“Do you expect me to leave for the country with a man I do not even know, much less trust? In the country, I’ll be alone. I’ll have nowhere to run.” She looked almost wild as she spoke, her eyes bright and the color high in her cheeks. Quint knew that if he made the slightest movement, she would bolt. Quite suddenly, her behavior toward him all morning began to make sense. She’d challenge him, then retreat, challenge him, then cringe back again. Could it be that she feared him?
“Why would you need to run?” he asked carefully.
“How do I know what you plan?” She scraped back from the table and looked prepared to flee. Quint allowed it. He did not move, made no attempt to make her stay.
“I assure you I have no plans, but I suppose you will have to learn to trust me, whether that is in the city or in the country, it makes no difference.”
She shook her head. “It makes a difference to me. My friends are here. And you need to be here in case you receive a letter from one of your friends with a solution to ending this marriage.”
He leaned back in his chair. “A letter from my friends can reach me just as easily in Hertfordshire as in Town. But if we remain in Town, we will attract attention. People will come to call, and I will be expected in Westminster.”
“That is not so very bad.”
Quint went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “People will want to know about our marriage, and they will ask us to dinners and balls because we will be of interest.”
Now her face went pale.
“I’d like to put the social events off for a bit, if possible.”
“As would I.”
Quint noticed that she was clutching her hands together. She took two deep breaths. So her behavior at his betrothal ball had not been a ploy. She was truly uneasy in crowds. Another reason for retiring to the country. He would build her courage and her trust in him. And perhaps he would begin to reveal the nature of her soul as well.
“Good, then I’ll make arrangements for us to leave in the morning.” He began to stand, and she stood too.
“No! I did not mean that you should make arrangements to leave, just that we should avoid the public. Perhaps we could go into seclusion here. Only my cousins and your friends would be allowed inside.”
“I won’t be a prisoner in my own house.” He began walking toward the door, and each step he took, she matched, backing toward the door.
“And I am already a prisoner. Please, don’t come any closer!”
Quint stopped, leaned on the table, and closed his eyes. She was terrified of him. What the hell had he done to make her afraid? It galled him. He wanted to shake her and tell her that there was no reason to fear. Somehow he doubted that tactic would work.
He opened his eyes. “Catherine, I’m not going to hurt you. You needn’t look like you think I’ll attack.”
“I’m sorry.” She put her hands over her face. “I just-I wish I could go home. And yet I don’t want to go home. I can’t go home ever again.” Her voice was small and frightened, and he wished she trusted him enough to allow him to hold her.
The poor girl’s life had been changed irreparably, and she was fighting that fact as hard as she could. She was holding on to her past, her old way of life, and he could hardly blame her. He’d held on to his own illusions as long as possible. But now he had to face the situation. They would not be able to dissolve this marriage—not without more disgrace and shame than he was willing to bring to his name or his family. She was alone in the world now. Except for him.
“Catherine, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but please tell me you understand that part of your life is over. You must accept this marriage.”
“But you said you would write to friends—”
“And I have, but it is something I do to ease my conscience, to know I have explored every avenue. I have very little hope that any of them will find another solution for us. You are my wife, and I do not expect that to change.”
“But why does anything have to change? Why can we not stay here and—”
“No. Everything has changed. Your life as you knew it is over.”
Her lip trembled then, and Quint could not stop himself from closing the distance between them. He couldn’t stand seeing her—any woman—in so much pain. He placed his hand on the door before she could turn the handle and open it. He knew trust was a gift to be given, never taken. But in this case, perhaps the giver needed a bit of encouragement. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.
She stiffened at first, her body rigid with fear, then she melted against him. She was crying silently, and he patted her back and shushed her.
After a few moments, her tears subsided. Quint knew he should pull away, but he did not. He liked the feel of her in his arms. She was taller than most women he knew, and he liked that her height was close to his own. She fit him.
And with his mouth close to her ear, whispering words of comfort, he smelled the skin of her neck and felt the softness of her hair. No wonder he thought of peaches when he was near her. She wore that scent, and her body was giving and supple like that fruit.
And so he did not move. He held her in his arms, basking in her warm body and her sweet smell. Finally, she began to move away, and it took all his willpower, but he let her go. She looked into his face with those indefinable hazel eyes, and a last tear rolled down one cheek. He brushed it away, his hand lingering on the softness of her cheek, then caressing her full lips, and trailing to her chin. He knew he shouldn’t, but he could not resist. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his.
