She flinched, then took a breath.
“You’ve made your feelings for me plain. What are you going to do?” Her voice still shook when she spoke, but he wasn’t sure exactly what she was afraid of—the fact that she was naked in a room with a man or the threat of having to spend the rest of her life with said gentleman.
“There’s nothing I can do.” He ran a hand through his hair again. Bloody hell, he wanted to kill that bastard Fullbright. But his anger was already smoldering, being replaced by something like despair. “I know of no escape.”
“But we could get an annul—”
He shook his head. “Annulment, divorce. Either choice leaves you a ruined woman. Where will you go? Your father will not take you back, and your family will be disgraced.”
“I told you that I won’t go back.” The color had returned to her face now, and her hazel eyes were bright with anger. Even doomed as they were, he could appreciate her strong will. She took a step forward. “And I won’t accept this marriage.”
Quint gave a bark of laughter. “Is that so? And just what do you propose we do, Miss Fullbright? There is no way out of this without causing a scandal. And not just a scandal that people will whisper about for a Season and then forget. If we even hint to the public that we were duped into this marriage, you and I will never recover.”
He knew the words he spoke were true, knew the rational part of his mind was beginning to emerge, and yet the facts, logical as they were, were no easier to accept. With bile in his throat, he forced himself to go on.
“We must use all of our skills to persuade the public that I changed my mind and intended to marry you all along.”
“And who will believe that? What about the banns, the betrothal ball?”
Valentine looked at her as though she were a simpleton. “People will believe what I tell them. I’ve built my reputation on honesty and integrity.” And made the mistake of believing others were the same. What a fool he’d been.
Bedclothes still clenched tightly to her chin, she advanced on him. “So that’s what this is about. You are worried about your wretched career. Well, I couldn’t care less about your political advancement. I won’t be your wife. I’ll-I’ll run away.”
“Oh, no you will not.” The little deceiver might have helped trick him into marriage, but she would not ruin his career, too. Quint stood and stared down at her, though she was not much shorter than he. “Do you think I want to be married to you? A woman who stands here and tells me she cares nothing for my entire life’s work? A woman who isn’t half as pretty or remotely as charming as her sister, and I am stuck with you for life? Life. Do you think that’s what I want?”
She took a step back, but he caught her wrist.
“Do not dare think I don’t know what you did, you little liar. But my hands—our hands—are tied. There is no way out. And I will not have you do anything rash that might jeopardize both our reputations. I need a partner, not a liability.”
Catherine wrenched her wrist free of his hold and took two steps back. “You want a partner? Ha! You want a lapdog to follow you about and nod at your every pronouncement. I’m sorry I’m not the sweet, biddable wife you’d hoped to get, but I assure you Elizabeth would not have been so either.”
“I suppose now I will never know. Damn it!” He slammed his hand down on the desk, angry at the situation, his own foolishness, and his loss of control. “Damn it all to hell. I don’t even know what to do with you.” He made a dismissive gesture. “I should just send you home. Let your father deal with you.” It was an idle threat, but her body tensed in immediate fear.
“I won’t go. And if you even try—”
“Don’t presume to tell me what you will or will not do. You’ll do what I say.” Quint couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. He did not intend to speak them. He didn’t even mean them, but something about her defiance and the reckless look in her eyes set him spinning.
“You pompous, self-centered bastard,” she spat. “You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t be your problem much longer.”
She swept the train of the bedclothes over one arm, marched to the door, opened it, and stomped into the hallway.
“Where the devil are you going now?” Quint said, following her. “You can’t walk about London dressed in a sheet.”
“It’s not your concern,” she called over her shoulder, now descending the staircase that would lead to the entry hall. “Go back to your room and feel sorry for yourself.”
Her voice began to fade, and he had to start down the first flight of stairs. He passed a maid who was staring after the woman dressed only in a bedsheet and who then goggled at him in his dressing robe.
“I’m not going back to my room,” he said when he’d caught sight of her again. “And you are not leaving. Get back into that bedroom.”
She’d reached the last three steps and descended them without even pausing. As she marched toward the front door, Quint’s butler rushed forward to open it for her.
“Webster! Do not open that door!” Quint roared. Webster paused, but she breezed past the man.
“Thank you anyway, Webster,” she said as though she’d known the man for years. “I can open it on my own.”
Webster bowed, “Yes, madam.”
Quint ran a hand through his hair and rushed down the last steps. “I order you to stop. Now! Elizabeth!”
