Page 82 of A Duchess Disciplined

The man bowed and departed, leaving William with his grinning wife. “See?” she asked. “I amfine.”

He did not answer. A lump had risen in his throat, and his chest grew tight. She seemedhappy. Cheerful, even. Unaffected.

And to William, it seemed as though he had just endured his mother’s death all over again. There were not enough words in the world to describe the terror that had seized him when he looked at Catherine’s fallen body. He thought that he might be sick.

He cared about her. He might evenloveher. William’s feet were as heavy as lead. He could not move, despite all his senses screaming at him to run very far away from this young and reckless woman. She was supposed tojustbe a wife. He was not supposed to care for her this much.

Catherine was not even meantfor him. She was supposed to be for his sisters to ensure they grew into proper ladies.

“Say something,” Catherine said, her voice softening. “Please.”

“You are not to climb any more trees,” William said, his words strained. “I will not tolerate such behavior from my duchess, regardless of if we are alone.”

“I understand.”

“Say that I will not have any more of that from you.”

Catherine sighed. She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Fine,” she said, tipping her head back. “I will not climb any more trees. And I apologize for worrying you.”

“Good. You should,” he said.

She turned her head to him. “William?—”

“I will leave you to your rest,” William said, turning abruptly. “In a few hours, I will send a maid to ensure that you are managing well.”

He practically ran from the room, as that tight feeling in his chest returned. A part of William wanted to stay and remain at her side, to grasp her hand and whisper how worried he had been and how much he loved her, but he could not. If he expressed how he really felt to Catherine, he would grow more deeply in love with her.

He did not need to love her. If anything, he needed toforgethow to love her. William clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms so that they hurt. He darted up the stairs, heading to the study. That had always been his refuge. William tore open the door and ripped it shut behind him.

The maid who was cleaning his study started at his appearance. “Your Grace,” she greeted, bobbing a practiced curtsey.

“Get out!” he snapped.

She jolted as if he had struck her and hurried from the room. William felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at the innocent maid. She was, after all, not the source of his vexation; however, it was not as though he could yell at Catherine. He wanted to. How could she be so careless?

It was his fault. If he had not let himself be seduced by her, enthralled by her sly smiles and clever witticisms, she would have never done something so foolish. Hands shaking, William seized the decanter and poured himself a generous glass of brandy. He took a swallow and flung himself into the chair behind his desk.

“Confound it, Catherine!” he snapped. “How could you do something so ridiculous?”

He raked his hands through his hair and tipped his head back, gazing at the ceiling. William drank the brandy with a sort of vindictive impatience. His worry for Catherine flowered into anger at himself for being so weak. How could he have let himselfcareso much about her?

Had the loss in his life taught him nothing? Had he not realized that fewer attachments were best? If he cared about Catherine, he was giving her the power to hurt him. How would he manage if she left him?

“You fool,” William muttered to himself.

He finished his brandy and considered pouring another glass. William could not decide if he would rather remain in his study and drink enough brandy to make him forget his feelings for Catherine, or if he would prefer to take a horse to Hamilton’s estate. His friend would provide him with a supportive ear.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter!” he snapped.

Geoffrey opened the door and bowed deeply. “Your Grace,” he said.

Unfortunately, his butler was unlikely to provide him with a sympathetic ear. The man was infuriatingly sharp and forward at times.

“Geoffrey,” he said, pouring another glass of brandy. “What do you want?”

“I saw Mr. Sweeney back to his house,” Geoffrey said.

William furrowed his brow. “Who?”

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