Chapter Thirteen #2
“How progressive of you,” she managed, echoing the duke’s earlier observation with considerably less enthusiasm. “Though surely there’s comfort in traditional arrangements as well? A lady guided by her husband’s superior experience, a gentleman supported by his wife’s domestic talents...”
Drake barely suppressed a grimace.
The world Lady Elizabeth described—where men and women remained in rigidly defined spheres, never truly partners but merely complementary ornaments in each other’s lives—was precisely the arrangement his parents had maintained.
Its elegant emptiness had driven him across an ocean in search of something more authentic.
“Some may find comfort in such arrangements,” he conceded diplomatically. “I prefer relationships based on mutual respect and shared purpose.”
Something in Lady Elizabeth’s expression suggested she was rapidly reconsidering his suitability as a prospective husband. The thought should have concerned him, given his pressing need to marry. Instead, he felt only relief.
They returned to the drawing room a few minutes later, Lady Elizabeth making a graceful but definite move to join a group of young ladies near the pianoforte. Drake took advantage of his temporary freedom to observe Katherine once more.
She was still engaged with Lord Barrington, though her posture had subtly shifted from polite attention to barely concealed impatience. As Drake watched, she glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel, then back to her companion with what appeared to be forced interest.
Without consciously deciding to do so, Drake found himself moving in their direction.
“Lady Katherine,” he said, approaching with a slight bow. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Lord Barrington looked distinctly annoyed at the intrusion, but Katherine’s expression brightened with what seemed like genuine relief.
“Not at all, Lord Greythorne. Lord Barrington was just sharing his insights on the Peninsula campaign.”
“Fascinating subject,” Drake commented politely. “Though I wonder if I might borrow Lady Katherine briefly? There’s a matter regarding the mill repairs at Greythorne that requires her expertise.”
It was a transparent excuse, but Katherine seized it immediately. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me, Lord Barrington? Estate matters, you understand.”
The older man bowed stiffly. “Naturally. Though I had hoped to continue our discussion of my proposal to show you my collection of military memorabilia.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Katherine replied, not quite managing to sound regretful as she placed her hand on Drake’s proffered arm.
Drake led her toward a relatively quiet corner of the drawing room, aware of the warmth of her hand on his sleeve and the subtle scent of lavender that seemed to surround her.
“Thank you,” Katherine murmured once they were out of Lord Barrington’s earshot. “If I had to hear one more anecdote about cavalry manoeuvres, I fear I might have done something unforgivably rude.”
“My rescue was entirely self-serving,” Drake assured her, unable to suppress a smile at her grateful expression. “Lady Elizabeth was showing me our host’s collection of miniatures with rather more enthusiasm than the subject warranted. I required a credible escape.”
Katherine laughed, a genuine sound of amusement that transformed her face and sent an unexpected warmth through Drake’s chest.
“So, we’ve saved each other from social tedium,” she observed, her blue eyes bright with humour. “Though I notice Lady Elizabeth seemed quite captivated by your company earlier. Did the miniatures not hold her interest?”
The hint of jealousy in her tone was unmistakable, despite her attempt at casual inquiry. Drake found himself unable to resist teasing her further.
“Lady Elizabeth is everything a gentleman could desire in a prospective countess,” he said, watching Katherine’s expression cloud slightly. “Beautiful, accomplished, properly deferential to male authority...”
“How delightful for you both,” Katherine replied, her voice cooling several degrees. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
“I would be miserable,” Drake corrected quietly. “As would she, eventually. We have nothing of substance in common.”
Katherine’s gaze snapped to his, searching his face as though trying to determine his sincerity. “Yet she meets all the requirements for a suitable countess.”
“On paper, perhaps.” Drake shrugged. “But marriage is more than a list of suitable attributes, isn’t it? At least, it should be.”
“Says the man who must marry within months or lose his inheritance,” Katherine pointed out, though without her earlier sharpness. “One would think practicality might necessarily outweigh sentiment in such circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” Drake acknowledged. “Yet I find myself stubbornly resistant to making what would amount to a business arrangement with a stranger, however suitable she appears.”
Katherine studied him curiously. “What would you prefer, then? Love at first sight? Romantic passion? Those seem unlikely prospects given your constraints.”
“Not love, necessarily,” Drake replied carefully. “But understanding. Compatibility. The sense that we share a fundamental view of what matters in life.”
He hesitated, then added, “The kind of connection where disagreement itself becomes engaging rather than merely irritating.”
Something shifted in Katherine’s expression—a fleeting vulnerability quickly masked by practiced composure. “A lofty aspiration for an arranged match.”
“Perhaps,” Drake agreed. “Yet I cannot help but think such connections exist. Even if they emerge in the most unexpected circumstances.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither spoke. The noise of the gathering seemed to recede, leaving only the charged silence between them.
“Your new countess might not appreciate your continued association with me,” Katherine said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most women would find it unusual.”
“Then she would not be the right countess,” Drake replied simply. “Greythorne needs your knowledge and connection to its people. I won’t sacrifice that for convention’s sake.”
Katherine drew a small, sharp breath. “You speak as though my involvement with the estate supersedes all other considerations.”
“Doesn’t it?” Drake asked quietly. “For both of us?”
Before she could answer, the duchess approached, her expression apologetic. “Katherine, I hate to interrupt, but Mrs. Wilson is demanding an introduction to you. Something about a charity committee.”
Katherine nodded, visibly gathering her composure. “Of course. Thank you, Bel.”
As she moved to step away, Drake found himself reaching for her wrist, his fingers closing gently around it before he could consider the impropriety of the gesture. Katherine froze, her gaze dropping to where his hand touched her.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
The duchess glanced between them, a knowing expression crossing her face before she tactfully stepped back. “I’ll tell Mrs. Wilson you’ll be along shortly.”
As Rosabel moved away, Katherine remained motionless, her wrist still captured in Drake’s light grasp. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingertips, matching the sudden acceleration of his own heart.
“This is dangerous,” Katherine whispered, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that stole his breath.
Drake released her wrist slowly, reluctantly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.”
What exactly “this” was, neither of them specified. But as Katherine moved away to join the duchess, the phantom warmth of her arm lingered on Drake’s fingertips, a sensation both exhilarating and deeply unsettling.
Because regardless of what his rational mind might argue, Drake knew with sudden, inescapable clarity that no woman—not Lady Elizabeth, not Lady Eleanor, not any eligible young lady in London—could possibly engage his interest the way Katherine Halston did.
And that realization was as inconvenient as it was undeniable.