She’d been staring at the view of rolling hills and blue skies in the distance, but she turned those hazel eyes on him quickly enough. “You wish you could apologize, sir? I wish that you would apologize. Your behavior was most . . . disconcerting.”
He hid a grin. What she really meant was that her own response had been disconcerting. There was a passionate woman inside her somewhere, and he intended to free that woman. “Yes, well, as I said, I wish I could apologize, but as it stands, I cannot. In fact, I think that you ought to be the one to apologize.”
“Me?” she screeched and swung her body toward him. “What have I to apologize for?”
“Being irresistible for one.”
“Oh, please.”
“Being so beautiful and so tempting that I had to have you. You went to my head,” he said, giving her a sideways glance, “and I lost control of our kiss.”
She shook her head. “Men always blame women for their own lack of control. I see you are no different.”
“But I had meant the kiss to be controlled and”—he swallowed and attempted to say the word without laughing—“chaste, but you have a power over me—”
She snorted.
“—that renders me quite helpless.”
“Lord Valentine, if this is your idea of wooing, you will have to do better than falsehoods and exaggerations. I know I am not beautiful, and I know I am not irresistible. Men have been resisting me for twenty years, and I imagine a man like you has little problem doing the same.”
The words were edged with emotion, and he knew she spoke from her heart. He could not stop himself from taking her hand, nor could he dam up the hole her statement made in his heart. “Is that what you really think?”
She nodded and tried to free her hand. “It’s what I know.”
He let her hand go. “Then you have been misinformed. I wanted you last night and this morning—before that even—and I still want you. I sit here beside you, and all I can think about is how good you felt in my arms, and how soft your mouth was, and how much I want to—” He cleared his throat.
She was staring at him, hazel eyes wide.
“You are a powerful woman, and a beautiful one, Catherine. I wish that for one day you would try to see yourself as I do.”
She began to protest, but he took her hand again and kissed the gloved fingers. The village was coming into view. “Today, Catie. Just for today, when you are in the milliner’s or the dressmaker’s shop, try to see yourself as I do. Try to see how truly beautiful you are.”
And then he steered the horses through the village, releasing her hand so that he could raise it in greeting to the locals he had known since he was a child. The first stop was the dressmaker. He escorted Catherine inside, spoke with Mrs. Punch, the proprietress—a woman who had dressed his mother and sisters when they were in the country—and promised to return in time to take Catherine to dine at the pub.
As he was leaving, he slid behind Catherine, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “See yourself as I do,” he whispered.
“WHAT A SCAMP,” MRS. Punch said, as Valentine disappeared out the shop’s door. “I can only imagine what the boy said to make ye blush so. Pretty girl like you. I’m sure he doesn’t deserve ye.”
Catherine blinked. Now Valentine’s silly words and phrases must really be going to her head because she thought the old woman had actually called her pretty.
Catherine looked about the shop. Mrs. Punch had led her to a back room filled with mirrors and half-finished sewing. But the space was neat and clean, and she’d been led to a spot before one of the mirrors in the center of the room. At the back of the room was a door to another area, and behind her was the door to the main shop. It was a pretty shop, with large windows and plenty of bright materials arranged neatly within.
The whole village appeared neat and simple. The buildings lined the street in pretty rows, each with a sign hanging out front, indicating its name. Most of the shops also had window boxes, and they were already bursting with flowers in pinks, yellows, reds, and purples. The people were friendly. Almost everyone they had passed had waved a hello to Valentine, and some were so cheery, Catherine had found herself smiling.
Now, in the dress shop, Mrs. Punch called for her assistant, and the girl swished in from the front room, holding an armful of lace. “Put that away,” Mrs. Punch said. “I need you to fetch me all the best muslins and silks.”
The girl blinked. She had a large rosy mouth, straw-colored hair, and enormous blue eyes. Catherine was glad Valentine had not been here to see her. Unlike her, this assistant was truly desirable. Catherine imagined that she had no lack of suitors.
The girl swished away, and Mrs. Punch shook her head after her. “Lazy girl, my Clare, but she’s got a good eye and can sew better than anyone else in these parts. Well, better than anyone else but me.” She hobbled behind Catherine and began unfastening her gown. “Let’s get this ill-fitting thing off ye and get some measurements.”
A sudden flush of modesty lit her cheeks in the mirror across from her, and Catherine said, “Oh, but can’t I leave the dress on?” She did not want to stand about half-naked, especially when the beautiful, rounded assistant would return any moment.
“Nonsense. Ye have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a lovely girl, and I can’t stand seeing ye in that ugly dress. It’s all wrong.”
And so with little other choice, Catherine submitted to having Maddie’s gown and stays removed, and she stood in her shift with her arms up, then out, then down as Mrs. Punch took measurement after measurement.
“Have you known Lord Valentine long?” Catherine asked when Mrs. Punch stopped to scribble a number on the paper she kept in her apron pocket.
