Catherine didn’t know where she was running or why. She simply knew that she had to get away. She couldn’t breathe when Valentine was close to her. She couldn’t think or reason. For the past two days, it seemed all she did when she was in his presence was to obsess about the way she felt when he touched her. Lord, she did not even believe he had truly begun to woo her yet, and he was already too much in her thoughts.
Not that he could be otherwise, considering she was now in his house and under his protection. Catching her breath, she slowed to a walk, angling away from the house and toward a sparse copse of trees. She needed a moment to be alone. In the past two days, Valentine had spoken first of her sharing his bed and now of their shared children. She’d never considered that she would have either opportunity. She’d vowed to be a spinster, and suddenly she was in the position to be a wife and a mother.
She took a seat on an enormous root poking out of the ground. She wanted children, but she also feared motherhood. Her own mother was little more than a slave to her father. She was at his every whim, his beck and call. She suffered first and most severely when he was not pleased.
As a result, Cordelia Fullbright was a hard, cruel woman. Catherine did not know if she had always been thus, but she remembered her father berating her in front of Catherine and Lizzy. Catherine had learned to see her mother as an object of disgust. What if Catherine was forced to stand helplessly by as Valentine turned their children against her? Or worse, he might mistreat their children.
No, she would never allow that. She would not be like her mother.
Catherine sighed. More and more, she was torn between yielding to Valentine and resisting him. If she yielded, she risked so much. If she resisted . . .
But she was in far too deep to think of resisting now.
Yesterday he had said the decision to share the marriage bed was left to her, but a man who would one day be a marquess would need an heir. And surely he would need a legitimate heir. She was his wife. That was her duty. She could refuse him, and the result?
No heir.
Catherine stood and paced in front of the tree. So the truth of the matter was that Valentine was playing with her. In reality she had no choice. She would bear his children whether she wanted it or not. That was, unless he found a way to be rid of her. And why should he want her to stay? He’d never wanted her to begin with. It was Elizabeth he’d courted, and Elizabeth he obviously still loved. Catherine knew she was a pale second.
She managed to avoid him the rest of the day. She even escaped dining with him as he’d been overseeing a business matter with his steward. But that still left the entire night to be shared, alone with him in their room. She tried to wait up for him, not wanting to be asleep and vulnerable when he came in, but as the hour grew late, her eyelids drooped. There was a creak and she jerked awake. Somewhere a dog barked, and Catherine shook her head to clear it.
She picked up a book. The clock ticked away the hours, the monotonous tock-tock-tock lulling her to sleep. Finally, the words of her book blurred, and the novel grew heavy in her arms.
HER FATHER’S HOUSE was full of laughing people. Catie could not see their faces, only their huge red lips and gaping mouths. She ran and ran, but everywhere she turned faces popped before her, laughing at her.
The hard floor was cold and damp under her bare feet, the way littered with sharp odds and ends that she could not identify in the dark. She stretched her hands out in the blackness, knowing what she would feel but powerless to stop herself.
Her hand closed on the sticky cobweb, and she felt the spider move over her hand. She jumped back, but her foot skidded over a soft, squishy rat. The rat sank its sharp teeth into her flesh.
Catie cried out and shook her foot, trying to dislodge the rat, and it was then that the spider made its way up her arm, past her shoulder, and onto her face. It crawled into her mouth.
Catie screamed.
“Catherine. Catherine!”
With a wrench of air, she sat, arms up and ready for battle. It was dark, and it took her a long, terrifying moment to realize where she was. Moonlight pooled through the curtains, emitting enough illumination for her to see the man at the edge of her bed.
She pushed backward, scrambling away, feeling another scream in her throat, but Valentine caught her, pulled her close and . . .
Held her?
Suddenly she was on his lap, and he was rocking her, his hand caressing her hair. “Shh, baby,” he whispered. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
They were the words Catherine needed to hear, and she relaxed, burying her face in his shoulder. He was not wearing a shirt, and his bare skin was cool against her hot cheeks. He felt so good, so strong, so safe. She wanted to curl up in his arms and never leave.
It was a small thing, an easy thing to turn her head so that her lips were against his shoulder. It was equally simple to press her mouth against his neck, feel the quick pulse beating against her mouth. He did not bend his head to hers. She looked up at him, shy and intrepid all at once. He was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. She’d never kissed a man, and her heart was racing so fast she feared it would jump out of her chest. She did not know what to expect, but his lips were exactly what she craved. They were cool against her heated skin, and he tasted of mint. She pressed her mouth against his, and the shock of the connection buzzed through her.
Her heart galloped on, and her breath was short. And then his arms tightened on her, pulling her closer so that her breasts pushed against his chest. His prickly hair tickled her through the thin nightgown she wore. His hands held her securely, but somehow he also managed to touch her. She felt him move over her waist and her hips. He cupped her bottom, and she felt the bulge of his erection against her. Quint groaned, and his hold became almost painful.
She was afraid of him and thrilled by the new feelings, too. His mouth descended on hers again, and her head began to swim. The first tendrils of fear and uncertainty cascaded over her skin. She realized that he was easing her back on the bed, and she was torn. His kisses were consuming. She wanted them to go on and on. She wanted his lips and his hands on her all the time.
But then his hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown, and she felt his tentative fingers on her knee. It was too fast, too foreign a feeling, and she bucked and pushed him away. But her struggle was unnecessary. As soon as she’d tensed, she was free. She opened her eyes, his sudden absence making all that came before seem like a dream.
A match flared, and the lamp on the other side of the bed came to life. Catherine squinted at her husband. His hair was disheveled, his color high, and he was running his hands through his thick hair.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I did not mean—” He paused and looked at her. “You were having a nightmare. I only wanted to wake you.”
