She turned away from her husband’s disappointment. Tears wanted to well in her eyes, but she would not allow them to fall here, where anyone could see. Undoubtedly, her marriage was over. They’d come so far together, but none of it would matter after this. She’d ruined his chances at a Cabinet position.
Behind her, she heard the footmen returning, and then she heard Valentine’s voice. “Is she gone? Good. Make sure she doesn’t return. I don’t ever want to see her face again.”
Catherine turned to stare at her husband. He was glad Elizabeth was gone? He was throwing her out? In front of the prime minister?
Where was her true husband?
He stared at her across the room, and then he was walking toward her, his pace increasing the closer he came. And he didn’t stop when he reached her. In spite of the fact that she was splattered with punch, he pulled her into his arms. Catherine was rigid from shock.
“Are you well?” he asked. “I’m sorry, Catherine,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”
“But why are you sorry?” she asked. “You have done nothing.”
“I should have listened to you. I should never have invited her,” he said.
Catherine blinked at him. “Then you don’t blame me?”
“Blame you? Sweetling, you tried to warn me. I’m the one who’s a stubborn fool. You were right about your sister. You’ll never have to see her again.”
Catherine opened her mouth, but no words would come. She swallowed. “Then you don’t want her? You don’t wish you’d married her instead of me?”
Quint shook his head. “Your sister pales in comparison with you. How many times do I have to tell you that I only want you?”
“Oh, Quint.” She wanted to say more, but the words lodged in her throat.
He took her hand. “Everyone is looking at us, expecting us to do something. Would you favor me with the next dance?”
“I-I—” She glanced about them. It was true. Everyone was looking at them. For once, it didn’t matter. She was with Quint. “Of course.”
QUINT LED HER TO THE center of the ballroom, where they joined the line of couples in a country dance.
He stood across from his wife and smiled at her. The night was a disaster, and still he could not stop smiling at her.
He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. The evening had started out well enough. His wife was lovely, easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She had been a poised and gracious hostess, and the ball had begun without incident. The prince regent had arrived just as the dancing had begun, and he was in an agreeable mood and began the ball by partnering Catherine’s cousin Lady Madeleine in the minuet. And then Quint had danced with Catherine, and he was pleased to note that she was an excellent dancer.
He had been more than pleased to relinquish her hand to the prime minister, and though she trembled when he released her, he thought that her time with the prime minister had been a success. Mr. Perceval had come away laughing and had shaken Quint’s hand and told him that Catherine was a refreshing change from the usual Society hostesses.
Quint had deemed the ball a success—at least in his own mind. And when he’d seen Fairfax, he’d shaken the man’s hand with equanimity. Why not? It had been a good fight, but one of them would have to go away the loser. Quint knew it would not be he.
Now, he was not so certain. The incident between Catherine and her sister would be in all the papers in the morning. He’d be the butt of jokes and speculation. He hated gossip, but after an incident like the one tonight, there was no avoiding it.
He had probably lost the Cabinet seat.
And still he could not stop smiling at his wife. She was so beautiful, so brave, so . . . Catherine. Looking at her, the Cabinet position just didn’t seem to matter anymore. Nothing mattered except her.
“Thank you,” she said, as they moved with the other couples in the dance.
Quint had to move away from her as his turn came, but when they crossed paths again, he said, “Why are you thanking me? I haven’t apologized near enough.”
She blinked at him but had no time to make a response before she linked arms with the man diagonal to her and executed the next movement of the dance. When they came back together, she said, “You stood by my side. That’s all that matters to me.”
Quint squeezed her fingers. “I’ll always stand by you. I should have listened to you before. I was wrong about your sister, and I admit when I’m wrong.”
They parted again, and it was ages before he finally had her in his arms again. He turned her, pulling her closer than necessary, and she whispered, “It takes a strong man to own up to his own mistakes.”
Quint grinned at her, turned her about, and took her hand, leading her off the dance floor. “And it takes a weak one to succumb to his wife’s charms in the midst of a ball, but I hope you can forgive this weakness as well.”
“I can forgive anything of you.”
