Rockmorton Manor was a lovely home of admirable proportions and welcoming manner. The foyer of the house was graced with a large fireplace, and there was a blazing fire upon the hearth. The mantle had been decked in greenery and there were greens wound through the spindles on the great curving staircase. Red ribbons had been tied at intervals in the garland and the house smelled pleasantly of pine and roasted meat. There was even a cluster of mistletoe hanging from the pendant in the foyer, but Catherine did not let her gaze linger upon it.
Did Rhys believe she did not desire him? It was absurd, given his qualities, but Catherine had to admit that she was either silent in his presence, concerned with the accounts, or angry.
What if her comparative solitude was her own fault?
“The house
