“The wedding is scheduled, yes,” he muttered evasively as they took their places. Frowning, she opened her mouth to question him further—she liked Miss Hartley, after all, and was happy for her to finally be marrying after her two failed attempts in recent years. Even if it was to someone as dull as Lord Landon.
But Lord Marsten appeared just then in the set across from her, and all other thoughts fled from her mind. He looked so very handsome tonight in his black coat and silver-threaded waistcoat and snowy cravat, his hair deliciously disheveled in rich dark brown waves. What, she wondered as the music started and she began to move automatically through the quadrille, would those locks feel like between her fingers? And what would it feel like to have that firm, generous mouth covering her own?
Her cheeks heated. Goodness, where had that come from? She had never thought of kissing the marquess before. At least, she amended, not while conscious. But one could not have control over one’s dreams, could one? How many times had she dreamed of kissing Lord Marsten? She pursed her lips as she considered. Surely no more than a dozen at most. Though perhaps that was excessive. She smiled slightly as her gaze drifted to him once more. Had she been falling for the marquess all these weeks, then? It was only when his gaze met hers and softened, a tender look passing across his face, that she realized with a start that she had. The man had been working himself under her skin all this time, and she had not even realized it. Her smile widened, her cheeks warming further as she held his gaze. And the funny thing was, she could not even be slightly annoyed with herself at that fact. Especially as it appeared he might feel the same way.
“Miss Denby,” Lord Landon called loudly in her ear as they joined hands.
Katrina’s face heated. “Ah, forgive me, Lord Landon,” she murmured, tearing her gaze from Lord Marsten. “I’m afraid my mind wandered again. I find myself easily distracted, I fear.”
“It is understandable,” he said with a small, knowing smile.
She blinked. Lord Landon had always seemed a staid, serious sort. Tonight, however, he appeared positively enigmatic. Though mayhap it was nerves. The man was set to be married soon, after all. Such a momentous occasion was bound to wreak havoc on even the most poised of people.
Which, of course, had her thinking of matrimony, and what her own future might hold in that regard. Her gaze drifted once more to Lord Marsten, her breath catching in her throat when she caught his eyes again on her. Throughout her London season, she had received several proposals of marriage, and even more declarations of love. She had never considered a single one of those men. But one dance request from Lord Marsten, some softly spoken words, a changed look in his warm gray eyes, and she was ready to dream of happily-ever-afters. She very nearly laughed. Was she such a hopeless romantic then?
The dance ended, and after clapping politely and bending his head to say something to his partner, Lord Marsten headed her way. The suddenly intent look in his eyes had her heart galloping in her chest, like a horse’s hooves racing for the finish line.
“Miss Denby,” he murmured, bending his head close to hers, “I thought perhaps we might—”
Before he could finish, however, a servant came rushing toward them, a missive held in his hand.
“My lord,” the footman said, holding the letter out to the marquess, “this has just come for you. It is quite urgent; the messenger is waiting even now for your reply.”
Lord Marsten tore open the letter, his face going pale as his eyes scanned the paper. “It is from my father’s steward. He says I must return home at once. I am sorry, Miss Denby, but I must postpone our dance for this evening.”
Before she could respond, he was rushing away, and was soon swallowed up in the crowd.
A full four and twenty hours later and Katrina found that no matter how she tried to forget Lord Marsten, she could not. Was his father well? Was the marquess even now on his way to see him? When would she see the marquess again?
“Enough,” she told herself forcefully as she climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up over herself, being careful not to disturb her new pet. But the puppy was oblivious to anything just then. Belly full, Mouse snored softly on his back, his huge paws splayed at awkward angles, one large ear covering his eyes. Smiling tenderly, she gently brushed his ear back from his face.
“He asked after you, you know,” she whispered. “Lord Marsten. And he remembered your name. What do you think of that?”
In answer, Mouse snorted in his sleep, his legs jerking. Laughing softly, Katrina settled back against her pillows, and in no time had drifted off in dreams of being held in Lord Marsten’s arms…
Until a high-pitched barking woke her. Eyes flying open, her lovely dream gone in a puff of smoke, Katrina attempted to figure out just where she was and what that god-awful racket could be. She spied Mouse beside her in a fitful ray of moonlight, small body vibrating, ears jumping with each yip and woof, his entire focus on the window. And then she looked up and saw a dark form easing over the windowsill and into her room.
The scream that ripped from her throat was loud and long, and halted only by the hand that slapped over her mouth.
“Please, Miss Denby,” a voice panted in her ear, the man’s moist breath making her cringe, “don’t be afraid. It is only me.”
Me? Me who? But the question remained unasked—through no decision of her own, as that hand over her mouth remained firmly in place, the sweaty palm holding her lips closed.
Mouse, however, was under no such constraints. His barks went on, an endless litany of yelps. The intruder attempted to reach for the puppy while still holding on to her but was unsuccessful as Mouse tumbled back out of his reach, a black-and-white ball of fury, legs flailing as he rolled across the coverlet, his barks never ceasing.
“Damnation, he will have the entire house waking,” the man holding Katrina hissed.
As if on cue, the door to her room burst open, crashing against the wall with a sickening crunch. And then light invaded the space, finally bathing the face of the intruder.
Lord Landon?
She blinked up at him. Surely not. The man was set to marry Miss Lenora Hartley in the morning. He could not be here, in her bedroom, accosting her.
But no, it was him, from his thin brown hair to his long nose, to his small, close-set eyes.
And then her brother’s voice confirmed it.
“Landon!” he roared, lamp swinging wildly as he rushed into the room, sending the shadows to dancing until Katrina thought she might be sick. “Get your fucking hands off my sister.”
But Francis did not wait for Lord Landon to move. In an instant he was beside the baron, hand on his neckcloth, hauling him from the bed. Katrina, finally free, fell back against the rumpled bedsheets.
“Denby, wait!” Lord Landon cried. As Francis slammed him against the wall, the baron grunted in pain, grabbing onto Francis’s wrists. “Denby, it’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it?” Francis growled. “Because it looked like you were attempting to force yourself upon my sister.”
Lord Landon’s face went white, his gaze swiveling wildly between Francis and Katrina. “Gad no. I would never. I love Katrina, with all my heart.”
He looked at her fully then, his eyes pleading. “Katrina, I love you. I want you to run away with me.”