To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) by Collette Cameron Page A

weren’t exactly enthusiastic, but neither were they hostile. More than anything right now they are grieving and scared.”
    “This situation is profoundly difficult for you all.” Uncertain why—Richard’s continued absence or empathy for Nic’s sisters—she swallowed against a surge of emotion tightening her throat. “I truly wish we were acquainted with Lady ... Miss—” Katrina faltered. What was she to call Nic’s sisters? Never mind. They could discuss that particular later. “If we were, we could invite them to winter with us.”
    Nic sighed, his mossy gaze bleak and weary. “What happens if they refuse to accept me, Katrina? Cannot accept the change in their circumstances? Because of our sire’s duplicity, they’ve gone from coddled darlings to by-blows, and even at their tender ages, they understand full well what that means. They aren’t even ladies anymore, but the Misses Trehmain. He stripped them of everything, and I cannot help but think they must resent me, and rightfully so.”
    Katrina marched across the plush carpet, her sage skirts swooshing softly. She took his hand, though most improper, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “A child shouldn’t be blamed for his or her parents’ failings. You will love your sisters and affirm them and win them over in time. And we will find you a wife who will accept and nurture Daphne and Delilah. And trust me, a substantial purse opens many, many doors.”
    She jutted her chin up a notch. “Papa is a bastard too, and few haut ton members dare snub or cut him. He owns most of them in one way or another, yet he’s never abused his position.”
    Tenderness filled Nic’s lovely eyes, and he traced his thumb over her lower lip before caressing her cheek. “How did one so young become so wise?”
    Rustling at the doorway drew their attention, and Papa strode in.
    “Pendergast, pray tell, why are you holding my daughter’s hand?”
     
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    Nic promptly tried extracting his hand from Katrina’s petal-soft palm, but she retained a firm hold. God’s bones, if Needham had seen him caress her face ... An enraged father calling him out would muck up his plans entirely and set his sisters’ futures tumbling pell-mell straight to Hades. He tugged and whispered, “Miss Needham—”
    “Don’t be silly, Papa. I’m holding his grace’s hand.” Aye, that made all the bloody difference . “And for a very good reason. I’m sure you’d approve.”
    Hardly.
    Unless betrothed, unmarried, ungloved ladies of quality did not clasp a gentleman’s hand for any reason. Surely she must be aware of the impropriety. Even Nic knew that tidbit.
    “I assure you, Needham, I am not holding your daughter’s hand.” Not precisely.
    Needham’s dancing eyebrows and pointed gaze alleged otherwise.
    Nic wiggled his fingers, and Katrina smiled into his face, giving his hand another squeeze, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to stand before her father clasping a man’s hand. A stranger’s hand, at that.
    Nic gave another tentative pull. Nothing except tingling fingertips.
    Christ, an alligator’s jaw had a weaker grasp.
    “I’m comforting him,” Katrina said without compunction.
    I’m dead.
    Bloody maggoty hell. A groan threatened, but Nic marshalled the involuntary noise. Only an innocent would admit to comforting a man and not comprehend her words’ significance. Ladies most certainly didn’t comfort gentleman acquaintances. Katrina’s naïveté, though charming, might land him on the field of honor.
    She dimpled and angled her father a guileless glance. “He frets for his sisters, and I’ve promised to help him find a bride. It’s all entirely innocent, I assure you.”
    The minx had the audacity to lift Nic’s entrapped hand, which he purposed to keep relaxed, rather like a dead octopus.
    Lord, but she must lead her parents a merry chase. She’d lead her husband a merry chase too, and God above, despite the