No Man's Bride (21 page)

“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—”

He reached out, taking her by the waist and drawing her to him. Catherine stiffened, intent on continuing her argument, but finally she went.

“Sweetling, you are good to worry, but there’s no need. I was short with you earlier. I’m sorry.”

He brushed a loose tendril of hair away from
her face and then pulled her into a small alcove in the wall, away from the eyes of the servants.

“You are doing a wonderful job with the preparations. I should have told you so before. I should have been here to help you. But you know that everything I do is for both of us. This Cabinet position is not just for me, it’s for you as well.”

Catherine raised a brow. “It’s for me as well?”

“Yes, it will mean more prestige for you, more money for us, you’ll be admired and copied, and your invitations will be sought after.”

Catherine shook her head and took Valentine’s face in her hands. It was rough with stubble that he had not had time to shave in a day or so. She ran the pads of her fingers over it. “But I don’t want any of that, Quint. I don’t want to be copied or admired. I just want to be with you.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and a slow smile spread over his features. “So you do care for me?” he whispered. “I wondered. I-I hoped.”

She frowned. Had she said too much? Shown too much of her heart? He hadn’t said he cared for her, but she, too, had hoped.

She cleared her throat and went on, trusting that she said the right words. “Of course, I care for you.” She tried to keep her tone light. “But all this Cabinet position has done so far has taken you away from me. Can’t we forget all this and go back to the country? We were happy there.”

He took her by the shoulders. “We’ll be happy here. I’ll make you happy. In a few days, I’ll have
the position, and I won’t have so many functions to attend. And after the session, we’ll have all the time in the world to spend together. Believe me, one day you will thank me for this.”

Catherine did not believe him, not at all, so she let her hands drop. He caught them, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the mouth. She realized that she missed his kisses. Those gentle ministrations she had been so afraid of at first had come to mean more to her than she would have ever believed. Why couldn’t he forget all the politics and balls and just love her?

He stepped away as another servant barreled toward them, arms piled to his chin with linens.

“I’m going to my room to get some work done,” he said. “I’ll come down later to check on you.”

She nodded, dejected at yet another of his escapes. “What about the stationers?” she asked.

“Right.”

She tried not to frown. He’d already forgotten.

“I’ll have Meeps take care of it,” he said as he walked away. “He can be quite helpful.”

She sighed. Perhaps she should have married Meeps. Quint gave his assistant so many of his personal duties that Catherine figured eventually she’d go to bed and find the little man there, too.

She trudged back to the dining room to find her three cousins still fighting over vellum. Now even Ashley had an opinion. Catherine, fed up with the whole thing, strode to that end of the
table, picked up a random sheet—ivory with a gold border—and handed it to a Meeps. “This is the one. Take it to the stationer.”

Meeps took the paper and looked at it, then her. “But, madam, I do not know—”

Catherine narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, madam.” Meeps hurried to do her bidding.

Catherine turned back to her cousins and saw Maddie and Ashley gaping at her.

“But we’d decided that one was all wrong,” Maddie said.

“Actually I rather liked it,” Josie chimed in. She was the only one of the girls smiling.

“Did you even look at it?” Ashley crossed her arms, full of indignation.

“What does it matter?” Catherine said. “No one will remember the invitation. After the ball, everyone will be talking about what a fool I am.”

Maddie, always her supporter, put an arm around her waist. “We’ve already talked about this. You’ll be fine. One of us will be beside you at all times. You’ll take deep breaths and get lots of air, and if it gets too overwhelming, we’ll say you have an important matter to attend to and sweep you away for a few moments.”

“You have to have confidence in yourself,” Josie said, taking her other side. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The assembly rooms are huge. You won’t feel trapped.”

“I suppose Valentine won the battle of the guest list,” Ashley said, as usual seeing right through to Catherine’s real dilemma.

“He’s such a good man that he can’t imagine anyone else isn’t,” Catherine told them. “He has the best intentions.”

“Misguided intentions,” Josie spat.

“And now you have to deal with
her,
” Maddie said.

“But not alone.” Josie waved her arms expansively. “We’ll be right beside you. Lizzy’s no match for any of us. We’ll keep her from doing anything horrible.”

“I know you will,” Catherine said with a weak smile.

“If you know that, then why do you still look so sad?” Maddie asked.

“You’re hurt that he still can’t see who your sister really is,” Ashley said suddenly.

Catherine shook her head, but Ashley put a hand on Catherine’s arm. Ashley always saw too much.

“You think, given the chance, that he’d trade you for her. He won’t, Catie. You said yourself that he is a good man.”

“I’m tired.” Catherine drew away. “I need to get some rest.”

Josie grabbed her arm before she could turn away. “Wait a moment. We are your cousins. Don’t try to avoid us.” She looked closely at Catherine’s
face. “Are you in love with him?” This last was whispered as though it were a mortal sin.

Catherine refuted it without thinking. “Of course I’m not in love with him.”

“You’re lying,” Josie said. “You love him.”

“Is that true?” Ashley demanded.

“She said it wasn’t.” Maddie at least defended her. “She didn’t even want to marry the man, she would never fall in love with him. She’s a founding member of the Spinsters’ Club.”

“That was a child’s game,” Josie said, still staring at Catherine. “She’s in love with him. I know the signs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Maddie said.

“I’m not! I know the signs of love and pining, and she’s got all of them.”

“No, I don’t,” Catherine said.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Josie countered. “Look at you, you’re moping around all day, but when Valentine walks in the room your face lights up. And you’re even hosting this ball for him, and you hate balls. If that isn’t love, then what is?”

“How do you know so much about it?” Catherine asked. “Are we about to lose another member of our club?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Josie turned away.

Ashley grabbed her shoulder. “You had better not be in love, Josephine Linet Hale.”

“I’m not!”

“But there’s a man, isn’t there? You’re not telling us everything.”

“Stop harassing me. We’re trying to help Catherine.”

Catherine was perfectly happy with the attention off her for once, but when the three girls’ eyes swung back to her, she quickly changed course. “I think we’re all tired and ready for bed. Let’s start again with all this in the morning.”

“You’re avoiding us,” Ashley accused.

“Of course she’s avoiding us,” Maddie said, “but she has a point. Let’s give it a rest for tonight. We’ll be back in the morning for more preparations. I think your dress will be here by then, and I can’t wait to see it!”

E
dmund Fullbright fingered the white vellum with the gold border between fingers grubby with sweat and tobacco. He’d taken the invitation from his younger daughter’s hands, though the chit had been loath to allow him to see it.

He’d slapped her and told her not to show her worthless face to him for the rest of the night. He could still see the surprise in her bright blue eyes. She wasn’t used to being slapped, but since Catherine had left, the little bitch had developed an attitude he didn’t care for.

Perhaps she’d always had it, but it galled him now more than ever. She was going to end up worthless. Her sister had been married over a
month and was hosting a grand ball with her husband, who would soon be a hoity-toity government official.

What had Elizabeth done except preen and simper and waste his money? Had she secured the hand of a duke or one of those foreign princes? No.

In fact, last week he’d taken her to a ball and found her in an empty room, locked in an embrace with a lowly baronet. The man had had his hands all over his daughter. Little whore.

Edmund sipped his gin and leaned back in his desk chair. And now this. Now she’d been invited to her sister’s fancy ball, and she hadn’t wanted him to know. Of course he hadn’t been invited. No, Lady Goddamn Valentine hadn’t seen fit to invite him or her own mother. That was gratitude for you.

After all he’d done for her. She wouldn’t even be Lady Goddamn Valentine if not for him. But did she appreciate all he’d done for her? And it was exactly like her to turn into an ungrateful little wretch just when his money problems had come to a boil. He needed money, and Catherine owed him.

Fullbright picked up the pretty little invitation once again. Perhaps it was time his daughter was reminded to whom she was indebted.

Q
uint decided that he hadn’t given his wife quite enough credit. She had not wanted to have this ball. She had protested every step of the way, and there were recent days when he was inclined to see the whole thing her way. He liked organization and consistency, and she’d turned his entire life, not to mention his study, upside down.

The house had been a mess. Their lives had been a mess, and yet he had enjoyed seeing her work. He loved watching her rise to this challenge, watching her put aside uncertainty and hesitation and become the confident, self-assured woman he knew she could be.

He took his gloves from his valet and pulled
them on. The ball was going to be superb. He had supervised the final preparations only this afternoon, and the assembly rooms where the event was to be held had looked absolutely stunning. Standing there, watching as the last touches were put in place, Quint knew that no duke’s daughter could have done better.

Now, he could not wait to see Fairfax’s face when he finally had to acknowledge that Quint was a formidable foe in the Cabinet race. Even more, Quint hoped to be on the receiving end of Fairfax’s congratulatory handshake when the prime minister offered Quint, and not his rival, the position.

Quint knew he deserved the situation. He had sweated and worked harder for this than ever before. If all went well tonight—and he knew it would—then there was no reason the Cabinet post would not be his.

Quint took one last look in his cheval mirror, trying to imagine himself as a Cabinet minister. He could imagine it very easily. And once that happened, he would make up all the lost hours and all the sacrifices to Catherine. He would win back her affections and do everything in his power to make her happy. In the last few days, he had wanted many times to tell her how much he cared for her, but there just never seemed a right time. He knew she thought he still harbored feelings for her sister, but Quint never thought of the girl. He only had eyes for
Catherine. If his wife only realized how often he thought of her.

After tonight, there would be no doubt. He thought he already knew how she felt. Her words that day he had come home to find all of the china stacked in his study had reassured him. She’d said she missed him, that she cared about being with him. Those words had gripped his heart and held it.

She loved him. He was sure of it.

He wanted all those things, too. And he wanted to make her happy. He would make her happy as soon as he secured the Cabinet post. Once he was a minister, he would make all of this up to her.

He smiled at his reflection and turned to his valet. “Very good, Dorsey. That will be all.”

Dorsey inclined his head, and Quint crossed through the dressing room to knock on his wife’s door. She opened it herself and he, expecting her lady’s maid, stepped back in surprise.

Or maybe the surprise was from seeing the goddess before him. He had never thought of her as a striking woman. That was not the word that came to mind when his thoughts turned to her.

Kind, proud, courageous, determined: Those were the words that described his Catherine. Now he had to add breathtaking. Simply put, her beauty was not even a matter of debate but a given fact. As he gazed at her now, all thought, all reason was sucked out of him.

She wore a gown with a low, square neck in
black velvet trimmed with silver cord. The velvet was heavy and gleamed, but not as richly as her hair. That was the next treasure he discovered. Her hair was pulled back from her face in an elaborate coil that twisted and turned and wound about itself until he was lost trying to follow the style. But he noted how heavy it was and that his fingers itched to feel that weight and to stroke the expanse of her neck just beneath.

He let out a breath, and murmured, “You look lovely, Catie. Truly. You take my breath away.”

Modest as always, she ducked her head. Then he noticed that part of the shimmer in her ebony crown was from black pearls dotted throughout the shining mass. They were also wrapped about her neck in both short and long, lustrous strands. He reached out and touched one strand at her throat.

“They are only borrowed,” she said. “My aunt Ellen lent them to me.”

“They suit you,” Quint said, moving his finger to trace the olive skin over her collarbone. “I will have to buy you a set myself.” He touched the small pearl drop earrings and then brushed the skin of her cheek. Rather than tensing, as he was used to her doing, she leaned into him and closed her eyes.

Quint’s blood fired hot. He had a quick and ardent vision of her naked with only the pearls clustered in her ample cleavage. And now that he was thinking of it, he noted that the low neckline
gave him more than enough opportunity to observe that perfect cleavage. Quint frowned.

“Are you wearing a shawl with that?”

“No, why?” She looked down at her gown. “I thought you said I looked lovely.”

“You do, but there is perhaps a bit too much of you showing.”

Her face turned pink, then red, then burgundy. “I see-I-Maddie said the neckline was appropriate. She said it is higher than what most of the ladies wear, but if it looks ill—”

Quint realized his error and made a hasty retreat. “No, it looks well. Very well.
Too
well.” He gave her his best rakish grin, which was rusty from disuse. “I am sure your cousin is right. I had just not expected to see you looking quite so alluring. After tonight I fear I will rarely have you all to myself.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You may have me anytime you like. I worry that you no longer want me.” She glanced down at the floor, and Quint saw her shuffle her feet, clad in elegant Roman sandals that matched her gown.

He took her chin between two fingers and nudged her face up. “Now who speaks nonsense? I’m standing right here, thinking what a fortunate man I am to have such a beautiful, accomplished wife.” And he meant it. How the hell had he not seen this all along? Why had he ever wasted time doubting her? He should have been cherishing her, loving her all along.

“All eyes will be on you at the ball,” he whispered. “I will be the envy of every man tonight.”

Her eyes, which had been shining as they looked into his, dropped again, her long black lashes screening her honey hazel eyes from view. Once again, Quint knew he had said the wrong thing, but this time he was not sure why. “I know you are still apprehensive about tonight,” he said, venturing a guess, “but I assure you all will go well. It will be an evening no one will forget.”

Catherine met his eyes again. “I’m sure you are right.”

When they entered the ballroom, still an hour or so before most guests would begin arriving, Catherine understood what Quint had meant when he said his breath had been taken away. As she looked at the assembly room in awe, she felt the same. It was the loveliest room she could ever have imagined. Actually, it was lovelier than she had imagined. Everything from the tablecloths and overlays, the flowers, the potted plants, and the white Greek columns draped with white silk were directly out of her own imagination. She had dreamed them all, put them on paper, and then—with the help of her cousins—made her dream a reality.

Lord, she had no idea it would look as good as it did. A footman finished lighting the last of the chandeliers, and as the other servants raised it to
the ceiling, even more of her creation glittered into view.

She crossed the marble floor, pausing beneath one of the draped columns. Beside it, she felt so insignificant, as though all of her problems were nothing compared with the heavy problems of the world—problems her husband dealt with daily. Perhaps she was selfish to expect him to put aside those weighty concerns for someone as insignificant as she and her little needs.

Then she reached out and touched the column, pushing it so that it tipped slightly. It was light, made from some insubstantial material that the decorator—a man who worked as a set designer for theater productions—had convinced her to use.

The column reminded her that concerns that might seem weighty to some were often nothing more than illusions. Power. Position. Taxes and treaties. How could any of those possibly be as important as love?

She was afraid her husband had forgotten that. He had obviously known the rule at one time. She remembered the way the country villagers had looked at him with admiration and esteem. She remembered him taking care of the lady in her bare hovel. Quint was a man who cared deeply for others. She had thought he cared for her.

Or perhaps she was wrong, and he had never cared for her at all. Perhaps she had imagined the tenderness and the care he had shown when
they’d made love. Perhaps that was one of his politician’s tricks.

The guests would be arriving soon, and Catherine crossed the room to make a last check on the dinner preparations. Per her instructions, tables and chairs had been placed in a small room adjacent to the ballroom. At the back of the room were three large tables swathed in white silk with gold overlays. The china was already out, as were several platters of fruit. The rest of the sumptuous fare would not be set out until later, but perhaps she should check to make sure everything was as it should be.

She glanced at her small watch and saw that the first guests would arrive in less than twenty minutes. If she checked on the food now, she would be late in receiving them. It was a tempting escape. If she were overseeing preparations, she would not have to face the crowds and the crush of guests.

She closed her eyes, and once again the suffocating fear piled down on her. She remembered what it had been like to crouch in that closet as a little girl. She remembered the fear and the horror and the loathing she’d felt. Not for her father, but for herself because she was so afraid. She was pitiful.

She jerked her head up and opened her eyes. No more. She was not pitiful. She was breathtaking and capable and hostess of what would surely be
the
ball of the Season. And Quint had faith in her.

Her father no longer had power over her. He was a weak man; she saw that now. He made himself feel big by hurting her and her mother. But he could not hurt her anymore. She wouldn’t allow it.

Catherine straightened her shoulders and marched back into the ballroom. She needed to do this, finally to put childhood fears and ghosts behind her. With a smile, she quickened her step. Maddie, Josie, and Ashley were coming up the stairs—Catherine could not see them yet, but she could hear their voices.

One by one, they came into view, each more exquisite than the last. First was Josephine. Her auburn hair was twisted and secured with small combs so that it curled about her head like a crown of fire. She wore a dark green satin gown that complemented her green eyes and made them appear huge in her pixie face.

Behind Josephine was Madeleine. She wore white. The gown had a low neck that showed the ample curve of her bosom and made her waist appear tiny. Her hair had been pulled away from her face, but the heavy mass of it flowed in chestnut curls down her back.

And then there was Ashley. She had always been the acknowledged beauty of the group, and tonight she lived up to her title. Like Josephine, she wore green, but her gown was the green of the sea before a storm. It matched her sea-green eyes and set off her pale porcelain skin. Her blond
hair was secured in the most elegant of styles, and like Catherine, jewels dripped from her curls. But no simple pearls for Ashley. She was never so understated. Her hair glimmered and sparkled with small diamonds.

Catherine had come to a complete stop as her cousins ascended the stairs, and now she said, “I don’t remember inviting any royalty. You three look like princesses.”

Ashley smiled and dropped a curtsey, and Maddie looked embarrassed.

Josie scowled. “If this is what it feels like to be a princess, I pity their majesties. I’ve been pushed and pulled in every direction today. These stays are so tight I can barely breathe, and a hairpin is digging into my scalp.” She reached for her coiffure, but Maddie swatted her hand away.

“Don’t touch. You’ll ruin it before the ball even begins.”

“Look at you,” Ashley said, making a wide circle around Catherine. “Catherine Anne Fullbright, I had no idea this was underneath all those drab gowns you always wore. The black velvet suits you.”

“And so do Mama’s pearls.” Maddie clasped her hands together. “She’s going to weep with joy when she sees you.”

Josie pulled a handkerchief from her bosom. “Don’t you dare start.” She handed it to Maddie, who used it to dab her eyes.

Ashley finally ceased her perusal and stopped
before Catherine. “What happened when Valentine saw you? Did he ravish you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Catherine felt her cheeks color and wished that, for once, she could be as brazen as Ashley.

“The kind of question we virgins ask. We may be maidens, but that doesn’t mean we’re not curious.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing?” Josie cried. “He just grunted and held out his arm?”

“No, he said”—Catherine thought back, her skin warming with pleasure as she remembered—“he said I looked lovely.”

“That’s all?” Even proper Maddie seemed disappointed.

Catherine glanced about her, made sure Quint was not in sight, and continued, “He said that I took his breath away.”

Her three cousins beamed. “That’s so romantic,” Maddie said.

“It would have been more romantic if he’d ravished her.”

“Ashley, shh. You can’t say things like that,” Catherine chided. “You’re going to get a reputation.”

Ashley shrugged. “What do I care? But I promise to be on my best behavior tonight. Look, there’s the man of the hour.”

Catherine turned to see Quint coming up the stairs. His smile was pinched and tight, and she
could tell immediately by the way he held his shoulders that he was apprehensive. Her first impulse was to rush to him and reassure him that all was ready, but the sight of him in his evening attire always undid her, especially when he looked as he did tonight.

He wore the requisite dark blue tailcoat and breeches, the snowy white cravat, waistcoat, and white gloves. But his hair had been cut so that it no longer brushed his collar. It was short and neat in the back, the only untamed section the wave that fell over his forehead. He pushed it back, and then his mahogany brown eyes found her.