by Gaelen Foley
“Castle McCray. It came into my family’s possession through the Scottish clan McCray, our ancestors. I love that place,” he added. “It’s become our hunting lodge, up in Galloway. Wonderful seaside retreat in the summers. My father says I can have it if I pick one of his girls. I’ll share it with you gladly,” he teased, nudging her with his elbow.
She looked askance at him, then shook her head. Did he really think a bribe would sway her?
“My dear Lord Roland, you really are a piece of work.”
“I said call me Gable,” he insisted in a droll tone. “I don’t deem it too improper, since, after all, I am your future husband.”
“No, you’re not,” she countered sweetly.
“Yes, I am,” he assured her in a tone just as mild.
“Go away!” she said, laughing despite her vexation when they reached the corner of Moonlight Square.
He stopped and turned to study her for a moment.
“What?” she asked, growing self-conscious. When he didn’t answer, she hesitated. “You’re angry at me,” she said.
“No. Just surprised. When you chose to embrace spinsterhood, I guess I didn’t think you entirely meant it.”
Trinny gazed at him, unsure, herself, all of a sudden—and cursing him for making her so. What was wrong with her?
“I mean, you must be curious,” he murmured, leaning closer.
“About what?”
He flicked a smoky glance over her. “The marriage bed.”
Her eyes widened, and a red-hot blush flamed into her cheeks. “You did not really just say that to me?”
“You’re missing out,” he taunted softly. “Especially with me.”
Her jaw dropped. “You coxcomb,” she uttered.
He shrugged and sauntered away. “Ask anyone.”
“That’s p-precisely the problem!” she sputtered.
But the expert seducer merely sent her a smile. “Do let me know if you change your mind,” he said politely as he took his leave of her, ambling off in the direction of his own house as they reached Moonlight Square. “But don’t dawdle, my sweet. Father only gave me four weeks to secure a bride.”
“You let me know if you change your mind!” she shot back, her face still hot.
He furrowed his brow at her in question.
“About your wicked ways!”
“Ah, that.” But the frank look he gave her required no words to tell her, with unmistakable eloquence, that the other girls on his father’s list weren’t going to care about his peccadilloes.
“Stop,” she ordered.
He stopped. “You’re very stubborn,” he said. “You could be the next Countess of Sefton. With a castle and several fine estates. And a damned fine husband, if I say so myself.”
“Gable,” she said softly, tentatively, trying out his Christian name. Not because he’d ever be her husband. But because she truly had come to consider him a particular friend after his advice had altered the course of her entire life. “I won’t be changing my mind.”
He considered this, the mask of suave humor finally melting away. “Why not? Am I so bad?”
“I don’t want to be the one who cages you. Not now that we’ve become friends. You told me the truth of your opinion on marriage the night we met. So it’s no use. And besides…” Her words trailed off.
“Besides what?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t want you to be the one who really breaks my heart. Because you could.”
Her heart thundered at her own stark admission.
He tilted his head and gazed at her for a long moment from where he stood a few feet away. Then he returned, lifted her hand gently from her side, and kissed her knuckles.
“Then I retract my offer, sweet Katrina. Because I fear you’re probably right, and I would not hurt you for all the castles in the Realm. Farewell for now, my lovely friend,” he added softly, and, releasing her hand, he turned around and strolled away.
And, Trinny feared, likely took her heart with him.
# # #
Gable walked away with the taste of ice cream on his tongue and the sting of rejection smarting worse than the pain in his arm.
He could not believe the little quiz had turned him down. But so be it.
Startled, confused, with his pride bruised, and yet intrigued, he could feel her gaze on his back as he cut through the park, heading for his side of Moonlight Square.
Well, damn, he thought with a droll wince, maybe I’m not quite the catch I thought.
But no matter. He did not want to marry someone who didn’t want to marry him. More importantly, she was right, and Gable did not trust himself enough not to hurt her.
One of the other young ladies on his father’s list would no doubt do just as well. They’d probably give him less trouble, too.
For the next week, he went down his father’s list, ticking off the possible brides suggested to him. He sought them out from a wary distance at social events, had a look, made a few discreet inquiries about them. Asked his father for details. But none of them raised much enthusiasm in him.
Lady Simone Pelletier was quite young and still seemed afraid of her own shadow in Society. No, too shy. He did not want a wife too terrified of his attention to have a conversation with him.
Lady Hypatia Fox was a scandal waiting to happen. A loud, dashing girl who loved to hunt, and surrounded herself with equally loud, fun-loving fellows from the sporting set. She had a marvelous reputation as a fearless rider. But Gable was not interested in snaring the girl who fancied herself one of the boys. That was just plain trouble.
Miss Adora Walker was as beautiful as an angel, literally. A once-in-a-decade sort of beauty. She was young, too, but Gable was entranced enough by her exquisite face to seek an introduction. When he talked to her, though, good God, he could not flee fast enough. She was fantastically proud of her own righteous virtue, and nothing was worth having to live with that. What God had added to her in beauty, He must have subtracted from any vestige of a sense of humor.
The last girl had a horse face to go with her huge dowry, but when he saw her digging a finger into her ear and then studying whatever she had found in there, he gagged a bit and turned away.
Thus, the riches of his father’s bride list too soon ran out.
Growing desperate, he expanded his angry and disgusted search. This would not get him the castle, but at least he wouldn’t be cut off.
There were other nice girls who seemed appealing once he started really looking. The vibrant, raven-haired beauty, Lady Serena Parker, oozed sensuality, but he found out she was all but betrothed. Gable wondered if he could steal her from her beau, some bookish, bespectacled fop who rambled on about his literary project collecting old folklore and putting the tales in a tome. He’d probably be doing the vibrant beauty a favor, saving her from such a dull fellow, and a younger son, to boot, but he decided not to meddle, and pressed on in the hunt.
Next he considered Miss Felicity Carvel, a slim, stately blonde with a reserved demeanor that pleased him. A niece of the Marquess of Bellingham, she had excellent breeding, and everything about her seemed impeccable. She was kind, too, obviously devoted to caring for the old dragon, Lady Kirby, her great-aunt, whom she had served as companion ever since her own mother died.
Perfect wife material, Gable had to admit.
But to his surprise, his friend Netherford sent him the strangest look while Gable was dancing with Miss Carvel. Something along the lines of a brief, deadly glare.
Right. Well, then. No Miss Carvel for him. Gable had thanked her for the dance and backed away. Something was definitely afoot between the duke and the sister of Netherford’s boyhood friend, Major Pete Carvel. What that might be, Gable was too polite to ask, but he had no intention of poaching on his fellow rakehell’s territory.
Besides, the truth was, the longer he stayed away from Katrina, the more he grew obsessed with seeing her again.
He craved her company, he knew not why. He kept won
dering what she was doing, what hilariously odd thing she might say the next time he talked to her. Since his campaign for a bride was such a dismal failure so far, perhaps she’d have some advice for him on how to proceed.
Then it dawned on Gable he had never even told her that he’d taken her advice in the duel. He supposed he hadn’t mentioned it the last time he’d seen her because it had needled his pride to admit he had apologized after specifically saying he would not.
In hindsight, however, she really did deserve to know, since, after all, she had taken his advice.
Indeed, his wonderful advice was the very thing causing him all these bridal headaches now. And well done on that, he sarcastically congratulated himself.
He’d call on her tomorrow, he decided as he lay awake in bed that night alone.
Having devised this excuse to visit his “friend” again, he finally fell asleep, only to ravish her in a scarlet dream of unbridled sex that shocked him awake after midnight, panting, sweat-soaked, and hard.
Oh damn, he thought, trembling, as he finally reached the grim realization that something serious was happening to him where she was concerned.
He pushed those dangerous thoughts away and lay back down, but he couldn’t fall asleep again.
# # #
It was midmorning when he crossed Moonlight Square to call on her.
The maid who had been with her on the day he’d shared Katrina’s ice cream answered the door and told him the lady was out in the garden.
“Just go through the passage, sir,” she instructed, and while he did so, walking down the shady path between the elegant townhouses to knock on the quaint garden gate, the maid rushed out there, as well, playing chaperone again.
Thankfully, the lady’s maid was unobtrusive—unlike the several heads of Katrina’s younger sisters furtively peering out the window above, trying to spy on them.
“Hullo, neighbor,” he greeted her, his heart lifting at the sight of her tending a yellow-flowered bush of Scotch broom, garden snippers in hand. A wide-brimmed straw hat protected her face from the sun, and the gauzy ends of the flowered scarf tied around its crown billowed in the light morning breeze.
His gaze moved softly over her. She was as pretty as the primroses blooming in the border by her feet, but Gable did not say so. He did not wish to seem like some idiotic lovelorn swain as he leaned his elbows casually atop the waist-high gate.
“Why, hullo there!” she called back brightly. “Oh, come in, come in! You don’t have to stand out there!”
She rose from her knees, dusted off the apron she wore over her skirts, and came toward him with a broad smile. He accepted the invitation, letting himself into the family’s small but pleasant garden.
She propped her hands on her waist as he walked toward her. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a jaunty air, reaching down to snap a dead bloom off a red geranium in an urn nearby.
“Does a friend really need a reason to call?” he countered, still amused and yet wincing over that “friend” speech she had given him.
Usually, he was the one offering up such sentiments. It worked well as an apologetic cheerio to overzealous lovers of whom he had tired, or to those who were becoming too attached.
The funny thing was, Katrina had actually meant the words just the way she had said them. He liked that about her. She was frank and unpretentious. But there was one mystery… How was it that she seemed to grow more beautiful every time they met?
“So what’s all this, then?” he inquired to get the conversation going, since, admittedly, there was a little awkwardness between them.
She glanced around at the garden. “It’s such a fine day, I thought I would do little puttering out here.”
He smiled. “Having fun?”
“Loads. I’m taking a break from wedding duties. It’s a madhouse in there.” When she glanced toward her house, she must have caught sight of her sisters eavesdropping, for she frowned at the window.
When Gable glanced up, the little heads had disappeared.
Katrina shook off her obvious vexation at the spies and looked back at him. “We’ve been working round the clock on wedding business,” she said. “My sisters and I have been writing our fingers off with the invitations. You’ll receive one, too.”
He furrowed his brow. “I don’t even know your sister.”
“Ahem, but my father and yours are political allies, remember?” she asked pertly.
He snorted. “Right. How could I forget?”
She shrugged. “A wedding is political in some ways.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “You have just described my entire week.”
She flashed a smile and gestured at the pleasant wooden bench under a trellis dripping with purple blooms of wisteria. “Shall we sit?”
They did, while her maid took up her prim post on the backstairs across the garden from them, keeping them discreetly in view.
She needn’t have worried; Gable was on his best behavior. He flipped the tails of his light brown coat out behind him and sat down beside Katrina.
“Did I mention I’m to be the maid of honor?” she remarked as she drew off her thick gardening gloves.
He looked askance at her. “Does that bother you?”
“No. Why would it? Oh…because of my own status?” She paused, mulling the question, then shrugged. “I suppose it hurts a little. But I’m not letting it bother me. It’s my sister’s happiness that counts. She and her intended are very much in love. As it should be,” she added with a meaningful glance.
Gable just looked at her.
“Well? How goes the search?”
He let out a sigh. “Abysmal. Have you by chance changed your mind yet?”
“You retracted the offer, remember? To protect me from your wicked ways.”
“I’ll retract my retraction.”
“You’re still wicked, though.”
“Depends on who you compare me to.” He stretched his legs out before him and looked at his boots. “This isn’t very nice of you, you know. I accept you for who you are. Why can’t you do the same for me? I still think it would work out quite nicely for us, if you could.”
“Ah, I see. That way, you get everything you want, while I’m leg-shackled to a philanderer? That hardly seems fair.”
“You could have an affair with Lord Hayworth to spite me. I’m jesting!” he protested, even as she smacked him in the thigh with her gardening gloves.
“That’s not funny!”
“Ow!” he said, laughing.
“It didn’t hurt.” She tried to scowl at him. “How’s your arm?”
“Much better, thanks. Actually, that’s why I came to see you. Somehow I forgot to tell you the most important thing about the duel. That I took your advice and apologized.”
“I had heard that,” she admitted with a begrudging smile. “’Twas very sensible of you.”
“Well, I think it saved my life, so I owe you.”
“You could buy me an ice cream sometime.”
He smiled at her.
She smiled back, studying him. “What made you change your mind about apologizing to him?”
He pondered this. “Guilt. Pity. Remorse. A craven desire not to die.”
“Well, I’m proud of you,” she declared, though he wasn’t sure for what. Then she paused. “I heard you met my friend Felicity—Miss Carvel. I heartily approve,” she added. “She is the best of women.”
He thought he detected the barest hint of jealousy in her voice, despite her praise for her friend.
Gable shrugged. “Even if she is, I’m not going anywhere near the girl. I have no desire to end up in another duel,” he said with a shudder.
“How’s that?” she asked in surprise.
“Friend of mine seems to have a prior claim of some sort.”
“Really?” she exclaimed, and when he nodded in amusement, she narrowed her eyes. “Hmm. This friend wouldn’t happen to be the Duke of Netherford, would it?”
<
br /> “Aha, do you know something about it?” he asked in conspiratorial humor.
“Not a thing. But I’ve noticed they do react strangely to each other.”
“I know!” He sat up straighter from his lazy pose. “You should’ve seen the look he gave me when I danced with her. You’d better not say anything to Miss Carvel about it, though.”
“I don’t dare. She’s a little intimidating. Very prim and proper.”
“She is a bit starchy, isn’t she?” he agreed. “Of course, Netherford could make short work of that.”
She giggled as she met his knowing glance.
“So here we are,” Gable said quietly after a moment of sitting in companionable silence. He looked over at her. “I’ve missed you.”
She looked sharply at him, as though startled by the admission, then she hesitated, nodding. “I’ve missed you, too.”
They gazed at each other for a long moment.
“So where does that leave us?” she whispered.
“That is entirely up to you,” he answered just as softly. “I still want to marry you.” More than ever. “But please decide soon. I have less two and a half weeks left.”
“Surely your father isn’t really going to hold you to this arbitrary time limit.”
“You don’t know my father,” he said. “The bills he brings up in Parliament are just a shadow of the innumerable laws that filled my childhood. Making the rules is what the Earl of Sefton does, dear. Believe me, it burns me to have to dance to his tune yet again. But then, I don’t fancy penury.” He glanced earnestly at her. “Please reconsider.”
He could see she was weakening as she held his gaze for a heartbeat longer.
But then she sighed, looked away, and shook her head. “My lord, we’ve already discussed this. Frankly, it doesn’t sound to me like you’ve even given these girls a chance. Not that I think it’s wise to marry anyone for money, mind you, or even for a castle—yes, I know everybody does it, unless they get really lucky, like my sister. But if you want my advice, since it saved you last time, there you have it: Get to know these young ladies a bit better before you cast them all aside. Dig a little deeper.”