Jack, always reminding him that he wasn’t the rightful heir.
Jim, always doing Luke’s bidding, regardless of the hour, as though it were Luke’s right to expect a man to live his life inconveniently to please him.
Bill, never failing to come when called, taking care of business, then leaving. Never lingering for a sip of whiskey, never sharing the burdens he must surely carry as a purveyor of life and death.
And Frannie, terrified of becoming his wife, not because of the intimacies they’d share, but because of the daily struggles they’d face, because of the damned balls they might be required to attend.
Catherine’s invitation sat there, mocking him, mocking his life, daring him to show his face—
Damn her!
He poured more whiskey into the glass, brought it to his lips, inhaled the sweet aroma of courage…and slowly set the glass back down. He picked up the invitation and ran his finger over the lettering. Had she experienced discomfort when writing it? Did she want him there that badly?
He thought of the night they’d played cards.
Obviously, my lord, you don’t know what I’m thinking.
But he knew what she was thinking when she’d written his name across her fine invitation: that he wouldn’t show.
Perhaps he would call her bluff.
Perhaps tonight, he would make her regret that she’d ever made a midnight visit to his library.
Catherine had known Claybourne wouldn’t come, but still as the clock ticked toward midnight, she was disappointed. It was so terribly difficult to attend this ball and not reveal how much she loathed her host. He seemed so pleasant. No one could see the monster that lived within his skin.
Even Winnie gave nothing away, keeping a stiff upper lip, and pretending that all was right with the world. Sometimes Catherine was as angry with Winnie as she was with Avendale.
But she smiled and laughed and flirted with all the gentlemen who danced with her, not revealing to any of them that he was not the one she longed to waltz with. Just once, she wanted to be held within the circle of Claybourne’s arms and hold his gaze while her feet whispered over the dance floor. Just once, she wished he would look at her the way he looked at Frannie. The depth of adoration that he showered on Frannie was something that every woman should have at least once in her life.
He might be a scoundrel, with many faults, but he had a heart far more giving than some of the men she’d spoken with tonight.
She glanced at her dance card. The next three dances weren’t taken. She was relieved, having grown weary of pretending to enjoy herself. She was too worried about Winnie, too worried that Avendale might find fault with the evening, but all seemed to be going along splendidly. Even her hand was better. Her father’s physician had removed the stitches. The scar wasn’t too unsightly. Since she always wore gloves in public, few people would ever see it.
But she welcomed a small reprieve from being hostess. She was walking toward the doors that would lead onto the terrace when Winnie stopped her.
“Where are you going?”
“For a bit of cool air. Would you care to join me?”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m basking in Avendale’s praise. He’s ever so pleased with how things are going this evening.”
“I’m glad, Winnie.”
“I should tell him that most of it is your doing.”
“No, don’t. You helped with the planning. Allow him to think it’s all you.” If it makes him easier to live with, she added to herself. She squeezed her friend’s hand. “Go enjoy yourself. I won’t be long.”
She walked onto the terrace. With the lanterns in the garden, she could see a few couples strolling along the numerous paths. She’d never had a gentleman take her on a turn about the garden. Not entirely true, she realized. Claybourne had walked through a garden with her the night they agreed to their bargain.
She wandered over to the side of the terrace where the glow from the lights didn’t reach. She wanted solitude, she wanted—
“Will you honor me with this dance?”
Her heart very nearly stopped at the sound of Claybourne’s voice. She spun around to see him lurking in the shadows like some miscreant.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was invited.”
“No, yes, I mean, I know you received an invitation, but you’ve not made your entrance.”
“Why should I go through that bother when you’re the only one I care to dance with? I assumed sooner or later you’d step outside, so I’ve been waiting.”
And Luke had almost given up on her coming out. He’d been peering discreetly through a window, watching her. She was so beautiful this evening, her gown revealing the gentle swells of her breasts. The music drifted onto the night, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to dance with a woman.