A Perilous Attraction. Patricia Frances Rowell

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СКАЧАТЬ stared at him for the space of three breaths, then, grabbing her hat from the chair, turned with a great swish of skirts and marched out of the room.

      Out of sight of her uncle, Catherine abandoned dignity and fled up the stairs to her bedchamber. Slamming the door, she turned the key in the lock, threw her hat at the bed and resumed her pacing, her thoughts boiling.

      My God, this can’t be happening! Her uncle’s announcement refused to become reality in her mind. No home? This house had been a refuge for half her life—not a comfortable one, perhaps, but a home. No money? She had been counting heavily on quarter day, as she had already all but depleted her allowance for the current quarter. There had been the clothes for the boys in the new home and the new beds for the foundling hospital and the expense of the reception for the contributors.

      And, of course, there had been the new hunter.

      She brightened a bit. Her horses! The hunter alone would bring enough to lease a house for a year. She could sell her horses, but…what if Uncle Ambrose had already sold them? Or more probably, lost them? She had no doubt that many of his investments took place at the card table.

      At that thought rage consumed her once again, and the kick she gave her train as she turned almost undid her. Her foot tangled in the fabric, and only sheerest luck stopped her from falling headlong onto the carpet. Too much! It really was too much.

      She seized the edge of her jacket and yanked, all but pulling the buttons off. She struggled out of it and flung it at the wardrobe. Her boots followed, and she tore at the fastenings of the treacherous dress. It came to rest under the bed.

      Thus liberated, Catherine resumed her prowling, trying to relieve her frustration. Greedy! A sofa cushion bounced off the wall. Grasping! The small footstool clattered as it fell on its side near the window. Stupid man! A book tumbled off the table she struck with her fist. Sucking her bruised knuckle, she looked about for something else on which to take out her fury.

      She caught the barest glimpse of her maid’s head as Sally peeked around the dressing room door. The sight of her mistress stamping around her bedchamber in her shift evidently dismayed the abigail, for she quickly withdrew her head and closed the door. Catherine paused.

      What would become of Sally? The question sobered her. Catherine suddenly realized that she was not the only victim of this disaster. All the servants would suffer. How could she prevent it? No home, no money, no income. Nothing with which to pay the loyal girl, no place for them to live. Fear began to replace anger. Her unseeing gaze fixed on the scene outside the glass, Catherine pulled the footstool to the window and sat down.

      She must think. What was she to do? Income represented the greatest problem. Even if she could wrest her horses from Uncle Ambrose’s grasp, the money would not last long enough to give her the independence she’d so eagerly anticipated.

      At least, whatever she decided, she would be free of her venal uncle and his lachrymose wife. What a relief that would be! They had never wanted her in their home. The control of her fortune was the only reason they had accepted the guardianship of a twelve-year-old girl at all. At least Papa had been shrewd enough to link the two in his will. But apparently even he had not realized to what depths his brother would sink.

      Catherine sighed and rested her elbows on the window ledge, chin on hand. She had friends who would take her in, but having been an unwelcome addition to one household, she did not relish the idea of repeating that experience. Could she possibly find gainful employment? For a gently bred young woman it would prove almost impossible. So…what?

      A tentative tap sounded at her door, followed by the voice of her uncle’s footman. “Miss Catherine, are you ‘in’?”

      “Not now.” In no frame of mind for visitors, she turned on the stool to face the door. “I do not wish to be disturbed.”

      “The Earl of Caldbeck is below stairs, miss. He requests a few minutes of your time.”

      “I said no! Tell him I cannot see him now.” Hearing the retreating footsteps of the servant, Catherine returned to staring out the window. Caldbeck himself—the last person she wished to see at that moment. Heaven help her, what could she do? Her thoughts simply would not come to order.

      Reluctantly she considered Lord Caldbeck. She found nothing objectionable in his person—quite the opposite, in fact. Tall and elegantly slender, but with shoulders whose width owed nothing to his tailor, he might be very attractive were he not so cold. She could do worse.

      But she had been determined for so long to avoid marriage. For one thing, Catherine had learned the hard way not to trust anyone but herself to take care of her, and a husband, by law, would have so much power, so much control over her.

      Giving up her longed-for independence would be a bitter pill to swallow, but it was already lost. Her money was gone. Swallow she must. But the other thing, the bigger thing…So much more important; the loss of the decision so much harder to accept.

      And so tempting to accept.

      Children. Marriage meant children, and nothing stirred her heart as a child did. It fell within her reach at this moment to allow herself her dearest, most secret wish—a family of her own, a home of her own, children on which she could lavish the love and attention she had lacked since she was twelve years old.

      But children were so appallingly vulnerable!

      Catherine sighed. She could not take the risk. She’d long ago made up her mind to that, though it tore her very soul. Now, if she accepted Caldbeck, that wonderful, terrifying possibility again became a reality. But if something happened to her…If her children were left alone in the world as she had been, as the waifs she befriended were…The very thought brought tears to her eyes.

      She dashed them away. She must think. Could she possibly live with someone like the reticent earl? Her emotions were always evident and vigorous. Surely a man so reserved would stifle her, try to restrain her, want her to be a docile and efficient wife. Could she change her nature enough ever to be that? Very unlikely—not for anyone. They would both be mad with aggravation within six months!

      A half-smile touched her lips. Caldbeck obviously did not know what he had bargained for. What a shock he would get if she did accept him. He might find this a marriage of inconvenience. It would serve him right, thinking he could buy her.

      At that moment a firmer knock rattled the door panels. Annoyed, she glared at the door.

      “I told you, I am not to be disturbed.”

      “It is I, Caldbeck. I would like to speak with you.”

      Catherine sat silent for a startled moment. Good heavens, the man stood at her door! How dare he? What in the world could she say to him? She couldn’t talk now. She needed more time. Time to think…

      “I do not wish to talk now. Come back tomorrow.” As soon as she spoke the words, Catherine realized that she might not be in that house tomorrow. She no longer lived here. Already she heard the sounds of packing and the preparations to close the mansion. She began to feel a bit panicky.

      “I believe it would be of benefit for us to talk now.” The voice on the other side of the door was flat, without inflection. Catherine heard not a smidgen of persuasion in it. How could he sound so…so unfeeling at a time like this? Had the man no sensibility at all?

      “Of benefit to whom? You are trying to buy me. Go away!” She turned her back and СКАЧАТЬ