Page 37 of A Daring Desire

“Catherine, no.” He put his hand flat on the door, holding it closed.

She turned to stare at him, calm now. “Let me go,” she said, her voice firm.

He shook his head. “You can’t. Not now… not when….”

He flushed, colour cresting his high cheekbones, but the words stuck in his throat, and she knew he could not speak them aloud. He was too afraid. Compassion filled her chest, making her ache to give in, to tell him she would stay, but she feared he would always hold her at a distance if she made it easy for him. That he would never allow himself to fully own feelings he had avoided so carefully his entire life.

“I won’t let you divorce me,” he growled furiously.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the determination behind the words.

“I did not ask you for a divorce. Yet,” she added, for it had been in her mind just moments earlier.

“Dammit, Catherine! I won’t let you give up. Not now.” There was something that sounded very much like panic behind the words, and she met his gaze, raising her hand to cup his cheek. He covered it with his own, closing his eyes and she had to swallow hard, to steel her nerve.

“I’m going now,” she said, the words gentle but inexorable. “You know where I will be if you want me.”

His eyes snapped open, reproach blazing there as he stared at her. “Your father won’t let me anywhere near you. He’ll shut me out and keep me away, to keep us apart. He’ll want you to divorce me. He’ll do everything he can to make you to do it.”

She nodded, knowing all of that was true. “Yes, I expect he will.”

He let go of her hand, hurt and anger flickering in his expression. “This is punishment, then,” he said bitterly.

Cat shook her head. “No, my love. It's self-preservation. There are only so many times you can feel your heart break before you wonder if the next time it will be beyond repair. If you really want me, you can prove to me you mean it. You can prove to me you truly care, and that you want a marriage, a life with me. Show me you mean it.”

He sent her an incinerating look of disgust. “If you think I’m going to go off on a quest or—”

“Fight a dragon?” she suggested, amused by his indignation. Lord, how his pride must be smarting. “No, nothing so dramatic, I assure you.”

“What, then?” he demanded.

Cat moved closer to him, laying her hand over his heart and standing on tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“When you figure it out, I shall be waiting.” She drew back to regard the doubt and uncertainty in his eyes and knew she must be ruthless if she was to have the relationship she dreamed of. “But I won’t wait forever. Five years is long enough already.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and reached for the door handle. He did not stop her this time, and so she walked away.

Chapter 12

Dearest Ruth,

Yes, Helena was quite correct. Catherine came home two weeks ago, and I do not know whether to be overjoyed or heartbroken. She came on Christmas Day without a word of warning, and in such a way it was obvious there must have been some dreadful scene with Kilbane, and yet she seemed almost serene. Indeed, I cannot help but believe she is happier than she has been in a very long time, like she has a secret we don’t know. It is driving her poor father to distraction. He is doing everything in his power to convince her to get a divorce, but she is adamant in her refusal. What a strange world we live in where Lucian, of all people, would push for such a thing, knowing the scandal that would ensue.

I keep hoping she will confide in me, and I think she has been tempted to do so, but for now, she keeps her own counsel. I cannot help thinking my darling girl is plotting, and if so, I do not know who I pity more, her father, or Lord Kilbane.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Ruth Anderson, Countess of Morven, from The Most Hon’ble Matilda Barrington, Marchioness of Montagu.

7th January 1850, Connaught Place, London.

Perry stared up at the imposing door of Connaught Place and wondered if he’d completely lost his mind. There were certainly plenty of people ready to dismiss him as a peculiar fellow, but that was neither here nor there. In the usual run of things, he did not possess a death wish, but… Something had been niggling at him ever since that appalling scene with Cat. His heart had ached for her, for the way she had broken down, crying her eyes out over a man who had never given a snap of his fingers for her. He’d been ready to do murder in that moment, and the way he’d spoken to Lord Kilbane had given him chills when he'd remembered it later the same day. Kilbane was big enough and had looked murderous enough to snap him like a twig, but he hadn’t. For a man of his black reputation, Perry would not have been surprised if Kilbane had turned nasty, violent even, but there had been nothing of the sort. He hadn’t wrested Cat away, hadn’t shouted the odds and threatened or thrown Perry out. He had not forced Cat to stay and, as her husband, he’d had every right to do so.

Instead, he'd watched her go, and Perry had watched him watch her go. That was why he was here now, to see if he’d really seen what he thought he had in Kilbane’s eyes: the look of a man watching the only thing he’d ever loved go out of his life.

“Good morning, Jefferies,” Perry said brightly as the door opened, swallowing down his breakfast, which seemed like it was keen to make another appearance. “I er… I wonder if Mr Berrycloth is available?” he asked with sudden inspiration. Surely the secretary would know if Kilbane was likely to throw Perry out of the first available window if he had the temerity to speak to him about something so personal.

“This way, Mr Bancroft,” Jefferies said with a nod.

Perry followed as the butler led him to Mr Berrycloth’s domain and then hesitated, glancing at Perry as if he very much wanted to say something, but was far too well trained to do so.