Knowing who she was now, he could not help but judge her against her sister. He had been right in thinking her the taller of the two. She must have a good five inches on Elizabeth and was at least two stone heavier. But it might be more, as her dress was too big for her, and she wore a wrap pulled like a shield about her.
When she stood, she was nearer his height, and he was able to look directly into her eyes. They were much darker than her sister’s. He guessed them to be brown. And her hair. It was the thickest, darkest coil he had ever seen. There was the scent of peach wafting toward him again, and for one moment, he thought her beautiful—far more beautiful than her sister—and then the moment passed and he wondered how he could ever have compared the two.
“My lord, I will not keep you, but I would be remiss in my duty as a fellow human being if I did not warn you against marrying Elizabeth.”
“Your duty as a fellow human being?” Quint said through clenched teeth. “What about your duty as a sister?”
She laughed again, and this time he had difficulty resisting the impulse to throttle her.
“I owe Elizabeth no duty, I assure you. She is a spoiled, demanding little shrew, as you will see for yourself. Do not say I did not tell you so. Now, if you will, please leave me alone.”
“Gladly.”
She made a gesture that he supposed was meant to dismiss him, and as he was more than eager to oblige her, he started for the doors to the ballroom. At the last minute, he turned back. “It seems to me”—Caroline? Claudette?—“madam, that you, not your poor sister, are the shrew. I pity your family and the man you marry.”
She laughed again, and he turned away from her—vexing how often and inappropriately the chit laughed—but he paused when she called, “You are absolutely correct, sir. I am a horrible shrew. Tell all of your friends. Take an advertisement out in the Times. I won’t relinquish my hand without a fight!”
AS SOON AS VALENTINE entered the ballroom, Catherine began to shake. To calm her nerves, she began to count. The predictability of the numbers always soothed her.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . .
Even counting wasn’t calming her nerves at this point. She had almost been caught. She’d tied Elizabeth up and left her in the bushes, and Valentine had almost caught her.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . .
She began to shake anew, thinking of the way she had spoken to him. She was not a rude person, but desperate times and all that. The problem was that not only had she been rude, she’d been critical. What had gotten into her? She was usually such a nice girl. Oh, she hoped she never saw Valentine again.
And yet what else could she do? Lord knew she didn’t care whether or not he married Elizabeth. He seemed the sort of man who was unlikely to be swayed by someone like her at any rate. But she’d had to at least delay the nuptials. She needed time to plan her escape.
Catherine rushed back over to the shrubs where she’d left Elizabeth and peered over the edge. She could just make out her sister’s golden hair and white gown in the thick foliage. Lizzy was staring up at her. Catherine would have liked to give her a three-fingered wave and skip off, but she could not be that cruel.
“I’ll come back for you when Valentine is gone,” she called. Lizzy shook the bushes and said something, but with the gag in her mouth, Catherine couldn’t understand.
“I’ll be back,” she promised and headed toward the ballroom to keep an eye on Valentine. She stopped just before entering to give herself a moment to rally her courage. The room was full.
No, to say the room was full was like saying the old king George was just a little bit off. The room was brimming over, and George III was mad as a loon.
Catherine tried to calm herself by reflecting on the fact that with so many people crushed together inside, there were many other people far more interesting to look at than she. No one would care about her.
Unfortunately, she also detested small, tight spaces, and she could see nowhere in the room that would afford her any space to breathe.
Taking a last deep breath of freedom, she plunged inside and squeezed through as best she could, searching for Valentine. Not that she wanted to speak to him. She just wanted to make sure he didn’t decide to return to the balcony to investigate the rustling bushes further.
“Where have you been?” Her father’s fetid breath hit her cheek, and his rough hand grasped the tender flesh of her upper arm. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I—” she began, but he shook her violently, and she could not finish. Catherine could only be thankful they were in public, else he would have done far worse than shake her.
“I told you to find a husband.”
She stared at him, at his small black eyes and large red nose with the broken blood vessels. How she hated him sometimes.
“You’ve sat on your arse and lived off my largesse long enough,” he continued. “I’ll have you married before my Elizabeth, or you’ll know the back of my hand.”
“Then I suppose you’d best release me so I can simper and flirt. Or are you planning to make a scene? I can imagine how that will influence my chances.”
“Little hoyden,” he spat. “I’ll be glad to be rid of you.”
And then the bruising hold was gone, and her father disappeared through the crowd. Catherine’s brave façade shattered, and her teeth began to clatter.
