“But why do you not go to your own room?” Catherine asked, scooting away from him.
Quint noted her behavior. Could this fear really be an act?
He set one boot on the floor and began on the other. “This is my room.”
She blinked at him. “Then where is mine?”
“Yours is under construction. Unfortunately, I have not been as diligent in the upkeep of this house as I should have. I intend to remedy that now. I am afraid we will have to share a room.” He finished with his boots and stood to remove his tailcoat.
“Then I will sleep in one of the other rooms.”
Quint shrugged off his tailcoat and laid it over the arm of the chair. “All are occupied.” That was not strictly true, but she did not know that.
He began unbuttoning his shirt, and Catherine jumped up, grabbing the robe at the end of the bed. “Sir, you promised you would not”—she swallowed and clutched a hand to her throat, closing the robe over her neck—“you promised you would not force yourself on me.”
He paused and looked up at her. Bloody hell. She was pale and trembling. Obviously terrified. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Nor do I intend to. I assure you that I will not touch you.” He pulled his shirt over his head, and she took another step back.
“I-I do not believe you. How do I know—”
“Catherine, I am tired,” he said, “I want to go to bed. Nothing more.” And at this point, that was true. Her behavior, as usual, gave him more questions than answers, and he needed time to consider them. He began to unfasten his trousers, and Catherine let out a small yelp.
“Very well, if we are to share a room, then I will sleep on the couch.” She pointed to the velvet chaise longue across from the bed, then scurried over to it and lay down.
Quint sighed. He should have foreseen this and had the damn thing removed before they arrived. “You are not to sleep on the couch. If you won’t share a bed with me, then I will sleep on the couch.”
“But I don’t want—”
“Catie, get in the bed. I will blow out this lamp and lie down on the couch. Unless you intend to lie on top of me, you’d better be in bed.”
She scrambled to the bed again and had climbed in when he blew out the lamp. He lifted his coat from the arm of the chair, and, feeling his way across the room, lay on the couch, with the coat over him.
In the darkness, the room was silent. Quint did not even think Catherine dared breathe. He turned on his back, his feet hanging over the edge of the chaise. Shifting onto his side, his shoulder dropped off the couch. He sighed, wishing for his large, comfortable bed.
But there would be many days to come. The better he knew her, the better he understood her, the easier it would be to win his way into his wife’s bed. Then he could mold her into the wife he needed. She was like a skittish horse who had to be calmed and soothed, and who, with a bit of attention would become a confident, prancing beauty. That was his Catherine.
Quint rose early the next morning, dressed, and left his wife sleeping. She had curled into a ball and had one hand fisted under her chin. He restrained the urge to go to her and brush the hair from her face. Instead, he went down to the stable and found his groom. An hour later, he knocked on their bedroom door. It opened a sliver, and honey hazel eyes blinked at him.
“Get dressed,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
“But I don’t—”
“If I have to break down this door and pull you out,” he hissed, mindful of a maid dusting nearby, “I will do it. Now meet me on the front lawn in a quarter hour. You’ll like what I have to show you.”
And he marched down to the lawn and paced away the minutes. He’d stopped pacing and was watching the sun burn off the clouds and glint off the dew at his feet, when he heard behind him, “Is this what I’m meant to see?”
He turned to see his wife in a thin summer dress, standing on the lawn behind him, shivering.
Immediately, he swept off his greatcoat and draped it about her shoulders. He looked into her face and noticed it was pale and tired. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I might have slept better if I’d been alone,” she grumbled. “Why did you drag me out of bed so early?”
He grinned. Very well. She wasn’t a morning person. He’d be certain to schedule only afternoon social events.
Without asking permission, he took her hand and led her down the path. They walked in silence for the first few minutes. Catherine yawned and blinked at the rising sun, and generally looked about herself as though she could not quite believe what she saw was real. Quint was fascinated by the play of emotions on her face, though it hurt his opinion of her devious nature. As he watched her, it seemed her every thought was revealed. He saw the surprised and mulish look on her face when he’d taken her hand and refused to let go. He saw her face light when she glimpsed a deer standing in the distance, still as an icy pond, watching them. And now he watched her face again as they rounded the next corner and the stables came into view.
He needn’t have bothered to pay such close attention. When she saw the horses in the paddock beside them, she let out a gasp of pleasure so loud that Quint’s stableboy looked up.
“You have horses,” she breathed, and he noticed that her pace was no longer sluggish. Now she was all but pulling him forward.
