CHAPTER 1
England—Spring, 1806
Lady Catherine Bourgeault placed her fork on her plate and ended the pretense that she was enjoying her supper. She had scolded the cook repeatedly, but as long as the baron did not care nothing would change.
“What’s the matter, my dear? Do you not find the meal to your liking?”
Catherine stared down the long table to where her husband sat, though she felt no need to answer his facetious question. She would never understand how he stayed so thin, for he ate great quantities of food and drank copious amounts of wine, and quality of taste was never an issue.
Lord Bourgeault expelled a loud belch and patted his stomach. “Robby,” he bellowed, “another bottle of Port and don’t dawdle.”
The burly footman who stood at the dining room entrance rushed to do his master’s bidding, fetching the Port from the sideboard. Rather than waiting for the servant to pour the wine, the baron grabbed the bottle and took a swig.
She’d had enough. One more night of dancing attendance on a drunken reprobate and her mind might go numb forever. Happily, he no longer demanded her presence when he was in his cups, rambling on at her until she felt like pulling her hair out in frustration.
She stood to leave.
“One moment, wife.” He paused, his manner sly. “I have an announcement to make.”
Catherine felt a fissure of alarm sluice down her spine, but she allowed her face to register nothing more than mild curiosity. She knew he liked to disconcert her, and she refused to grant him the pleasure of believing he had succeeded.
When she did not speak the baron began anew, although she knew she had irritated him. “If all goes according to plan,” he said, “we will have a guest coming for a short stay. I will expect you to play the hostess.” It was not a request.
“When might that be, Edgar?” She allowed her tone to fall just short of insolence.
He stood abruptly, knocking the chair he sat on to the floor with a crash. He wrapped his great hands into fists and, leaning them on the table in front of him, glared at her. “The arrangements haven’t been made.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. “Do not toy with me, Catherine, for I can and will make you very miserable.”
“I have no such intention, Edgar. I simply do not understand what purpose it serves to have me preside over festivities no decent woman would allow. I’m aware that men engage in activities that are less than noble, but they usually protect their wives from the goings on. Let me greet your guests and then withdraw.”
“This is no ordinary gentleman.” He spoke softly now, although she still detected his displeasure. “He is the Earl of Ashworth, and I wish you to be especially pleasant to him.”
“What does that mean ‘especially pleasant’?”
“It means,” his voice took on a silky quality that unnerved her more, “I want him to feel welcome in my home, and I expect you to do your part.”
“Why would the Earl of Ashworth pay you a visit?”
“Business if you must know. Nothing that need concern you. Robby, right my chair.”
The baron sat down heavily and emitted another deep-throated belch as the footman once again hastened to do his master’s bidding.
Catherine swallowed, unable to hide her disgust. “It’s Abel and Cain, isn’t it? Why do you continue to use those horses to entice the unsuspecting to this barren old castle? We both know you have no intention of selling them. No one will be able to meet the price you have placed on their hides.”
The baron bit the end of one fingernail and spit it across the table. He smiled at her, his expression smug. “The earl can many times over—without a noticeable dip in his bank account, I might add.”
“But you are also rich, Edgar. You have no need of the money.”
“I would prefer you not mention that to the earl.”
Catherine understood the threat attached to what seemed an innocuous request. “If that’s all,” she said.
She turned once more to leave, and once more he detained her.
“There is one other thing, love.” Why must he always appear gratified when he knew he was about to tell her something she would hate? “I purchased you a new gown to wear the first night the earl is here. Cost me a pretty penny and, I assure you, it is very fashionable.”
And she could put it next to all the other gowns he had bought her now hanging in her wardrobe, she thought disparagingly, gowns only a trollop would wear.
Aloud she said, “Perhaps, if fashionable began in a bawdy house, Edgar. How could you wish the gentlemen you invite here to view your wife as someone so vulgar? Perhaps someday you will explain it to me.”