The Winter Wish (11 page)

Slowly
Marcus sank back down into his leather chair. His jaw rigid, he pinned his wife
with a stare that had made lesser men turn and cower. Catherine did not so much
as flinch. “Are you threatening me?” he asked in disbelief.

A
smile curved her lips, but her eyes remained hard as diamonds. “Of course not,
darling,” she said sweetly. “I am promising you. Have a wonderful trip. I will
see you when you return.”

With
a growl Marcus shot up out of the chair, to do exactly what he had not the
faintest idea, but Catherine must have finally recognized the murderous intent
in his gaze for in a flurry of blue skirts she fled the room, shutting the door
smartly behind her.

“Bloody
hell,” Marcus said wearily. Rubbing a hand down his face he turned to the
liquor cabinet and poured another shot. He contemplated the tumbler half filled
with scotch, staring long and hard into the amber depths before tossing it back
with one hard swallow. Setting the glass down, he went to the front window and
pulled one curtain aside to gaze out upon the lawn below.

He
was not surprised to see Catherine crossing the evenly cut grass with long
strides, her blond hair cascading down her back in a riot of curls and her
small hands clenched in angry fists at her sides. With her back to him he could
only imagine the curses she was filling the air with, and a smile rose unbidden
to his mouth.

Even
before their marriage Catherine had been vexed with a hot temper that flamed
instantly and cooled quickly. Her favorite method for dissipating a bad mood
was to go for a vigorous walk. There had been a time when they used to walk
together hand in hand, teasing and laughing and saying all the things new
lovers said.

Now
,
Marcus thought, his lips twisting bitterly at the irony of it all,
she walks
alone cursing my name and I remain in my study cursing hers. What a conventional
marriage we have
.

Brooding,
he sat back behind his desk and turned over the next ledger.

As
her husband suspected, Catherine
was
cursing his name as she stalked
across the front lawn at a feverish pace.

“What
an arrogant, pig headed, dim witted
bounder!
” She crossed the stone
drive and turned right; skirting the stables to head towards a trail in the
woods she had walked many, many times before.

Beneath
the canopy of broad green leaves, flickering rays of sun, and chirping
songbirds she could finally let down her guard and take a deep, relaxing
breath. Raising her hands above her head she pivoted in a slow, lazy circle,
stretching out the muscles that had tightened in her back and neck from holding
herself so stiffly in Marcus’ presence. The man brought out the absolute worst
in her.

If
she was completely honest with herself Catherine would be the first to admit
the last thing she wanted in the entire world was to divorce her husband. It
would be a long process, fraught with gossip and speculation. His reputation
would be tarnished and hers ruined completely. But she simply could not
stand
it anymore. The months of separation, the sparring words they exchanged
whenever they were forced together, the way he insisted on ordering her about
as if she were one of his poor servants instead of his wife. How different
it
had been when they first met.

Marcus
had been charming, attentive, and loving; everything she ever dreamed of
finding in a husband. After their initial introduction she had been consumed by
a whirlwind romance of dancing, long strolls through Hyde Park, and secret,
passionate kisses. When he proposed four months later she readily accepted.
Both of their parents had approved of the match, as had the entire
Ton
.

It
had been, Catherine reflected as she leaned against a towering oak tree and
hugged her arms to her chest, the perfect fairytale. Until everything changed.

She
could not say exactly when they had begun to grow apart. Perhaps it started
when Marcus had gone across the Atlantic to Boston for six months, despite her
pleas for him to stay. He had left her alone in Kensington and she remained for
as long as she could, but she had still been a young woman of eighteen and with
nothing to occupy her time, had returned to London within the month to enjoy
the rest of the Season sans her husband. She knew there had been rumors, and
accepted the blame as her own for she had done nothing to dispel them.

She
now accepted that a small part of her had been hoping to lure Marcus home with
her lascivious behavior, but if he received any of the letters she wrote him,
hinting in not so subtle detail at her exploits, he gave no sign.

When
he finally did return he was aloof and standoffish; nothing like the man who
had made love to her the night before he left and vowed to think of her every
moment of every day until he returned.

That
had been, Catherine thought with a sigh, three and a half long years ago. Since
then they had only seen each other once or twice a year, and then only in
passing. Because of their lengthy separation she had thought Marcus would be
delighted at the idea of a divorce, and quite frankly she could not imagine the
reason why he wasn’t. She even knew he had a mistress, a red haired widow who
stayed with him in London and whom he visited often in the country. He thought
she had one as well, but she didn’t. She had certainly entertained the idea, as
it was not uncommon amidst the
Ton
for married women to share a bed
outside of their husbands. In fact, it was often quite encouraged. But when it
had come down to it, Catherine simply could not make herself. She may have been
a flirt, but she never had been – and never would be – an adulteress.

“I
need to be free of you Marcus,” she whispered, only daring to say what she
truly thought out loud in the privacy of the woods where nothing save the birds
and the squirrels could hear her. “I cannot remain married to a man who
despises the very sight of me.”
I cannot remain married to a man I love
.
The words echoed in her head, but she could not force them past her lips. Some
things could not be spoken out loud, even in seclusion.

Lifting
the hem of her skirts from the forest floor Catherine turned and started back
towards the estate, her forehead set in three fine lines as she worried what to
do next. There was no telling how long Marcus would remain at Woodsgate. The
man was stubborn as an ass, and she had no doubt he would stay away just to
spite her. In fact, she was certain of it.  

“But
he cannot stay away,” she mused, a smile dawning slowly across her face, “if I
go to him.”

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