A Rogue to Resist (Sherton Sisters #6)

Chapter One

She was so used to the sounds of Society gossip that she was barely paying attention as she picked her way through the crowd. Everywhere one turned, there were voices expertly masked by the fluttering of fans. But there was one name that could pull her up short.

“Did you hear? The new Lord Greythorne has finally arrived in London. They say he’s quite the rogue.”

Katherine nearly tripped over her hem at the words, but her training as the daughter of the Duke of Wexford meant she held her dignity together.

She didn’t so much as flicker her eyelashes toward the gossipy matron who had so gleefully whispered the words in a near shout to her companion.

Lady Swansea’s friends prided themselves on always knowing the latest.

So, the heir had finally decided to show his face. What remarkably poor timing.

Lady Katherine Isabelle Allingham Halston, the Dowager Countess of Greythorne, had yet to meet her late husband’s heir.

She wouldn’t have minded at all if the lawyers had never found the man.

But why did he have to turn up just as she had set aside her full mourning to set her toes into Society once more?

She had always been the least lucky girl she knew.

Of course, others would never agree with her assessment. And of course, Katherine could never do something so common as to complain about her circumstances. She had enough wit to know most would consider her exceptionally fortunate.

She was born into wealth and privilege and position. She had also married “well”. And then her unpleasant husband had done her the great favour of leaving this earthly coil without too much fuss and after only five unhappily wedded years.

The only part of any of that which Katherine actually valued was the fact that her brilliant brother, the Duke of Wexford, had arranged for her to become a very wealthy widow if she were to ever be left without a spouse.

This was especially important considering she and the late, unlamented earl had never been blessed with children, especially the ever so important male variety.

Now was decidedly not the time for this rumination.

“Your Grace,” Katherine said with the exactly correct depth curtsy and a polite smile.

Rosabel, Katherine’s sister-in-law, the Duchess of Wexford, smiled and nodded in acceptance of the greeting.

“Are you well?” Bel asked in an undertone, hidden behind a society smile.

“Perfectly,” Katherine replied.

“Liar,” Rosabel countered with a light laugh and a nod to a passing acquaintance.

“Your Grace, Lady Katherine,” Lady Swansea said, a gleeful gleam glowing in her bright gaze. “Have you met Lord Greythorne yet? The new one, of course,” she added with a titter.

Rosabel stared at the other woman as though she had trespassed, which Katherine supposed she had.

It was socially maladroit to ask such a direct question in public about such a topic, knowing how awkward it might be.

But Katherine suspected allowing the duchess to give the other woman the cut direct could cause just as much discomfort.

“We haven’t yet met him, and it isn’t likely we’ll have to deal much with him, so there’s nothing to make a fuss about,” Katherine answered with a light wave of her hand as though the matter were of little consequence.

Lady Swansea’s eyes widened slightly at Katherine’s dismissive tone, clearly disappointed by the lack of drama in her response. “But surely—”

“Lady Swansea, I believe Mrs. Wilson is looking for you,” Rosabel interjected smoothly, her voice warm but brooking no argument. “Something about the refreshments for next week’s charity committee meeting.”

The woman’s face fell slightly, but she knew better than to ignore a duchess’s subtle dismissal. With a hurried curtsy, she retreated across the crowded drawing room.

Katherine released a quiet breath. “Thank you.”

“She’s like a bloodhound with gossip,” Rosabel murmured, watching Lady Swansea’s retreating form. “Particularly when she senses discomfort.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Katherine insisted, accepting a delicate china cup from a passing footman. She took a measured sip of tea, grateful for the momentary shield the cup provided.

“No?” Rosabel’s eyebrow arched delicately. “You’ve barely set foot in Society since Edmund’s death, and now the new Lord Greythorne arrives precisely when you’ve decided to venture out again.”

“A coincidence, nothing more.”

“Is that why you’re holding that cup so tightly I fear it might shatter?”

Katherine glanced down, startled to find her clenched knuckle was threatening the stitches of her gloves. She deliberately relaxed her grip.

“I simply dislike being the subject of whispers.”

“That’s the price of being a wealthy, beautiful young widow,” Rosabel said pragmatically. “And when one’s late husband’s title has passed to a mysterious bachelor who’s spent years abroad, with no one quite certain what manner of man he’s become…”

She shrugged eloquently.

“I care nothing for his pastimes,” Katherine said firmly. “The man may indulge in whatever vices he chooses. My life and his need not intersect in any meaningful way.”

“Is that so?” Rosabel’s voice held a note that immediately set Katherine on edge.

“What do you know that I don’t?” she asked, suddenly wary.

Rosabel glanced around the room, which was becoming increasingly crowded as more of London’s elite arrived for the Duchess of Pemberton’s afternoon tea.

“This isn’t the place,” she murmured. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

An uncomfortable tingle of apprehension crept up Katherine’s spine as she followed her sister-in-law through the elegant crush of silks and satins. Rosabel led them to a small alcove partially concealed by a large arrangement of hothouse flowers, offering the illusion of privacy in the busy room.

“What is it?” Katherine asked once they were settled.

Rosabel hesitated, uncharacteristically uncertain. “James received a letter this morning.”

“From?”

“The new Lord Greythorne.”

Katherine’s stomach tightened. “What could he possibly want with my brother?”

“Not with James, precisely.” Rosabel met her eyes directly. “With you.”

The teacup nearly slipped from Katherine’s fingers. “Me? Whatever for?”

“Estate matters, apparently.” Rosabel’s expression grew concerned. “Katherine, didn’t your solicitor mention there would be certain affairs to settle once the new earl took possession?”

“Mr. Blackstone indicated there might be a few signatures required, nothing more.” Katherine set her cup down on a nearby table with exaggerated care. “He assured me my settlement was secure and independent of the entailed property.”

“And so it is,” Rosabel hastened to assure her. “But there appear to be complications.”

“Complications,” Katherine echoed flatly.

Katherine’s brother had made sure she would gain ownership of Willow Park upon her husband’s death—her sanctuary, her independence made manifest.

Technically, Willow Park was part of the larger estate, but clear markers surrounded it.

If the new Lord Greythorne wished to consult her on the running of the larger estate, she would certainly make herself available, but she had a feeling he wished to dispute her claim to Willow Park—the fields of which were highly profitable, being that they were the only fields her dissolute husband had allowed her to control.

Those western fields represented more than mere acreage; they were her lifeline to independence. Without them, she would be reduced from comfortable autonomy to genteel poverty, dependent once again on her brother’s charity rather than her own careful management.

Rosabel’s words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.

“Lord Greythorne has requested a meeting. With you. To discuss certain aspects of the estate that apparently require joint resolution.”

“How convenient for him,” Katherine said, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “And I suppose this meeting cannot be conducted through our respective solicitors?”

Rosabel’s grimace was answer enough. “He was most insistent that the matters be addressed directly.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Rosabel winced slightly at Katherine’s incredulous expression. “At Wexford House. James insisted the meeting take place under our roof rather than at Greythorne House.”

“Tomorrow?” Katherine’s voice rose slightly before she caught herself, glancing around to ensure they hadn’t attracted attention. “How extraordinarily presumptuous.”

“He mentioned something about returning to his country estate by week’s end,” Rosabel explained. “Apparently, he’s only in London long enough to settle the most pressing business.”

Katherine drew in a deep breath, fighting against the sudden surge of irritation.

After five years of marriage to Edmund—controlling, calculating Edmund—she had promised herself never again to be at the mercy of a man’s whims. Now, less than a year after his death, his successor was already making demands on her time.

“I could refuse,” she said, though they both knew she wouldn’t.

“You could,” Rosabel agreed mildly. “But then he might seek you out elsewhere, perhaps at a less favourable moment. At least at Wexford House, you’ll have James and me as allies.”

Katherine nodded reluctantly.

Her brother and Rosabel had been her steadfast supporters through the difficult years of her marriage, not that she’d ever told them more than the half of it.

When Edmund had died suddenly of an apoplexy—brought on, no doubt, by one of his infamous rages—they had helped her navigate the complex transition to widowhood with dignity and discretion.

“What do you know of him?” Katherine asked finally. “This new Lord Greythorne.”

Rosabel pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Surprisingly little, considering his apparent reputation. His name is Drake Halston. He’s the grandson of Edmund’s great-uncle, I believe. The connection is distant enough that no one expected him to inherit.”