Chapter 5
“Edward’s mother will never relinquish her position in that household to another woman, daughter-in-law or not,” Catherine said. “Trust me, the young woman had best develop a very thick skin, and be prepared for the fight of her life if she ever wants to be mistress of that house.”
Realizing her temper was rising, Rian was at a loss to comprehend why. “For all the affection you bear Edward, it is hard to reconcile such animosity toward his mother.”
Catherine sighed and studied her hands for a few moments. She did not look up at Rian as she spoke. “Edward told me he discussed my family with you, so I am sure you already know the details of how my poor papa gambled away his fortune.” He said nothing, humbled that she accepted he was already in possession of the facts. “Well, no matter.” Catherine continued, “If not Edward then someone else would have revealed the truth.”
“Edward and I were childhood playmates, and it is fair to say that a certain fondness developed between us over the years. However, our association was abruptly severed once I reached fifteen. I found out later this was the time our family’s circumstances were forever changed. Looking back, it wasn’t hard to understand why my papa accepted when we were invited to a special celebration in Edward’s honor. I’m sure he hoped that, with the right encouragement, the friendship between us might rekindle, and become something more. Something that would make Edward defy his mother’s wishes in his choice of a wife. I think my father always knew I would be strong enough to stand up to her, but she was Edward’s mother, and he had to take the first step.”
Her smile was tinged with sadness as she picked some imaginary lint off her dress. “I knew what my father was thinking, and if I had refused to attend, the outcome of all our lives would have been very different. But it had been so long since I had been riding, or had a new dress, or been dancing…”She slowly raised her eyes and looked at him. “What a horrible opinion you must have of me now.”
Rian wanted to take her in his arms, and tell her that Edward, poor Edward, who still lacked the backbone to stand up to his mother, would never have made her happy. The haunted look in her eyes made him think she already knew this.
“I think you found yourself in a situation over which you had little control,” he told her in a low voice. “And you wanted to please your father, someone you cared for very much.”
For a few moments the room was very quiet, and then Catherine looked away before continuing, her voice eerily calm.
“Well, I’m sure you know what happened during the hunt that preceded the ball. It was simply awful seeing papa lying on the ground, all twisted and bent. Edward was kind enough to take me away from all those horrible people who didn’t care that I heard every cruel, heartless word they said about my father. He took me to the stables, to an empty stall, and he held me while I wept, and wept, and wept. I know I was sobbing for my poor papa, but if I am truly honest, I was weeping as much for myself. I don’t know how long we sat there, but it was dark when Edward’s mother found us.
“It was awful. She and Edward argued, and it was the first time I could recall him ever raising his voice to her.” She sounded almost wistful. “But it made no difference. She ordered him to return to the house and attend to his guests, and then gave instructions to one of the grooms to hitch a horse to a cart so I could be taken back to The Hall with my father’s body.” Despite the calm with which she spoke, Rian saw the fire in her eyes as the memory of the incident roiled within her. Getting to her feet, Catherine began pacing, her hands clasping and unclasping as she continued with her story.
“Lady Barclay informed me that this would be the last ride they would ever provide for me, and then assured me that lifting my petticoats for her son would prove to be a complete waste of time. As long as there was breath in her body, she would make certain he never married me. It took me a moment before I realized what she meant. She thought, with my father lying dead in a field, that I would try to secure a promise of marriage from Edward using my body.” Catherine stopped pacing and turned suddenly, her arms wrapped about herself as tears spilled down her cheeks. “H-h-how could she think that I would do such a thing? Give myself to Edward—or any man for that matter—in that way, or for so mean a reason?”
Experience told Rian she wasn’t looking for an answer, though he could have told her such an action was not unheard of. He watched as she sat back in the chair and took the handkerchief he had given her earlier from her pocket.
“I don’t suppose I can fault her for thinking such a thing,” Catherine said, sounding defeated as she wiped her eyes. “She was only trying to protect her family, but if she thought me capable of such a monstrous act, what did it say about the regard she had for her own son? Edward is the perfect gentleman. He would never do anything so despicable.” Pain and humiliation were etched on her face, making Rian wish with all his heart he could pour a magic balm to soothe the hurt. She reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’ve never told anyone about that until now,” she whispered huskily, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “Not even Edward knows.”
“It needed to be told, and you may trust I will keep your confidence.”
An awkward, heavy silence fell as they both struggled with feelings they desperately wanted to put into words. Fearful of saying the wrong thing, they remained silent. Once uttered, words could not be taken back.
“I suppose it was Edward who told you about the heather,” Catherine said, seizing on a less painful topic to discuss.
Rian shook his head, allowing a smile to lift the corner of his mouth. “No, you are wrong. I met an amazing person who claims a long acquaintance with you. Old Ned—”
“Ohhh!”
This time Rian did not hold back. He jumped out of his chair and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her head against his chest, as sobs wracked her body. Talking about Lady Barclay had opened a door Catherine had meant always to keep locked. The hurt was still fresh enough she had not found the charity to forgive Edward’s mother her vicious words. And then hearing Rian say Old Ned’s name had swung the pendulum to the other side of her emotional arc. Old Ned, the faithful gardener at The Hall who had always been so kind to her. The only one she could count on for help when her father had been so drunk she couldn’t manage him alone. Stalwart and unfaltering in his loyalty to the family, he had held both of her hands and cried unashamedly when she told him good-bye.
Two different individuals, each of whom had left their mark on her in different ways and for different reasons—it was no wonder she was crying. And now Rian was holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, offering comfort.
“Catherine…I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
Feeling the warmth of his body against hers, his strong arms around her, his scent filling her nostrils, only made the pain that much sharper. She pulled her head away and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and lashes heavy with moisture.
“Then why did you take Isabel to your bed that night?”
Catherine had not meant to be so blunt. In truth, she hadn’t realized she had been thinking about Isabel, but the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, and now there was no turning back. He was a man of experience and he could have had Catherine that night. Surely he knew that? She would have gone willingly to his bed. Lord knows she’d offered herself to him, but he had refused her. The rejection had hurt then, and it still did. It was like a thorn in her flesh, one that had to be removed completely or else it would burrow deeper under her skin and fester.
“Why take her and not me?” Catherine demanded in a tremulous whisper. “You said you wanted me…needed me. Was it a lie?”
“No!” Rian shook his head vehemently and tightened his hold on her, but she struggled against him, so he let her go. Running his fingers through his thick hair, his face the picture of perfect misery, he struggled to find the words to ease her anger and hurt.
Felicity had told him to be truthful, but how could he do so when the truth sounded to his own ears like nothing more than a flimsy excuse? Rian knew in his heart and soul that Catherine was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, in a lover, in a wife. He felt the heat rising. His temples throbbed as his pulse pounded, and his heart hammered against his ribcage. She continued to stare at him, her eyes quickly darkening to bottomless pools of deep blue as the gathering storm raged within her, a storm that Rian was more than willing to have consume him.
“Catherine, you must believe me when I tell you I don’t remember taking Isabel to my bed. I swear by all that is dear to me, I don’t remember lying down with her or making love to her. I swear to you on my brother’s life.”
She looked at him, aghast. “You admit to making love to her?”
He shook his head, “No—yes—I don’t know. She says I did, but it didn’t feel like I did.”
The air between them suddenly became very thick, and Rian watched Catherine close her eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the truth of his denial to cleanse her. When she looked at him again he saw her eye color had almost regained its normal hue, and her temper was subsiding. She came to him and placed her hand on his arm.
“Tell me what happened that night.”
“Are you certain you want to know?”
Unwilling to see the reproof in Catherine’s eyes, Rian dropped his own. The floral design below his feet told him the carpet had been his mother’s choice. All these years, and he had never noticed.
“Yes, I do.” Though softly spoken, the firm determination in Catherine’s voice made him raise his head and look at her. “I was not so drunk I’ve forgotten the words spoken to me by you in this room. Was any of it the truth?”
“Every single word.”
“Then if there is any hope for us, you must tell me what happened after I left you.”
For Rian it was more than a confession. He told her of finding Isabel in his room, of the toast to not standing in the way of fate that she’d proposed, and the brandy they’d shared. He explained his strange reaction to the alcohol and his later belief that he’d been drugged. He even gave her his hazy memories of making love to a woman he’d believed was Catherine herself, and his horror the next morning when he awoke to find Isabel in his bed.
He drained what was left in his glass and waited for Catherine to speak. She stared at him. His body language and the anguish on his face told her all she needed to know. He had not then, nor would he ever again, willingly give himself to Isabel Howard.
“I appreciate how difficult that was for you,” she murmured as she moved toward the door. As painful as the words were for him to say, they had been even harder for her to hear.
“Catherine…” Reaching out, he caught her hand as she passed him. She stopped with her back to him. “Marry me,” he whispered.
Her sharp intake of breath sounded like a whip being cracked, and Rian watched her head snap up and her body stiffen, but she did not look at him. Instead she gently pulled her hand from his.
“If your feelings remain the same, ask me again in the morning.” And for a second time she left him alone in the library, staring after her.