He knew why. Because he’d thought his wife would be an instant asset to his career, not force him into seclusion in the country. But if he returned to London now, what would happen to the burgeoning relationship between Catie and him? What would happen when she was thrust into his world and forced to stand on her own?
He would have liked to keep her here forever, sheltering her from the harshness of his life in London. He would have liked to keep her safe, but he knew that path would only lead to resentment. He needed a wife who could be his political counterpart. He needed a wife who made him happy at home and in the political arena. He could not love a woman who could not give him both—at least that’s what he told himself because the truth was that she had made a muddle of all his calculated plans. He wanted to keep his emotions out of this relationship, and yet each day he felt his heart opening to her.
He wanted to change his wife into the political savvy hostess he needed, and yet the better he knew Catie, the more he admired her for who she was.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be purely physical, and here he was beginning to care for the bloody woman. He didn’t have time for emotions.
He had a career to think of.
That night, after dinner, they sat in his study as usual, and he pored over Meeps’s latest correspondence, while she sipped tea and read from a book. While she turned her pages placidly, he read line after line and became more agitated.
“What are you reading?” Catherine asked, looking up from her book. “You are frowning as though another war has broken out.”
He looked up at her, torn between telling her and putting all business aside and devoting the rest of the night to stealing kisses from her lovely mouth. She saw him looking at her, and her eyes darkened in a way he was coming to know well. She wanted him to steal kisses.
Instead, he exercised the small measure of restraint he still possessed, sat back, and said, “I think the country has been good for you. You seem happy and well.”
She smiled. “I’m both. I don’t know why I argued against coming.”
“Because you feared you would miss your friends. Do you?”
She set her book down and uncurled her legs from underneath her. “Yes, I suppose now that you mention it, I do miss my cousins, though I have had letters from them, and that helps. But it is nice to be away from London, to have the quiet of the country and the solitude.”
Quint frowned. He was thinking of taking her back into an even noisier, more populated world than she had ever lived before.
“What is wrong?” she said again. “You seem displeased.”
In a short time, she’d become quite adept at reading his moods. Perhaps she was so intuitive because she’d had to live with a difficult and domineering father. Whatever the reason, she had read him well. “Displeased? No, not at all. I have been thinking.” About taking you back to London. Even more about taking you to bed.
She didn’t speak, merely waited with one arched brow for what he would say next. A week ago, she would have shrunk back, fearful of his conclusions, but now she knew him better, had learned to trust him.
“Would you like to return to London?” he asked. “Are you ready?”
She blinked, obviously not expecting his suggestion. “We have barely been at Ravensland a week. I thought we would stay longer.”
He shrugged. “We might.” The stack of correspondence on his desk mocked him at that. He could no more afford to stay in the country than he could afford to pay off the endless debts of the prince regent’s residence Carlton House. “Honestly, I need to get back to work. But I don’t want to rush you,” he said, allowing his gaze to lift from the piles of paper on his desk and drift back to hers. “I want you to be happy.”
She smiled then, but her eyes were sad. “You’ve sacrificed so much for me.” She rose and came to him, walking with the graceful stride of a long-legged woman. At that moment, he didn’t feel as though he’d sacrificed at all. Politics seemed to fade into the background, and all he could think was how he yearned to see those legs, caress them, have them wrapped around him, clamped tight.
“I am very happy here in the country.” She came around his desk. “You make me happy.”
She stood before him and he reached out and cupped her waist in his hands, drawing her between his knees. She went without protest, allowing his touch and seeming comfortable with it.
The color was rising in her face, and he knew she felt the thrill of being this close to him, much as his own blood began to thrum in his veins when she was within reach.
And then she said something completely unexpected. “What can I do to please you?”
Quint did not answer for a long, long time, fearing he’d misheard her.
Finally, she said, “You’ve given me everything that I want and need. I want to give you something.”
“Allow me to come to your bed,” he murmured, his voice husky as the words all but caught in his throat. “Invite me to your bed tonight.”
She glanced away, looking at something he could not see, and then she leaned down and gave him a kiss filled with promise. A moment later, she was gone. He could hear her steps on the stairs, and then all was silent.
CATHERINE STOOD IN their room before the cheval mirror and tried to take deep, calming breaths. She had known this night would come. She had been anticipating it for days now, even wanting it to come. Since that day in the village, she had watched Valentine. No, not Valentine— Quint was his name, and she would use it. She had watched him partly out of self-protection. If he were not the man he seemed, he would do something to give himself away. But the more she watched, the more she grew to care for him. He was gentle with his horse. He was kind to the stable lads. He did not overtax his servants with labor. He was agreeable even when she knew something troubled his mind, as it did tonight.
He was more than the ambitious politician she had initially thought him to be. Certainly, his career mattered to him, but perhaps it was not all. Perhaps he had learned to care for her enough that he could accept her limitations, and they could be happy as they had been this past week. She worried now that he wanted to return to London. Elizabeth would be there. Undoubtedly, her sister had used this time to formulate a plan to snatch Quint back. But Catherine wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe he would not be tempted by Elizabeth. Catherine wanted to believe the desire in his eyes was for her alone.
