resonated through her.
“Quite so, sir.”
He was looking down at her, and she finally had to look away. She was afraid what would happen if one of them did not.
He reached out and placed a finger on her cheek, turning her face back to his. His finger was warm against her skin, a tantalizing contrast to the cool evening. She shivered.
“May I ask why?” He did not remove his finger. In fact, he seemed to be moving it closer to her mouth.
“I-I am not inclined to marry,” she said, though she hardly knew how to speak anymore. “I do-do not wish to be under a man’s thumb.” She had not meant to give so much away, but when the words were out, she glanced quickly up at him.
