Page 13 of A Duchess Disciplined

The scent of his cologne, a warm mingling of orange blossoms and spice, swept over her and consumed her senses. Catherine’s breath shuddered, and then, it seemed impossible to breathe at all. Heat curled inside her chest, and her lower muscles clenched.

A beat passed in silence with them simply staring at one another. “So,” His Grace drawled at last, dragging out that single syllable. “You are so angry about your sister, yet you do not feel inclined to do anything to remedy the situation. So much anger and no rational thought.”

“I have many rational thoughts!” Catherine snapped. “I have said nothing untrue, have I?”

“No, but a rather obvious solution presents itself,” the Duke of Sarsen said. “It is quite astonishing that you have not already thought of it yourself, my lady. If you do not wish for Lady Dorothy to marry me, you may take her place. I am promised a bride from the late Duke of Reeds’s daughters, and I do not particularly care which one.”

“How romantic,” Catherine said between her clenched teeth.

“You are both equally attractive,” His Grace continued, as though he had not heard her. “You are both young and likely to produce heirs for my dukedom. I have no preference for Lady Dorothy over you.”

“How dare you?” Catherine asked, her face growing hot. “You speak as though my sister and I are interchangeable, as though we are livestock to be traded and offered to you without hesitation!”

“The offering has already been made,” the Duke of Sarsen replied. “It is your duty—or your sister’s—to fulfill it. You may dislike that, but it is nevertheless true.”

“My brother will not relent.”

“We both know that hewill,” His Grace said, his eyes gleaming darkly with enjoyment. “I always obtain what I want, my lady.”

Catherine could not explain her reaction to those words. She felt that she ought to have grown angrier, but instead, that strange and unwanted heat stirred within her. Catherine’s heart raced, and her eyes lingered on his face.

His lips. The Duke of Sarsen was so near her that they could have kissed, and a jolt of pleasure swept through her. Catherine fought to ignore it.

“How confident you are,” Catherine said.

“My confidence is warranted,” he replied, his voice low and husky. “But I will warn you that I expect my wife to be a proper lady and Duchess of Sarsen. If you choose to trade your hand for your sister’s, expect to be put in your place.”

“Myplace?” Catherine scoffed. “How should you know what a woman’s place is?”

His eyes gleamed with anticipation and the promise of something Catherine could not quite grasp. When the Duke of Sarsen tilted his head towards her, his warm breath brushed against her cheek. Catherine’s toes curled inside her slippers. She ought to flee, but she could not. It was as if her body was fastened to the floor.

“Your place,” His Grace confirmed, tucking a wayward curl behind Catherine’s ear.

The touch was as light as a butterfly lighting on a flower, but to Catherine, it was like being struck by lightning. Her breath shuddered unevenly, and her pulse jumped.

“Properly and thoroughly,” he murmured.

New anger sparked inside her, burning to greater heights than before. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Catherine could not imagine precisely what the Duke of Sarsen meant, but she defied any man toput her in her place, as if she did not already know it. As though she was some wayward servant who had spoken out of turn, rather than a lady and the sister of the Duke of Reeds!

“You will do no such thing,” Catherine said, her voice shaking. “To either my sister or to me.”

He smirked. “We shall see. Enjoy your night, my lady.”

“I will,” she said, smiling tightly. “Thank you.”

Without another word, he turned away. Catherine waited until he rounded the corner before inhaling deeply. The air shuddered in her chest. She tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. It was difficult, for so many contradictory feelings swept like a tempest within her.

Catherine was angry. She longed to storm after the Duke of Sarsen and demand that he leave the estate at once without any bride at all. The man’s confidence was like a thorn in her thumb, and she ached to rip him free. Beneath the anger, there was something deeper. A longing, which she recognized, but wished she didn’t.

His Grace was a detestable and ill-tempered man, unquestionably so, but he was very handsome. Catherine forced down the lump that rose in her throat. His Grace’s solution, as detestable as it was, had a sort of beautiful simplicity to it.

“I can marry him,” Catherine muttered to the night and the quiet. “If I do, Dorothy will not have to do it.”

It was a terrible thought, and she loathed herself for considering it. Still, she could not deny that marrying His Grace would fulfill the promise that her father had made. It would appease the Duke of Sarsen, and Dorothy would not need to leave their family.

Had Catherine not said that same night that she would do anything for their family? Anything except take Dorothy’s role? She squeezed her eyes closed and bit the inside of her cheek. Catherine would do it. For her family, she would wed His Grace.

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