The kiss was sweet, her lips as soft and warm as a summer peach. He wanted to open the fruit, taste its sweetness, explore its flavors and textures, but her hand came up. With a gasp, she pushed him away.
“Catherine, I’m sorry—”
Her eyes were full of fear, and she pushed past him, opening the door and scrambling into the foyer and up the stairs. Quint stepped back into the room and shut the door behind him. No point going after her. He’d scared her now, and it would probably be some time before she allowed him to get close again.
He leaned his head back, and he could still feel her in his arms and smell her on him. God, he wanted her. For the first time, he allowed the traitorous thought that had niggled in the back of his mind all day free. He was glad he had married her. The sight of her in his bed, wrapped in his sheets—hell, even seeing her standing in his dining room—excited him. God, help him, but he needed to possess her.
More than ever, the necessity of taking her to the country became clear. He did not want a wife who was afraid of him. His country home was small and cozy. There he would have ample opportunity to get close to her, show her how to trust him.
He was still standing in the dining room when he heard Webster speaking to someone in the hall. Quint opened the door and saw his assistant, Harold Meeps. The small, slight man was laden with sheaves of paper, and his glasses were perched on the edge of his nose.
“Oh, good evening, my lord,” Meeps said with a bow that almost tumbled his load. “I hope I haven’t interrupted dinner.”
“No,” Quint strode forward and took a stack of papers. “We’ve just finished.” Glancing at the documents in hand, he noted they were communiqués of various matters before Parliament as well as answers to inquiries he’d made concerning forthcoming bills. “I presume this is not a social call.”
“No, sir,” Meeps said. “You said you would be away from work for a few days, so I thought I would bring some of it to you. As you can see, my lord, we are already behind.”
“Yes, well, that may be a continuing problem,”
Quint answered, waving Meeps toward his study. “I’m afraid I may be away a bit longer than anticipated.” He opened the study’s door and held it until Meeps had passed through. Quint took a seat at his desk and motioned for his assistant to take the seat opposite. As his study was set up very much like his office in Westminster, the arrangement was familiar to the men.
“Are you still feeling ill, sir?”
Quint paused in the midst of organizing his sheaf of papers and raised a brow at his assistant. “An illness? Is that what they’re calling marriage these days? Or is it just my marriage?”
Meeps pushed his glasses back on his nose and wrinkled his forehead. The assistant had red hair and a wealth of freckles, and his freckles stood out more when he was agitated. “You’ve married, my lord?”
Quint shook his head. Meeps had difficulty remembering anything that did not have to do with politics or affairs of state. The man could recite legislation and political speeches verbatim, but he did not recall the name of Quint’s estate or that of his betrothed. “Yes, Mr. Meeps.” Quint began sorting again. “I married yesterday morning. Surely there was something about it in the paper. I confess I have not had a moment to look at it. Have you?”
“No, my lord. Too much happening in your offices right now. But I have the Times right here.” He extracted the newspaper from the bottom third of his stack. “Would you like me to look for a relevant article?”
“By all means.”
While Meeps clucked over the news, Quint read and signed and replied to the various correspondence before him. He’d just finished his pile and started on the mountain before his assistant, when Meeps let out a small cry.
Quint looked up, pen in hand. “You’ve found something?”
“Yes, my lord. It’s not on the first page, but it’s prevalent enough. Here, my lord.” He handed the paper over, and Quint read silently.
The piece was not good, but it might have been worse. Much of it was devoted to relating the antics of Catherine and her three cousins, though the article referred to the most recent events as rumor. What was not rumor was the marriage between Catherine and Valentine, and the paper made much of the betrothal ball for the younger Miss Fullbright and speculated as to how Miss Catherine Fullbright had stolen her sister’s fiancé away.
Quint threw it down in disgust. There was no longer any question in his mind that he and Catherine would have to leave for the country tomorrow. He might have been willing to give her a day or so to become accustomed to the idea, but no more. If they stayed in Town, they would only create more talk. They could return in a few weeks, when interest in their marriage had waned.
“Meeps,” Quint said, rising and ringing for his butler. “I am afraid you will have to do without me for a bit longer. I find I am required at my estate in Hertfordshire.”
Webster entered, and Quint handed him the newspaper with the offending article faceup. Then he scrawled a note to Catherine, instructing her to be ready to leave at first light. “Take this to my . . . wife. Thank you, Webster.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Meeps was shaking his head. “Sir, you will do what you must, but I cannot support a trip to the country at this time. You need to be in the city, now more than ever.”
Quint gathered up a new pile of documents and began flipping through them. “I will keep abreast of things in the country. If anything truly pressing arises, I am not so far from London.”
“Yes, but you do not know the latest news.” Meeps lowered his voice, and Quint looked up. “We had discussed the possibility of an undersecretary position.”
Quint nodded. “What of it?” After his last victory in the House, he was expecting the appointment. Leaving Town should not affect it one way or the other.
“I have heard rumors, sir.” Meeps’s voice became even softer. “That the prime minister was so impressed with the work you did on the Valentine-Cheswick Reform Act that he is now talking of offering you a position in the Cabinet.”
