tear tracks. “It wasn’t the marquess I kissed.” Despite a visible effort to sustain her pout, a dreamy smile curved her lips. “It was the other fellow in the garden. Lord Melbourne’s cousin.”
Georgina’s pale blue eyes widened with shock. The soggy handkerchief Aunt Margaret pressed to her lips failed to muffle her dismayed cry.
Catriona folded her arms over her chest, her worst suspicions confirmed. Her cousin had always had a weakness for pretty boys. Despite her best efforts, Catriona had never forgotten the prettiest of them all—a young naval officer with an angel’s smile and the devil’s eyes whose touch had made her shiver with a yearning she had been too young to understand. She had hoped it would fade with time, not sharpen.
“And I suppose the marquess caught you kissing this fellow in the garden?” she asked her cousin.
Alice nodded. Her lower lip began to quiver anew. “He humiliated me in front of my friends and refused to speak to me all the way home in the carriage. I had no idea he had such a cruel and jealous streak. Perhaps it’s just as well I discovered it before we were wed.”
“Just as well for him, you mean,” Catriona muttered.
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Catriona’s being hateful to me, Mama. Make her go away.”
Drawing breath for a fresh wail, she snatched up a Meissen shepherdess from the table beside the bed. Catriona didn’t wait for her aunt’s dismissal. She slammed the bedchamber door an instant before the delicate porcelain shattered against the other side of it. Her cousin’s strident sobs followed her down the corridor.
Catriona hastened down the long curving staircase of the stately Palladian mansion she had called home since she was ten years old. Despite its tasteful combination of elegance and grandeur, there were times when Wideacre Park felt more like a prison than a palace.
The graceful arched windows and her uncle’s expectations caged her far more effectively than any iron bars. Although she had striven to reward him for his charity by becoming the proper young English lady he had always longed for her to be, there was still a wild and rebellious part of her that yearned to throw on her old plaid and scamper barefoot over the freshly cut grass.
But on this afternoon she had no choice but to heed the demands of duty. Uncle Ross had best learn the truth about what had transpired between Alice and her fiancé before he called the marquess out for publicly humiliating his eldest daughter. From the gossip she’d heard, Eddingham—a devout hunter—possessed both a steady hand and deadly aim.
When she reached the half-ajar door of her uncle’s study, she was surprised to hear the deep rumble of male voices.
She crept closer, wondering who would be thoughtless enough to intrude at such a delicate time. But before she could identify the unfamiliar baritone, her uncle’s voice rang out. “Is that you, Catriona? Do join us. The gentleman and I have concluded our private business.”
Catriona slipped into the study, startled to discover that the gentleman lounging in the brass-studded leather chair across from her uncle’s desk was none other than the Marquess of Eddingham himself. He looked far more composed than her cousin. His dark eyes were clear, his cool smile untainted. He revealed no overt signs of a broken heart, deepening Catriona’s suspicion that he had always possessed more affection for Alice’s ample dowry than for Alice herself.
With both his heavy jowls and the bags beneath his eyes drooping, her uncle looked more heartbroken than either Alice or the marquess. Catriona couldn’t really blame him.
Finding the scandal-prone Alice a husband had been no easy task.
Her uncle beckoned her into the room. “I believe you made my niece’s acquaintance at Lady Stippler’s soiree last month,” he said.
Eddingham rose, an artful arrangement of raven curls falling over his brow as he sketched her a flawless bow. “Always a
Georgina’s pale blue eyes widened with shock. The soggy handkerchief Aunt Margaret pressed to her lips failed to muffle her dismayed cry.
Catriona folded her arms over her chest, her worst suspicions confirmed. Her cousin had always had a weakness for pretty boys. Despite her best efforts, Catriona had never forgotten the prettiest of them all—a young naval officer with an angel’s smile and the devil’s eyes whose touch had made her shiver with a yearning she had been too young to understand. She had hoped it would fade with time, not sharpen.
“And I suppose the marquess caught you kissing this fellow in the garden?” she asked her cousin.
Alice nodded. Her lower lip began to quiver anew. “He humiliated me in front of my friends and refused to speak to me all the way home in the carriage. I had no idea he had such a cruel and jealous streak. Perhaps it’s just as well I discovered it before we were wed.”
“Just as well for him, you mean,” Catriona muttered.
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Catriona’s being hateful to me, Mama. Make her go away.”
Drawing breath for a fresh wail, she snatched up a Meissen shepherdess from the table beside the bed. Catriona didn’t wait for her aunt’s dismissal. She slammed the bedchamber door an instant before the delicate porcelain shattered against the other side of it. Her cousin’s strident sobs followed her down the corridor.
Catriona hastened down the long curving staircase of the stately Palladian mansion she had called home since she was ten years old. Despite its tasteful combination of elegance and grandeur, there were times when Wideacre Park felt more like a prison than a palace.
The graceful arched windows and her uncle’s expectations caged her far more effectively than any iron bars. Although she had striven to reward him for his charity by becoming the proper young English lady he had always longed for her to be, there was still a wild and rebellious part of her that yearned to throw on her old plaid and scamper barefoot over the freshly cut grass.
But on this afternoon she had no choice but to heed the demands of duty. Uncle Ross had best learn the truth about what had transpired between Alice and her fiancé before he called the marquess out for publicly humiliating his eldest daughter. From the gossip she’d heard, Eddingham—a devout hunter—possessed both a steady hand and deadly aim.
When she reached the half-ajar door of her uncle’s study, she was surprised to hear the deep rumble of male voices.
She crept closer, wondering who would be thoughtless enough to intrude at such a delicate time. But before she could identify the unfamiliar baritone, her uncle’s voice rang out. “Is that you, Catriona? Do join us. The gentleman and I have concluded our private business.”
Catriona slipped into the study, startled to discover that the gentleman lounging in the brass-studded leather chair across from her uncle’s desk was none other than the Marquess of Eddingham himself. He looked far more composed than her cousin. His dark eyes were clear, his cool smile untainted. He revealed no overt signs of a broken heart, deepening Catriona’s suspicion that he had always possessed more affection for Alice’s ample dowry than for Alice herself.
With both his heavy jowls and the bags beneath his eyes drooping, her uncle looked more heartbroken than either Alice or the marquess. Catriona couldn’t really blame him.
Finding the scandal-prone Alice a husband had been no easy task.
Her uncle beckoned her into the room. “I believe you made my niece’s acquaintance at Lady Stippler’s soiree last month,” he said.
Eddingham rose, an artful arrangement of raven curls falling over his brow as he sketched her a flawless bow. “Always a
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