Matthew shrugged. “I am in agreement.”
“Can you imagine what they’ll think of me if I agree to marry you? I would…” She stopped, gave a start, and stared at him. “What did you say?”
Matthew once again stepped closer, but this time she didn’t back away. “I am in agreement. If it were up to me, we would only have a House of Commons making the laws for this country. Members elected by the voters,” he said.
Catherine gave him a stare, incredulous. “If that’s true, then why haven’t you renounced your title?” she challenged.
Sighing, he tugged on his earlobe and glanced back at the bed. “May I?” He held out an arm and wrapped it around her back to lead her to the bed. Before they had made it halfway—the counterpane nearly tripped her twice—he scooped her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the mattress. He followed her in, quickly covering them both with the blankets.
“If you’re going to try and change my mind—”
“I am.”
“—it’s not going to work.”
Matthew displayed a crestfallen face. “Catherine,” he whispered. “If it would make a difference, Iwouldrenounce my title,” he said softly. “The Wingfield title and properties would go back to the Crown, as would both houses.”
“Even the houses?”
“They’re all entailed,” he replied. “The farmlands, the manor house, this house.” He waved a hand in resignation. “Where would I live? Where wouldyoustart your business?”
Reminded she had been offered the salon to use as an office for her publishing company, Catherine dipped her head, but tears had already once again formed in the corners of her eyes. “I would not ask you to give up your home,” she murmured. “But you must understand…” She allowed a sigh that was interrupted by a sob.
Matthew shook his head. “Surely there is a way we can make this work. You don’t have to tell anyone you’ll be a countess,” he offered.
“It won’t take long for this entire town to learn the truth,” she countered. Still wrapped in the counterpane, she stepped off the bed and moved to the chair to collect her clothing. Without another word, she made her way into the bathing chamber and closed the door.
Matthew heaved asigh and considered his options. Surely he could make her come ’round. Say something to convince her he would make the perfect husband. The perfect partner for her publishing company.
He thought to remind her he had taken her virtue—that much was evident by the blood stain on the bed linens—but he thought better of it. Now that she had experienced sexual congress, she might feel free to explore it with someone else.
The streak of jealousy he experienced surprised him.
“I suppose I must really love her,” he whispered to himself, deciding how he was going to proceed.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel and thought of what he could do. Rushing from the bed, he rang for Chessings and began to dress.
The knock at the door came only a moment later.
“I need the coach readied,” he said.
“I’ve already ordered it, sir,” the butler replied.
Matthew blinked. “You have?”
Chessings displayed a look of guilt. “I thought you might need it.”
From his expression, Matthew wondered if the butler had been eavesdropping since the moment he had delivered breakfast. “Oh. Very good. I do hope it’s not too early to pay a call on Mr. Kingston.”
“It’s too early, sir.”
Once again blinking at hearing the dour response, Matthew huffed as he slid on his shirt. “Then I’ll wait until he’s ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Chessings replied, seeing to wrapping and tying a fresh cravat around Matthew’s neck before he took his leave.
Matthew was buttoning his topcoat when Catherine emerged from the bathing chamber. Her eyes were rimmed with red, evidence she had been crying whilst she’d dressed.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said. “If you could be so kind as to give my regards to your cook for the chocolate. It was delicious.”
