Page 7 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

Take that, Lord Livingston.

Most gentlemen of her acquaintance would bolt out of that balcony like their pantaloons were on fire at the mere mention of the institution of marriage.

So she was quite shocked when his lips curled into a smile and he took her hands in his.

“My dearest Miss Burlow, you seem to think that I would run under the threat of ruination,” he chided softly. “You do not understand how much I love the idea of getting married to you. I like you, Catherine Burlow, and I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you as my Viscountess,” he said passionately.

Catherine froze for a few seconds. This whole episode was like a dream come true. In some part of her mind, she knew she wassupposed to be ecstatic—she was being given the opportunity of becoming a viscountess on a silver platter. But she could not move, paralyzed by a strange feeling of emptiness and something that felt suspiciously like fear.

She slowly pulled her hand away, feeling guilty when his hopeful expression turned to one of hurt.

“You know, Miss Burlow, I wonder why you accepted all my offers of a dance and made me believe you had a tendre for me. Do you even see me as a man at all? Or do you just enjoy the act of leading unsuspecting men on?”

“Benjamin,” she said weakly, “I-I really like you. I would love to get married to you. It is just that…”

“It is just what?” he asked in a resigned tone. “Now that I think about it, I have been the only one chasing your affections, the only one trying to get to know you better. You always seemed to be distracted. Silly me, I just thought you were overwhelmed by the crowds. I am surprised you know my Christian name, since this is the first time you ever used it, knowing I had given you leave to use it the day we first met.”

“I… I…” she stammered but gave up when the hurt look in his eyes grew.

“I am a man of principle, Miss Burlow, and I would never chase after an unwilling lady. Good night,” he said.

He executed a deep bow, then turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the balcony.

Catherine sagged against the wall of the balcony, her throat clogged with guilt. Remembering the hurt look on the Viscount’s face made her chest tighten. Had she really done that? She had never pegged Lord Livingston as the emotional type. Hell, the man behaved as if his life ran smoothly like a well-oiled machine. He didn’t look like the type that dealt with messy things like emotions.

It was quite unfortunate that the first time he showed the vulnerable side of himself to her, she had hurt him quite terribly. She bowed her head in defeat. She guessed she had blown her chance of securing an advantageous match this Season. Lord Livingston had been her best option, and she had pushed him away.

“I guess that explains the reason you are still single after so many Seasons.”

She looked up to see a pair of well-polished hessian boots, then up and up till she locked eyes with the arrogant Duke of St. George.

Goodness, was she to be cornered by yet another intruder? Couldn’t a lady enjoy a moment of peace and quiet? It seemed the answer to that was obvious… Of course not.

Chapter Three

The intruder made himself comfortable, leaning against the wall beside her, folding his arms across his chest. That simple gesture made his muscles flex beneath his well-fitted clothes. The man was attractive, no doubt.

With a conscious effort, Catherine tore her eyes away. Thankfully, he did not seem to have noticed her momentary fixation with his flexing biceps.

“I think I have solved the mystery of how one of the most popular young ladies of the ton had managed to remain unmarried for three consecutive Seasons,” Richard continued, holding up three fingers to show how many Seasons she had attended.

“Every Season, you always have a bevy of eligible bachelors fawning over you. I have heard tales of men queuing up outside your family townhouse. But by some miracle, you alwaysremained single by the time everyone retired to the countryside. Thus, I came to two conclusions.”

“And what might those be?” Catherine asked drily.

“You are either a snob.”

Catherine rolled her eyes inelegantly at that.

“Or…” he said, before pausing dramatically. “You were holding out for love,” he finished in a mocking tone.

“Well,” she drawled, rising from her crouched position, “I would hate to disappoint you, but you are wrong. I do not want to marry for love.”

At his dubious look, she continued. “I just want a responsible, levelheaded gentleman who would provide me with a steady home.”

“If that is what you want, I am sure it would be a simple matter for your father to sign a betrothal contract with one of your many suitors.”

“Unfortunately, that is not an option,” she sighed ruefully. “My parents want me to have a love match, contrary to my preferences. They will only choose a man for me if they believe I love him. I want a sensible match.”

---