But he would rectify everything now. He would apologize and renew his offer of assistance—or at least the best efforts of his own assistant—and she would forgive him.
He hoped.
And after she forgave him, he would kiss her, make love to her, and all would be right between them again.
He hoped.
He took the steps two at a time and clomped down the hallway. Her door was open, and he slowed as he neared it.
“Oh, good, Lord Valentine. You have returned.”
Quint peered into Catherine’s dimly lit room and saw her seated on the low plush bench used at her dressing table. A valise crouched at her feet.
He frowned. “It’s after one in the morning. Why are you awake and dressed?”
“I was waiting for you. I wanted to tell you good-bye.” She stood and bent to lift the valise.
“What are you talking about?” His eyes swept the room. Her armoire was open, and except for a few scattered linens, it was empty. The dressing table was bare of combs and brushes. Nothing personal remained in the room.
Quint felt the old prickle of unease at the back of his neck. He lifted a hand, rubbed it away, but it returned with a vengeance. Nothing good came from that prickle.
Catherine stepped before him. “I’m leaving you.”
“Oh, no you’re not,” he said, reaching for her valise, but she drew it away.
“Catie, do you want me to pack this robe?” Her cousin, Lady Madeleine, walked into the room through the open dressing-room door. As soon as she spotted him, she halted and began to frown. “Oh, it’s him.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he barked. Of course, it was him. He lived here. “What are you doing here?”
She glanced at Catie. “Didn’t you tell him?”
“Of course,” Catie answered, still keeping her gaze on him. “But he’s not taking it well.”
“I’m standing right here,” Quint said. “You don’t have to speak as though I’m not home.”
“But that’s exactly the problem,” Lady Madeleine said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You never are home. That’s why Catie’s leaving you.”
“The hell she is. She’s my wife. She can’t leave.”
Catherine raised her brows at him. “Watch me.” She turned to her cousin. “We can send a servant for the rest of it. Let’s just take this and go.”
Lady Madeleine nodded, and the women stepped forward, but Quint blocked their exit. “You’re not leaving.” His heart was racing now, panic galloping through his blood. “You’re my wife.”
“You’d hardly know it the way you treat her,” Lady Madeleine spat.
“The way I treat her? What have I done?”
“Nothing at all except practically desert the poor girl. She’s lonely here by herself all the time.”
Quint opened his mouth to defend himself, but Lady Madeleine waved him silent.
“Not to mention, you’re making her host that ball. You know how social events frighten her. How could you?”
Quint felt his panic being quickly replaced by anger. “I do not have to defend myself to you, but be assured, Lady Madeleine,” he directed his words to her cousin, but looked at Catherine, “I would not ask her to host this ball if I did not think she would rise to the challenge. The experience will be good for her.”
“Of course, it will be good for her,” Lady Madeleine said, “but that is not the point.”
“Now you are speaking as though I am not here,” Catie said with a scowl at both of them. “I have heard quite enough. I am leaving.”
