A Perilous Attraction. Patricia Rowell Frances

as she picked at her breakfast. It seemed that his lordship might be even angrier than she had supposed. She had been herself so infuriated when he had rung his peal over her that she had hardly noticed his manner. Not that she would have been able to tell what it meant, anyway. Sighing, she turned her mind to what to do with herself for the whole day.

      The idea of exploring the old section of the house presented itself, only to be rejected. It would seem very flat without Caldbeck’s company. The thought startled her. When she had first met him in London, she had found him dull—handsome, perhaps, but dull. When had that changed?

      And where had he really gone? A sick sensation gripped her. What if he did have a mistress? He must have a great deal of experience in lovemaking to be able to arouse the feelings that had overwhelmed her. But with whom?

      Had Catherine so disgusted him with her childish temper that he had returned to a former love? Must she share him with some shadowy figure, everyone else knowing, but keeping it from her?

      How humiliating!

      She bit her lip and choked back tears. Loneliness washed over her. What had she done? Had she already ruined her chance for happiness? Had she ever had a chance of happiness in this senseless marriage at all? She pushed away her plate and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber.

      Catherine did not spend a pleasant day. She had treated herself to a good cry and felt a little better afterward, but the emptiness in her persisted. She had not felt so isolated and lonely since her father died. Writing a long letter to Liza only made her wish all the more for the depth of love that Liza and George Hampton shared—the kind of love that Catherine had seen between her parents. She had not recognized it as a child, but now…Staring out her window at the hills that had seemed so magically beautiful the day before failed to cheer her. The overcast sky drizzled rain, the dim light fading the colors.

      Eating her own dinner in solitary grandeur, Catherine found that she did not like it at all. How could she have been so foolish as to have kept to her room like a sulky child last night? She retired to her bedchamber and was brooding as Sally brushed her springy hair for bed.

      When a knock sounded at her door, she almost jumped off the dresser stool in her surprise, causing Sally to drop the brush.

      “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, Sally. That must be his lordship. You may go.” Then, turning toward the door, she called, “Come in.”

      Caldbeck came through the door and paused by the dressing table as Sally hastily took herself off. Her manner stiff with constraint, Catherine indicated the sofa, where wine and brandy sat on the side table.

      “Will you have some refreshments, my lord?”

      “Thank you.” The earl strolled to the table and poured for each of them, handing Catherine her glass as she sat on the sofa. He sat beside her, perfectly at ease. “Are you recovered from your fall?”

      “Yes. A few bruises only.” Catherine sat silent for a moment, playing with the tie of her wrapper, her eyes downcast. At last she took a deep breath and plunged in.

      “I…I feel…I should…I should apologize to you, my lord.” There! She had said it. “I showed very poor judgment in putting my horse at that ravine yesterday. I might have injured her badly—strained a hock, or even broken a leg.”

      He did not speak, and she peeped up at his face. She could read nothing in it, so she gathered her courage and went on. “And then for me to have been in such a temper…No wonder you did not visit me yesterday evening, and took yourself off today!”

      Caldbeck reached out and lifted her face, obliging her to look at him. “You think that is the reason I did not come last night? That I feared your temper?” Catherine thought that hint of something might be back in his voice, but if so, it disappeared as she searched for it. His expression remained cold. “You do not know me very well, Kate.”

      “That is quite true, my lord. As you know.”

      “Yes, quite true. I also regret the way I spoke to you yesterday. I was the more angry for also being frightened. You might have broken your neck.”

      “You? You were frightened? I never guessed.”

      “Just because I do not give outward evidence of my emotions, Kate, does not mean that I have none. You will come to know me better.” He took possession of her hand. “I had business that I had been putting off. Since it was raining, today seemed an opportune time to take care of it. Had I seen you this morning, I would have explained.”

      He lifted her hand and kissed the palm, letting his tongue touch it. “But neither did I stay away last night out of anger. I did not come because I subjected you to some very hard use the night before. I thought you might need some time to recover.”

      The heat crept up from Catherine’s breast to her face. She dropped her gaze. “Oh.”

      Much later, Catherine looked up into her husband’s face as he lay beside her in the cave of the big curtained bed. “I need to say something else, my lord. I haven’t yet thanked you for buying the manor house for me and my orphans.”