He took his hand away. “Ah, so that is the reason for this streak of independence. Surely you realize that by not marrying, you merely remain under your father’s thumb.”
“The devil you know . . .” she whispered, but she did not think he heard. And if Valentine would only play his part, she wouldn’t be in her father’s house much longer.
Valentine took the place beside her and stared out over the lawns. He did not speak, but his knee touched hers. Catherine’s breathing hitched. The feel of him beside her made her shake. She wanted to lean into his solid warmth, feel him put his arms around her. Equally strong was the impulse to run, to escape this man and all men.
“You’re trembling, Miss Fullbright,” Valentine said, voice so low it was barely a rumble through her bones. “Shall I give you my coat, or are you well enough to return inside?”
Catherine looked at him, and this close she could see his face very well. His gaze was admiring, his focus on her lips, and under the heat of that look, she could not answer. Why on earth was he looking at her that way? Men never looked at her like this.
“I thought I told you to put on a shawl.”
“You did, but—”
“Too late.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I can’t resist you now.”
She tried to protest, but instead, to her astonishment, she found herself surrendering, closing her eyes and feeling his hand come around her waist.
One heartbeat, two . . .
“Quint, there you are!” a shrill voice called across the lawns. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Catherine opened her eyes and turned to see Elizabeth rushing toward them. As recognition dawned, Elizabeth’s movements changed from graceful to jerky. Catherine stiffened, ready for the full force of her sister’s wrath, knowing it was inevitable and also that it was necessary.
Valentine stood and stepped away from the bench. “Elizabeth, dear, I’m sorry to have left you. Your sister felt unwell.”
Catherine saw the angry retort on Elizabeth’s lips and willed her to say it, willed her sister to show Valentine what she truly was. Elizabeth glanced at her, and Catherine knew her sister saw the expectation on her face, and quite suddenly, as though Elizabeth had seen through the entire ploy, her face relaxed and then transformed into a mask of concern.
“Oh, my! Catie, are you well? Would you like me to fetch Mama?”
Catherine glared at her. Where were the accusations, the tantrums? Had she not seen Catherine sitting with Valentine? Had she not seen that his arm had been wound about her? One more heartbeat and she would have been kissing him! But Elizabeth was all worry and distress. She took Valentine’s place beside Catherine and put her hand on her arm. “Oh, dear, not again. Poor, Catie.”
Catherine almost laughed. Poor Catie? When had those words ever escaped her sister’s lips? “It’s silly, really,” she said, looking at her fiancé. “Catie is terribly afraid of crowds. She can barely attend a ball without dissolving into a fit of hysterics.”
Catherine jerked at the exaggeration, and Elizabeth dug her nails into Catherine’s arm.
“We usually have to take her home and put her to bed. Quint, would you be a dear and fetch my mother? I don’t want to leave Catie in this state.”
He bowed. “Of course. I shall send her right out.” He started for the house, and Elizabeth’s face transformed, the full force of her fury focused on Catherine.
Just as quickly it dissolved when Valentine slowed, looked back, and said, “Good night, Miss Fullbright. I do hope you recover quickly.”
“Thank you,” Catherine managed before the pain from Elizabeth’s nails digging into her arm made her gasp. She tugged her arm away and stared at the half-moons of blood welling up. “Lizzy, that hurt!”
She glanced up in time to see Lizzy’s hand coming toward her, but not in enough time to avoid the slap. Her sister’s hand cracked across her cheek with enough force to snap Catherine’s head back. She cried out and leaned forward in an attempt to keep her balance on the bench, but Elizabeth merely used the opportunity to try and backhand her. Catherine caught her wrist and pushed back, but she was off-balance and went sprawling.
She did not fall far or hard, but the indignity of it hurt quite enough. “That was for what you did to me at the Beaufort ball.” Slowly, Elizabeth rose and stood over her, treading on the hem of Maddie’s gown. “You stupid bitch. What were you trying to do out here? Lure him away from me?”
Catherine didn’t answer. Instead, she stared at the dark smudge Lizzy’s dainty ball slipper had left on Maddie’s silk gown.
“As though a man like Quint Childers would be interested in an old hag like you. Stick with what you are good at, spinster, and stay out of my way. If I catch you near him again, I’ll kill you.”
“Elizabeth!” Both girls jumped and swiveled to see their father striding toward them. “Get inside now before you make a scene and ruin everything.”
“But, Papa, she—”
“Get inside,” he growled. “The Duke of Chawton has just arrived, and when I return, you had better be dancing with him.”
Elizabeth spared one last glance at Catie and then rushed toward the house. From the ground, Catherine looked up at her father, wondering if there was any point in attempting to defend herself when he would side with Lizzy anyway.
