The rogue’s reclamation

The breakfast deception

The Breakfast Parlor

Catherine sat at the edge of her chair, her fingers tracing the delicate gold rim of her teacup. She had spent an hour with Louisa, carefully choosing a morning gown of pale lavender modest, high-collared, and utterly respectable. She needed to feel like the lady she was supposed to be, not the woman who had nearly melted into a rogue's arms among the dusty stacks of a library.

Julian sat across from her, hidden behind the morning edition of The Gazette, blissfully unaware of the tension vibrating through the room.

"A successful night, would you not say, Cate?" Julian remarked, lowering his paper to take a sip of coffee. "I have not seen the house that lively in years. And Edinburgh... it was good to have him back. Though I suppose I should apologize for his manners. I noticed you two dancing; I hope he was not too overbearing. He has a way of forgetting himself."

Catherine’s heart performed a painful somersault. "He was... exactly as you described him, Julian. Very sure of himself."

"He is a good man at heart," Julian defended, though he looked skeptical. "Just needs a bit of—"

The doors opened before the footman could even announce the guest. Edmund strode in, looking infuriatingly well-rested despite the shadows beneath his eyes. He was dressed in a dark blue riding coat and buff breeches, smelling of fresh air and expensive leather.

"Edmund!" Julian cheered, standing up to greet him. "I did not expect you so early. Sit, man. There is enough ham to feed a regiment."

Edmund’s gaze swept the room, bypassing the feast on the sideboard and locking instantly onto Catherine. The air in the room seemed to vanish.

"Julian," Edmund acknowledged, his voice a low vibration. He moved to the table, taking the seat directly across from Catherine. "Lady Catherine. I hope you suffered no ill effects from the excitement of the ball?"

The question was a trap—a reminder of their private moment wrapped in the guise of polite concern.

"I am perfectly well, Your Grace," Catherine replied, her voice remarkably steady despite the fact that her pulse was racing. "Though the library was quite drafty last night. I found I had to retire earlier than expected."

Edmund leaned back, a faint, rakish smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Drafty? I found it rather... stifling. I had to seek out the night air myself shortly after we spoke."

Julian looked between the two of them, his brow furrowing slightly at the strange undercurrents. "Drafty? Stifling? It is a library, not a weather station. Anyway, Edmund, I was thinking of taking the horses out to the park. Will you join us? Cate, you can come as well. You need the air."

"I think a ride is exactly what is required," Edmund said, his eyes never leaving Catherine’s face. He was luring her again, challenging her to face him in the light of day. "I should like to see if Lady Catherine’s seat in the saddle is as graceful as her footwork on the dance floor."

It was a blatant provocation. Catherine felt the heat rising in her cheeks. He was playing a dangerous game, flaunting his attraction right under her brother’s nose.

"I should be delighted, Julian," Catherine said, meeting Edmund’s gaze with a newfound boldness. "I have a new mare that is quite spirited. She does not take well to being led by those who think they can master her easily."

Edmund’s smirk widened into a genuine, predatory smile. "A challenge, then. I have always found the most spirited ones provide the best journey."

Julian laughed, clapping his hands. "That is the spirit! Give us twenty minutes to change, Edmund. Try not to drink all my coffee while we are gone."

As Julian exited the room to find his boots, the silence that crashed down upon the parlor was deafening. Edmund did not move. He simply watched her, the mask of the polite guest slipping to reveal the raw yearning of the rogue.

"You are playing with fire, Your Grace," Catherine whispered harshly, leaning across the table.

"Then let us burn together, Catherine," he replied, his voice a dangerous promise. "Because I assure you, I have no intention of putting this fire out."

Hyde Park

"A race, then!" Julian called out, his horse dancing with excitement. "To the ancient oak at the end of the meadow!"

Catherine did not wait for the signal. With a sharp click of her tongue, she gave her mare her head. The horse bolted, hooves thundering against the turf. Behind her, she heard the heavy, rhythmic gallop of Edmund’s massive stallion.

For a few glorious minutes, the world was nothing but wind and adrenaline. Catherine leaned low over her mare’s neck, her heart soaring as she felt the power beneath her. She glanced back to see Edmund, his dark hair whipped by the wind, his expression one of pure, unadulterated admiration. He could have passed her—his horse was stronger—but he seemed content to watch her, his eyes locked on the curve of her waist and the fire in her movements.

Catherine crossed the line first, pulling her horse to a halt, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming in short, triumphant gasps. Edmund slowed beside her, his stallion huffing.

"You win, Lady Catherine," he murmured, his voice thick with a heat that had nothing to do with the exercise. "Though I suspect you cheated the wind itself to do it."

Before she could reply, a voice shouted from a distance. "Julian! Is that you?" A gentleman on a chestnut gelding had waved Julian down near the path. Julian, always social, pivoted his horse. "Go on, you two! I shall only be a moment; that is Lord Althorp!"

The moment Julian’s back was turned, the air between Catherine and Edmund turned heavy. Edmund steered his horse closer until their knees brushed through the leather of their saddles.

"You look magnificent when you are winning," he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, private register. "It makes me wonder what else you do with such... passion."

"You are relentless," Catherine breathed, her heart hammering. "We are in a public park, Edmund. My brother is mere yards away."

"Your brother is distracted, and I am a man who has spent the last twelve hours starving," he countered. He reached across the space between them, his hand steadying her horse’s bridle, effectively trapping her. "I went to my mistress last night to forget you. I tried to lose myself in a familiar bed."

Catherine flinched as if struck. The mention of a mistress was a cold bucket of water over her budding desire. "You... you went to another woman?"

"I went to escape you," he admitted, his eyes burning. "And I failed. I could not touch her because her skin was not yours. I could not breathe because the air did not smell of you. Tell me, Catherine, do you have any idea what you are doing to me?"

Catherine felt a wave of longing so intense it frightened her. She wanted to lean into him, to feel those rakish lips on hers—but the mention of the other woman lingered like a shadow.

"Edmund! There you are!"

The voice was high, feminine, and practiced in its affection. Catherine turned to see a stunning woman in a sapphire-blue riding habit approaching on a sleek palomino.

Amelia rode directly up to Edmund, ignoring Catherine entirely. She reached out and placed a gloved hand familiarly on Edmund’s thigh, leaning in with a proprietary smile. "You disappeared so abruptly last night, darling. I thought perhaps I had offended you. Will you be coming by this evening to make amends?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Edmund’s face went stone-cold, his hand dropping from Catherine’s bridle as if burned.

Catherine felt as though she had been slapped. The "familiar way" the woman touched him the casual mention of "making amends" in her bed shattered the romantic haze of the morning.

He is a rake, she reminded herself, her throat tightening with a sudden, sharp pain. He is exactly what Julian said. A menace. A man of nights, not years.

"Your Grace," Catherine said, her voice like ice, pulling her horse back. "I believe my brother is finished with his conversation. I should hate to keep him waiting."

"Catherine, wait—" Edmund began, his voice tight with frustration.

"No," she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and newfound resolve. "Enjoy your evening, Your Grace. I am sure Amelia will be delighted to have your... full attention."

Without another word, she turned her mare and galloped back toward Julian, leaving Edmund standing in the middle of the park with his past catching up to his present. As she rode, she made a silent vow: she would stay away from the Duke of Edinburgh. He was fire, and she was not going to get burned