husband and you will do as I command!”
Catherine’s eyes rounded as twin blotches of color appeared high on her cheeks. Her mouth curled derisively. “I am not a dog, Marcus. You cannot simply order me to go here or go there and command me to forget things. Go to your rotting shack in the highlands. I shall still be here when you return. I will not stop following you, dearest husband of mine, until I get what I want. I will make your life a living hell!”
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 differentit 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
Catherine’s eyes rounded as twin blotches of color appeared high on her cheeks. Her mouth curled derisively. “I am not a dog, Marcus. You cannot simply order me to go here or go there and command me to forget things. Go to your rotting shack in the highlands. I shall still be here when you return. I will not stop following you, dearest husband of mine, until I get what I want. I will make your life a living hell!”
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 differentit 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
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