A Perilous Attraction. Patricia Rowell Frances

very rigidity indicated that he would keep his word. And she must admit he wasn’t asking for something she felt unwilling to give in return.

      And she had no idea what else she might do.

      “Very well, my lord. I fear that we are engaging in folly of monumental proportions, but my decision is made. I accept your proposal.”

      Chapter Two

      Lord Caldbeck waited so long to reply that Catherine feared he had suddenly changed his mind.

      “I am relieved.”

      Catherine shook her head in disbelief. If his lordship had been laboring under any anxiety whatsoever, it certainly was not apparent.

      “When do you wish to have the ceremony performed? I…I may not be able to stay here much longer.” She gestured toward the door, through which the thump of boxes and trunks being moved about was audible.

      “As soon as possible. I already have a special license. Perhaps you need to do some shopping. Have you a white dress?”

      Catherine looked at him blankly. “A white dress?”

      “To be married in. I would like to see my bride in white.” He paused and then inquired neutrally, “I assume it is appropriate?”

      Catherine’s face positively flamed. “Of course, it is appropriate! Do you think…?”

      Caldbeck held up a restraining hand. “Like you, I believe in the need for plain speaking. It is one thing I believe we have in common. Have you a dress?”

      “Yes.” Catherine hated herself for stammering. How did this man manage to put her out of countenance so easily? And without ever raising his voice? “Yes, I have a white ensemble that will be suitable. It is quite new, in fact. When…?”

      “This afternoon. At four o’clock. I have made the arrangements with the chapel. If you have anyone whom you wish to be present, give me their names at once, and I shall have my secretary send cards. I have already taken the liberty of inviting a few of the people I know to be your friends to join us for dinner at my London house.”

      So soon! Irate again, Catherine put her fists on her hips. “Wait just a minute! You have already invited my friends to a wedding dinner? How could you be so sure I would accept your bargain?”

      Caldbeck lifted her chin on one finger and looked intently into her outraged face. “You had very little choice, Kate. You were not bred to toil…and that would be a dreadful waste. I thought you would want to have your friends with you, and that you would wish to say goodbye. We shall be returning to Yorkshire very soon.”

      This time Catherine could not fail to hear a certain gentleness in his tone. Perhaps he understood more of her feelings at this unsettling moment than she did. In her need to reach a decision she had not let herself feel the pain of losing her comfortable life, all her hope of independence, of leaving everything and everyone she knew. At the unexpected sympathy a lump formed in her throat. She nodded without speaking.

      “Good. You will stay at my home, of course. You’d best have your maid pack your belongings, and I shall send my footmen to transport them.”

      Lips compressed, Catherine nodded again, blinking back tears. Caldbeck extended a hand. She placed hers in it, and he carried it to his lips. Then, as if thinking better of it, instead of kissing her fingers, he pulled her to him. Catherine felt the warmth of his big hand on her back through her shift. Before she had fully taken in that sensation, the roughness of his coat pressed against her breasts. She felt the light scrape of a carefully shaved cheek as he lifted her face with his free hand and covered her mouth with his.

      The warmth of his kiss flowed through Catherine from her lips to her knees. Without thinking, she leaned into the embrace. His arms tightened around her, pulling her up against a bulge between his legs. Catherine had never been kissed in her shift. Heavens, she could feel so much of him! She was aware of the bulge as never before. Apparently the Earl of Caldbeck was not devoid of all feeling.

      The fabric of his breeches and the smooth leather of his tall boot brushed against the skin of her legs as he slipped a foot between hers. Catherine sighed and her legs went weak. The hand on her back pressed her closer, supporting her against him. Just as her senses began to reel, he released her and stepped back. She stumbled, and Caldbeck quickly steadied her.

      He touched her face with one finger. “That’s better. I do not wish to have a red-eyed bride.”

      Catherine hunted once again for traces of laughter—or perhaps displeasure—but as usual, found none. She drew in a deep breath.

      Caldbeck turned and started for the door. “I shall call for you at half after three.”

      Somewhat before half after three, Catherine sat at her dressing table, attired in the new white dress and pelisse. A good thing that white became her! Even though it was associated with young debutantes, she liked the dramatic effect it created with her vivid coloring. Satisfied by the reflection that looked back at her from the dressing mirror, she fingered the pearl necklace, which had been delivered to her an hour earlier. Lord Caldbeck was nothing if not efficient.

      She reached up to alter slightly the tilt of the tiny hat that Sally was fastening to the fiery mass of ringlets piled at her crown. Tipping her head, Catherine watched the play of sunlight from the window across her gleaming locks. She always marveled at the way the sun brought out the deep colors, turning them almost purple in the shadows.

      Red hair was far from fashionable, but Catherine liked hers, nonetheless. It suited her. She dabbed a tiny bit of powder over the all but indiscernible freckles across her nose. Freckles were another matter. She really should wear nothing but wide-brimmed hats, she told herself for the thousandth time.

      While Sally rummaged in the wardrobe for gloves and reticule, Catherine had time—unfortunately—to reflect on her situation. In less than a day she had gone from being a wealthy young woman, looking forward to the independent control of her own fortune, to being a pauper. Now, a few hours later, she faced becoming the bride of a man with a face of stone. She shivered.

      His bride! She would spend tonight in his house. Her stomach sank. Now that her curiosity was about to be satisfied, she found herself pulling back. Tonight she would lie in the bed of a total stranger. She would be completely at his mercy, and she had no idea of his true nature or of what to expect from him. Catherine considered herself a bold woman, but even if he had not broken the door, those glacial eyes held enough menace to strike terror to a heart braver yet than hers.

      For a moment panic gripped her. She jumped up from the vanity stool and strode around the room. She couldn’t go through with it! She couldn’t. She started at the sound of her maid’s voice.

      “Miss Catherine? Come and sit down, do, Miss Catherine. I need to put your gloves on you. See? I’ve picked the stitches loose on the ring finger so you can tuck it under. And you’ve a strand of hair come loose.”

      Catherine sighed and, returning to the dresser, sat and extended her hand. While Sally coaxed the tight kid gloves into place, Catherine took several deep breaths and strove for calm. It would not be so bad. Surely it would not. He was a handsome man, and the kiss they had shared…Oh, dear! This line of thought didn’t help. She was turning red again.

      “Are you warm, miss? To me the room is just a thought too cool.” Sally began to fan her with the pierced ivory fan from her reticule.

      “No, no.” Catherine pushed the fan away. “I’m fine.”

      At that moment they heard the crunch of carriage wheels in the street. Sally hurried to the window. “I think that’s him, Miss Catherine,” she reported. “Oh! Would you look at that carriage! All silver-gray like, and with the finest dapple grays. Alike to a hair, they are!”

      Catherine, none too fond of the idea of being caught peeking out the window at her bridegroom, peered over Sally’s shoulder. The shield and wolf’s head coat-of-arms on the door of the carriage