“Fortunate man,” Josie grumbled.
Valentine looked as though he would protest and then glanced at Catherine and seemed to think better of it. Catherine’s heart sank. No matter what he said now, she had seen the truth in his eyes just then. He obviously did not think himself fortunate. She felt her heart swell into her throat. Even after all they had shared, he was still in love with Elizabeth. And now she would be at the ball, and Catherine knew she would lose him. Lizzy always got what she wanted.
Valentine adjusted his cravat. “Elizabeth is a sweet and lovely girl. There’s no need to impugn her character or punish her for the sins of her father.”
“A sweet and lovely girl?” Josie gasped. She glanced at her cousins. “Does he know Lizzy?”
Catherine rolled her eyes. “He knows her. Just not very well. But, in truth, the real issue is not mended family relations, is it, Lord Valentine?”
“Don’t start this again,” he said.
And then, as Catherine watched, he turned his back on her and marched out of the dining room. Catherine stared after him, then looked at her cousins incredulously.
Ashley shook her head. “Just like a man. He said his piece and walked away.”
“I wouldn’t put up with that,” Josie agreed. “Who does he think he is?”
“He is Lord Valentine,” Mr. Meeps interjected. “Soon to be a Cabinet minister.”
“Well, he’s also my husband,” Catherine said, turning on her heel to follow. “And I’m the one who has to live with him.”
“Be gentle,” Maddie called after her. Catherine raised her hand and marched after her husband. He was striding determinedly toward his study.
Catherine swerved to avoid a servant carrying a stack of table covers. “Valentine!” She increased her pace to catch up with him, but he did not look around. His back stiffened, and he marched on.
“Valentine!” she said, practically stepping on his heels. “I want to talk to you. Now.”
She grabbed his arm and was pulled along with him. He opened the door to his study and froze. Inside, piled on every available surface was china. The pattern was quite pretty—Catherine had chosen it herself—white with pink roses along the edges, but it did nothing to complement the décor of the masculine study.
Valentine went very still, and his arm flexed under Catherine’s fingers. “What is all this?” He gestured to the plates stacked in twelve piles, three or four feet high on his desk. There were bowls on his chair and more on the leather couch. Beside the bowls the servants had placed cups and saucers. The larger platters and serving bowls littered the floor, stacked carefully, their dainty designs daring any man to try and walk among them.
“I had nowhere to put the china we rented,” Catherine said. “The drawing room is full of the extra furniture. Oops.” She pulled him aside to make way for the servant carrying the table linens. “Here are the tablecloths and napkins.”
The servants moved around them and set the linen on the edge of the rug just inside the door to the study. Quint stared after him, narrow-eyed. Then he turned on Catherine.
“How am I supposed to get inside and work? My desk is covered, and I can’t concentrate in this chaos.”
Catherine pulled him aside as another man loaded with table linens approached. “You will manage. I want to talk about the guest list.”
He sighed and pulled her farther back, away from another troop of men and women carrying an endless supply of china and tablecloths. “Catie,” he said softly, and Catherine’s heart leaped in her chest. Why did he have to call her that? And why use that tone? Did he know the effect it had on her? Every time she heard it she thought of their nights together, his arms around her, his mouth on her, his whispered endearments as he’d plunged inside her.
She closed her eyes and tried to close her heart.
“Catie,” he said again, “I know there’s no love lost between you and your sister, but perhaps this night is a chance to let bygones be bygones.”
“Quint.” She put her hand on his arm, and he looked down, seeming surprised at her gesture and her words. It was probably the first time she had ever voiced his given name. “You have a good heart. You see the best in people. I admire that.”
And she did. From the beginning, he had seen the best in her, and he saw the best in her sister. It was a good trait for a man to possess. She loved him for it, though he would probably never feel the same for her. He did care for her. How was she to convince him that his faith in her sister was misplaced without ruining the small faith he had in her?
Finally, she continued, “But my sister and my father, they are not like you. I don’t trust them to come to this ball with honorable intentions.”
“I have not invited your father—”
“Do you think that will matter?” she asked. “He will come.”
“He’ll never get past the door. I will be sure the footmen know to refuse him entrance. I won’t let him near you again, Catie.” He caressed her jaw with one finger, and Catherine sighed. How was she to fight against such tenderness?
Catherine bit her lip and tried to concentrate. “Quint, you don’t know my father and sister as I do. They will—”
