“If you knew me better—”
“I intend to get to know you better. In the country.”
She flinched back from his raised voice, and he paused, allowing her nerves to settle again before he spoke.
“Catherine,” he said quietly, “until such time as you understand the political workings of this country as well as I, you will have to trust me to do what’s right for us both.”
“For us both?”
He could see now that her anger had overridden her fear. Her eyes blazed with golden fury.
“This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with your all-consuming career. You think I didn’t hear you toasting when I came down?” As she spoke, she backed away from him, holding one hand out defensively. But she was obviously intent on saying her piece. “You’re so worried your petty career will be hurt by your marriage to me, you can’t wait to hide me away rather than be seen with me.”
Quint stared at her. “Where the devil did you get that idea? But while we’re on the subject, you must admit you are not exactly the ideal political hostess at present. Stay in Town, and you will be forced to attend social events as well as to host them.”
“And you don’t think I can?” She halted, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No, I don’t. Putting aside for a moment the fact that your wardrobe is unsuitable, have you forgotten the episode at the betrothal ball? You were terrified of the crowds and the noise. I had to escort you outside so you did not faint.”
“I-I only wanted to get you outside to warn you about marrying Elizabeth.”
Quint arched a brow. “I saw your color, Miss Fullbright, and you’re either a very good actress, or you were very scared. All you have done now is verify to me that not only are you afraid of social settings, but you can be manipulative as well. Which is all the more reason for me to take you to the country.”
“And do what with me? I won’t be locked up. I’d-I’d rather die. You can’t lock me up!” And with that she swung toward the door and pulled on the knob. But she was shaking so badly she could not open it, and the more she pulled, the more she shook. Quint came up behind her, hands hovering over her arms, but he did not know what to do. He was afraid if he touched her, she would only become more upset.
Finally, he reached out and covered her hand with his. She jumped and froze, but he only helped her turn the knob. As soon as the door had opened, she shot out, like a cat from a bath of water. He heard her feet on the stairs, and her bedroom door slam closed.
Quint went back to his desk, lifted his glass, and poured a somewhat less-celebratory brandy.
He had to do something, or this disaster would turn into an all-out catastrophe. He had several points to consider, and he did so, glass of brandy firmly in hand.
Point one: He did not trust his new wife, but the closer he got to her, the better he would know her true character.
Point two: If he was stuck in this marriage— and he didn’t see a way out without admitting to the country at large that England’s political star had been duped into marriage—so if he was stuck, he wanted a wife he could mold into the perfect political hostess.
He needed her trust for that, and he knew few women were able to distinguish the physical from the emotional. When he had her physically, he would have her emotionally as well.
He might not ever trust her, he might not ever come to terms with that she’d done, but he would know her. He would know what to expect from her and of what she was capable. What if he was wrong—unlikely but possible—and she was blameless in this farce of a marriage? Could Edmund Fullbright have done it all on his own?
Quint didn’t know, but he wanted to get close to Catherine and find out.
With that objective in mind, Quint pulled out a clean sheet of a paper and wrote an express post that would seal his fate. And this marriage.
Chapter Eleven
Catherine knew she had lost the battle. Overbearing politician! She would have to go to the country with him, and she’d rather go by choice than by force. But that did not mean she would let her guard down, not even for a second. She did not trust or understand this man. She could not predict his actions. Was all of his kind behavior merely a ploy? What would happen when he had her in the country? There she would be at his mercy. He could have his way with her and lock her up if she did not please him.
Then again, perhaps he was right. Was she overreacting? He had been nothing but kind . . . albeit, a bit domineering. But he had not raised a hand to her and—
She heard a sound from his room and held her breath, listening. Though she’d placed a chair under the knob of the main door and pulled the dressing table in front of the dressing room door, she was still terrified he would break in. She listened for a long time and when all was silent, she breathed again.
Lord, what was she going to do? Of all the men she might have married, only royalty would have been worse. She knew the role of a politician’s wife. They hosted parties, they attended parties, they went everywhere and knew everyone. Catherine’s chest tightened just thinking about it.
She was so stupid, so inept. How could she ever hope to fit in among those women? And she knew nothing about politics. Her father had made fun of her whenever he caught her reading, and politics were never discussed at home. She’d been told to shut up and mind her own business when she’d asked about political items she’d read from the papers at Maddie’s house.
The little she did know was from listening to Maddie’s father talk, but those discussions were infrequent and usually brief.
Now Valentine expected her to impress all of London and further his career with her social finesse. Surely, she would fail, and then he’d want to be rid of her. He’d lock her in a small, dark attic, and she’d never be free. She could not allow that to happen.
