“It suits you,” he said, twining his fingers with hers.
She looked down at her hand in his, surprised that his fingers seemed so much larger than her own. She was not a small woman like her sister or Josie. She’d always felt too big, ungraceful, and clumsy, but Valentine seemed to have the ability to make her forget all of those feelings. Beside him, she did not worry that she was too tall and awkward. Good Lord, the ring alone made her a dozen times more graceful.
“There are things we need to discuss,” Valentine was saying when she looked away from the ring again. “Expectations I have from my wife.”
She watched him warily. “Attending and hosting parties and such?”
“Correct, but we must address more personal issues as well.”
Catherine stiffened. “I’m not your wife.”
“Legally you are. As I’ve told you, the likelihood of escape from this union is slim. And I can tell you now, after seeing that article in the Times, I am even more determined not to end this marriage in any way that might result in scandal. I think you will find it near impossible to achieve a divorce or annulment without my support.”
She knew he was right, but her chest tightened anyway. “Then I am trapped,” she said, fear rising in her belly. She began to fumble with the ring, wanting to tear it off. He’d said she could trust him, and in the next minute, talked of locking her in this marriage. If the space of a heartbeat was the length of time she could trust him, she wanted none of it.
“No,” he said, putting a hand over her ring finger before she could pull the band off. “You are not trapped. I am a broad-minded man, and if you wish no part of my bed, I respect your wishes.”
Catherine stared at him, feeling the heat of his hand on hers.
“I can look elsewhere to satisfy those desires, and I will be discreet. You will never find yourself the topic of gossip on that subject.”
Her voice had all but left her, but she managed to croak, “And am I free to do the same?”
His look turned dark, and his hand tightened on hers. “I am broad-minded, but I am still a man, and I have my pride. If I am not to be your lover, you’ll have no man. I need your word on that.”
Relief swelled through her. If he spoke the truth, she would be free and safe. She might have to take on the appearance of his wife, but not the actuality. She would never have to be subjected to his advances, to the same indignities that her mother had borne for so many years. “Very well, I give you my pledge—”
He lifted his hand. “I see you are quick to make decisions, but if you will humor me, I’d like you to give this more thought. There is another option. We could share the marriage bed.”
Catherine shook her head. She had a quick image of her mother one morning after Catherine had heard her screaming. Her lip had been bloody, and she’d walked gingerly, as though in pain. She shuddered. “I-I can’t.” At his puzzled look, she added, “I don’t even know you.”
“Your family is among the upper classes. Among our set, men and women marry all the time without really knowing one another. We shall be in the country at least a week, perhaps more. You have time to get to know me.”
He paused, she supposed to give her time to consider.
“Will you hold your decision?”
She wanted to say that there really was no decision to be made. He might claim that he would not touch her, but how realistic was such a promise, especially from a man? Husbands had expectations of their wives, and if she wanted to avoid divorce—to avoid being forced to return to her father—she would need to keep Valentine happy. That might mean spending time in his bed.
She shuddered, but she would do what she had to. At least she could put him off for a little while. “When shall I tell you my decision?”
“Before we return to London. But before we leave the subject, I have one more request.”
“You seem quite full of them,” she said, and then blinked in horror at her impudence. Her father would have slapped her.
Valentine grinned. “I’m a politician. We rarely run out of words or ideas.”
Catherine nodded carefully. Could it be that he was not at all offended by her brashness?
“All I ask,” Valentine continued, “is that you do not close your heart to me this next week. Allow me to woo you—”
“Woo me? I am not my sister, sir. I think you shall grow tired of the game.”
“Then I will grow tired, but I ask you to allow me to try.”
“Why?” She gave him a narrow look. His face went through a myriad of emotions—annoyance, resignation, and finally what looked to her like sincerity.
“I don’t trust you any more than you do me, Catherine. You tricked me into a marriage—”
