Page 70 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

There was a strange air of vulnerability about him tonight. Something in the way his raven hair was rumpled. In the way his jaw was shadowed with evening stubble and his clothes were—

Goodness.

He was in his shirtsleeves!

Kate hadn’t noticed it before. But she noticed it now. It was impossible not to notice. She’d never seen him absent the armor of his dignified black coat and cravat. He looked younger. Handsomer.

“You were anticipating something else?” he asked.

“Well…yes,” she admitted. “What about us?”

“Us,” he repeated flatly.

She stifled a huff of impatience. He was being purposefully difficult. One would think she’d offended him somehow. “We spoke of it only yesterday,” she reminded him. “In the stables, if you recall. You said—”

“I know what I said.” A rare spark of heat infiltrated his voice.

The knot in Kate’s stomach eased a little. Indifference might rout her, but anger she could handle. She knew how to fight. “Then why—”

“That was before I was made aware of your ambitions,” he said.

Ah. So that was it.

She might have known such mercenary desires would put his back up. He was too noble to comprehend the baser side of courtship.

“Not my ambitions,” she said. “My family’s.”

“I see.”

“You don’t, clearly.” She moved closer to him. “The rumors about my father’s title may well follow his descendants into future generations. It’s up to my brothers and me to stop that from happening. Alliances with powerful families will help strengthen our own. That’s why I’m supposed to marry well—to wed someone titled and wealthy who can help lend legitimacy to the family name.”

His brows lowered. “Because your parents insist upon it?”

“No. Which only makes it worse. They’d sacrifice everything for my happiness if it came to it. I should do no less for them. Indeed, I fully intended to. Until…”

“Until what?”

A rueful smile curved her lips. “Until I met you.”

There was an endless pause. Kate’s emotions teetered on the precipice of it. And then—

“It needn’t be mutually exclusive,” he said. “Your happiness and marriage to some rich, titled lord.”

Her smile froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“There must be dozens of eligible viscounts, earls, and marquesses about. Perhaps even a duke or two. You have every chance of making an enviable match.”

She drew back from him, stunned. Had he really just said that? Had he really just encouraged her to meet and marry someone else?

Hurt constricted her throat.

It was too much. She’d all but declared herself to him and here he was, offering sensible, brotherly advice, completely unmoved at the prospect of her slipping from his grasp forever.

“Don’t you even care that I might marry someone else?” she asked.

He looked down at her steadily, a brooding look in his eyes.

“I suppose you’re indifferent,” she said. “It was I who chose you, after all, not the other way round.” She turned to walk away. “My mother warned me. You’re only here to oblige your sister, not because—”