To Love A Lord of London (Wardington Park; Raptures of Royalty) (17 page)

T
he blow came quickly
and was followed by another, along with a string of words that had no business being spoken in the company of a lady.

C
atherine gasped
as the men took to the grass, “Joseph, get off of him.”

Her brother wouldn’t listen, though, and Andrew didn’t blame him. They rolled in grass, but only one of them fought. Joseph. Andrew could see the rage in his face. He heard it in his voice. “How dare you touch my sister again!” Another hit. “Why must you ruin her?” The next went straight to the jaw. “Why?” The last one stung, and a series of bright lights flashed in Andrew’s eyes.

“Enough!” Catherine was there, pulling Joseph off of him. Though, in reality, Andrew was sure that Joseph had simply done what his sister wished. Joseph, who was more beast than man, would have needed more like ten men to stop him.

Catherine stood back once the men were parted, and then with a sob, she rushed away.

Andrew struggled to his feet at once. Well, it took him a few times, but he eventually got there.

Joseph was already standing, fixing his coat. “You’ll propose to her.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Tonight.”

Andrew nodded. He would. He’d already planned to, but now it was necessary. “I’ll be by in the morning to discuss the business end.”

“
S
ee that you are
.” And the promise in his eyes was clear. Andrew would be there, or he would regret it. A land gentry threatening a marquess—a future duke—it was unheard of. Then again, Andrew knew that Joseph held more responsibilities than Andrew ever wished to: a second son who’d become an only son by war, two sisters—the youngest one, much like the wind, there one minute and gone the next and the eldest, on the verge of spinsterhood thanks to him and his indecisiveness.

Without another word, Andrew turned and walked toward the ballroom. On his way into the house, he spotted Nathaniel and was not at all surprised by his presence.

“Catherine returned to the ballroom looking distressed. I believe she is bidding everyone farewell and asking her mother to leave.”

They turned a corner and took the steps, two at a time, up to the floor that would lead to their destination. “Not until I propose.”

Nathaniel’s eyes went wide. “So, you plan to do it after all?”

“I do.”

Nathaniel grinned then rushed again, “I must tell Amy.”

Andrew smiled. He was going to do it. He would be keeping his promise. And perhaps, just maybe, everything would be all right.

“
C
atherine
, come with me.”

She’d barely had a moment to register who grabbed her hand before she felt Lady Amy pulling her through the crowd and toward the grand staircase. Catherine was forced to lift her skirts to keep up, but she came to a halt when she saw who was standing there. Andrew. He looked… like he’d been hit by a carriage, which very well did describe a run-in with her brother.

There was discoloration already forming on his face, but not even a red bruise on his cheek could stop the man from being almost irresistible.

Catherine turned to Amy to find that Amy was no longer there. And when she looked around, she found that all eyes were on her. Them. The music had stopped, and only the low rumble of whispers could be heard.

“
C
atherine
.”

She turned to Andrew, “Yes?”

He gave her a quick smile and then asked, “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes went wide.

Was that it? Was this the moment she’d been waiting for? She looked around the room. And from the smiles, she was sure that it was exactly what everyone else had been waiting for. She caught the dowager’s eye. The woman was absolutely beaming. Even the Duchess of Hensman looked quite pleased with herself.

“Catherine?”

She turned to the man she loved again. “Yes?”

He narrowed his eyes, “Will you marry me?”

Yes. She smiled. It was what she wanted more than anything else. Though, she would have to speak to Andrew about his delivery. A confession of love would have been nice. A few words before the actual question would have been a cherry on top. Either way, the answer was yes. And as she opened her mouth to tell him just that, her eyes caught that of her brother’s up high on the landing. He looked like he’d been in a tussle. There was anger in his eyes.

H
er face fell
. Joseph was forcing him. She turned to Andrew. “No.”

“What?” The question had come from the crowd, her mother no doubt. The woman’s voice had been full of the outrage, which mirrored Andrew’s face.

Andrew spoke, “I beg your pardon?”

She smiled then, with tears in her eyes. “Indeed, my lord. You are very much pardoned of any obligation you might feel toward me.”

Andrew’s face softened, his hand out. “Catherine.”

“You are free,” she whispered and then she ran up the stairs. Her brother tried to stop her, but one look spoke volumes, and he didn’t touch her. He didn’t dare.

Catherine ran, leaving the party, leaving her heart behind. She would never love again.

C
atherine felt
the other side of her bed dip but didn’t turn from her sideways view of the London rain outside her window. She felt her heavy blankets lift. She felt the movement and already knew who would be there, who’d come to comfort her. A small arm wrapped around her as her sister gave her a hug.

T
he Croftman sisters said nothing
, simply listening to the sound of the rain as it tapped against the window, creating that natural rhythm that only rain meeting glass could make. For many, the rain was either the sign of cleaning, newness, or a sign of gloom. But for Catherine, it was neither. For the last hour since the storm had begun, the rain was just what it was. Rain. Water from the sky. Falling. There was no care for its reason for doing so and no thoughts of its purpose. There was the sense that even Catherine’s feelings were tired of feeling. She was completely exhausted of everything.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Jane whispered.

Catherine thought about placing her hand on top of her sister’s. A sign of understanding. Though, moving didn’t seem like something her body wished to do. She hadn’t seen her sister in the crowd last night. “Where were you?” she asked.

“I was… preoccupied.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes, “With?”

N
o answer
.

“One of these days,” Catherine continued, “I would appreciate it if you told me where it is you are always sneaking off to; I could use some adventure in my life.”

“Some adventures are best not taken.”

Catherine turned to her, ready to ask more

But Jane cut her off, “Andrew is downstairs.”

She was up. “What?”

Jane sat up as well. “Andrew is downstairs. Has been for hours.”

“
W
hy
?”

Jane shrugged, “Talking to Joseph.”

“About?”

Jane just stared at her, “They don’t have that much in common, Catherine.”

The girl could have just said
talking about you
, but instead, she’d been smart. Catherine had trained her well.

Hopping out the bed, she put on a day dress and rushed from the room.

Jane followed her. “They’re in the study.”

Catherine ran down two sets of stairs and rushed through the halls, only stopping when she was at the large double oak doors, which led to her brother’s study.

Jane reached for her hair, “You didn’t—”

Catherine swatted her away, “No matter.” She threw the doors open and strutted into the room. “What is going on in here?”

Joseph and Andrew stood instantly. She caught the surprise in both their eyes and then something else in Andrew’s. He was taking her in in a very unbrotherly way, and it only managed to cause her heart to race.

C
atherine looked
to her brother and simply gave him a lifted brow.

Joseph frowned, “Your hair, Catherine.” He would not answer.

She looked to Andrew. “Why are you here?”

“To talk of your dowry.” He’d said the words so calmly, as though they spoke of the weather.

“I told you no.”

His green eyes held her spellbound, “I don’t accept no.”

“I don’t accept charity.” She hadn’t spoken back in so long, but it felt good to be doing so once again.

He grinned, “I didn’t believe you would.”

She hadn’t expected that. “Well…”

Andrew walked toward her, unsettlingly slow, becoming larger than life with each step. Oh, how she loved him. Hated him. Needed him. Wanted to wring his neck. “Catherine,” she closed her eyes as he continued, “you will marry me because I refuse to live without you.” And then his hands were behind her neck, his thumbs caressing the spot behind her ears. “I refuse to spend another day without your laughs, your smile. And I refuse to let any other man receive them. You are mine, and I am eternally yours. If there was a greater meaning for love, then it is you and I.”

Catherine was already crying, her hands on his coat sleeves. She opened her eyes to find tears in his. “That was a much better proposal.”

He smiled, “I love you. Will you marry me?”

Was there ever any need for such a question?