Page 18 of Whiskers and Wiles

As if to confirm that thought, the bastard Headland leaned closer to Kat and said, “If you will be at Lady Ryman’s ball, then I will be there as well.”

Waldorf nearly saw red, not so much because of Headland’s blatant flirtation, but because of the splash of anxious color that came to Kat’s face because of it.

It was wrong. The entire thing was wrong. Kat despised Headland, that much was clear. Whatever the past between them had been, her feelings toward the man were clear now. And yet, she laughed and said, “How very delightful,” even as she leaned away from him.

Waldorf gripped his fork tightly, caught between his frustration and his deep-seated need to protect the woman he loved—had loved—at all costs.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he chose the path that would allow him to express his frustration.

“Yes,” he said, a bit too bitingly. “It will be a delight for Lady Katherine to renew old acquaintances. And I suppose you’ll be searching for a new Lady Headland as well.” He stared hard at Kat.

Someone farther down the table dropped their fork against their plate. Someone else made a choking sound, as if they’d been taking a sip of wine just as Waldorf had his outburst. Waldorf knew his comment was on the wrong side of appropriate, but if Kat did not see what was unfolding all around her, then it was his responsibility to make the point in the only way she might understand, obviously.

“Oh, I do not know if I am ready to consider another bride as of yet,” Headland said with utterly false modesty. “It is a bit early, do you not think, Lady Katherine?”

Kat had not pulled her gaze away from Waldorf. “I am surprised that you would wish to marry at all, my lord,” she said, radiating fury as she stared Waldorf down. “Marriage is the silliest of institutions.”

A few murmurs sounded around the table, but Waldorf ignored them. “You would, of course, say that, having never been married yourself, Lady Katherine.”

“I believe you know full well the reasoning behind my decision not to wed,” Kat said in a flat, voice.

Waldorf continued to hold her accusing stare. “Yes,” he said. “You had no taste for the singularity of marriage.”

He had no idea if the others at the table would grasp his meaning by the choice of the unusual word, but Kat would know. Kat hadn’t been faithful to him back then, and he doubted she would have been faithful if they had wed.

Except something in the hurt that touched Kat’s eyes left him questioning everything, and not for the first time.

“I should be less surprised that you never married, my lord,” she said, her words and look brittle. “You are too fickle and faithless to cherish anyone other than yourself.”

Another round of short, startled gasps sounded around the table.

“My, this roast gammon is delicious,” Mrs. Bowman said in an overly loud voice.

“Yes, our cook knows where to find all the best cuts of meat,” Lady Thistlewhite said, her voice shaking.

Waldorf had gone too far, he knew. He broke eye contact with Kat, forcing himself to focus on the gammon in question instead. Blast and hell, he should have known better than to bait the vixen in company. She had an uncanny way to make him lose his temper and his better judgement with it.

Of course, when he glanced across the table a minute later to find Kat still staring at him, her color high, her bosom rising and falling in an aesthetically pleasing way, the fire she’d ignited in him took on an entirely different character.

She was indomitable, that much was certain. Not even he could dampen her fire. They’d fought before, when the understanding between them was still whole and beautiful, and more often than not, that bickering had led to some of the most exciting nights of his life. That was what Kat did. She used battle as a way to fire her blood.

She was angry with him, to be certain, but when Waldorf sent her the barest hint of a smile across the table, not shielding his ardor for her, despite his anger with her, Kat caught her breath.

She also snapped her gaze away from him, as if she had reached the limit of her self-control.

The supper continued without further incident. Waldorf kept his involvement in the conversation to a minimum, and so did Kat. The others at the table seemed perfectly content to continue on without either of them, though Waldorf was pleased to note that when the topic of Lady Ryman’s ball came up once more, the other ladies at the table seemed far more inclined to attend than they had before. It seemed as though Kat’s mission, whatever it was precisely, had been a success.

It was not until after supper, when the men retired to a gentleman’s parlor near the back of the house, that Waldorf learned Kat’s was not the only mission to convince Lady Thistlewhite’s guests to attend the ball.

“Lord Waldorf, might I have a word with you?” Lord Pollock waylaid Waldorf as they parted ways with the ladies and headed down another hallway.

“Yes, of course,” Waldorf said, allowing Lord Pollock to steer him into a small study close by.

As soon as they two of them were alone, Lord Pollock stroked his whiskers and said, “That was quite an interesting sparring match between you and Lady Katherine Balmor. I assume there is some history between the two of you?”

Waldorf frowned, stepping deeper into the room. “It is not a subject I wish to discuss, and I dare say that you do not care one way or another,” he said, far too curt, but not in a mood to be sweet. “You are a fellow Badger, are you not?”

Waldorf had once put that question to a man who had turned out not to be one of them, but who merely had horrible taste in facial hair. The man had gawked at him, then made some excuse before rushing off. Lord Pollock did not look at Waldorf as if he belonged in Bedlam.

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