Page 52 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

Hugh’s face had been wary and puzzled even before she spoke, and it grew even more so as he listened to her.

“Old friend?! Yes, you did look very friendly. Very interested in one another, indeed. It’s strange, isn’t it, how your ‘old friend’ turns up wherever you go, Hugh? Do you expect me to believe it’s purely accidental? And how many other old friends am I expected to see you with?”

Catherine felt almost as though there was someone else inside her speaking forcefully through her mouth. Surely this outburst must provoke Hugh to anger. Part of her wanted him to be hostile and furious. It was better than him being handsome, tender, and passionate, overwhelming all her good sense with his body.

Her wish was not granted.

“Catherine, I can see that you’re angry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hugh said shortly but without any real rancor. “I spent the entire conversation with Sarah wishing that I was with you. You’re clearly not well this afternoon, and we should call our carriage.”

“You’re avoiding my questions about that woman, aren’t you? You just want to bundle me into a coach before anyone overhears me demanding answers to why you were talking to your former lover yetagain.”

“Hardly, Catherine. I’d actually like to get you home before anyone distresses you with questions about when you might provide me with an heir, given how much that idea seemed to upset you earlier. Sarah was warning me that my conversationwith you was overheard by servants and is now likely to be spread around.”

“Oh!” Catherine was alarmed and appalled by his explanation, not knowing whether it would be worse if it was true, or whether it was only subterfuge to keep her in the dark.

What if her father and Jemima heard the rumor and asked her about it? She could not bear it, today of all days, after her father’s bombshell announcement.

Catherine had sat alone for an hour in the retiring room that afternoon, dry-eyed and bitter, trying to absorb her father’s news and work out its implications. He was finally going to marry the woman with whom he had betrayed her mother. Albion Wright was absolutely shameless as well as heartless, even planning the wedding less than two months after Lord Harvey’s demise.

Concluding that her father and Lady Harvey were awful people who deserved one another had made her feel slightly better, but still, her heart ached.

Out of nowhere, now, with Hugh, she suddenly wanted to cry, and the effort of resisting her tears was such that she allowed him to lead her through the mansion and out to their carriage without objection.

Once the wheels began to roll down the street and the grand mansion receded into the distance, she noted Hugh’s concerned eyes on her again.

“Would it be so very bad?” he asked. “If you were already carrying my child, would that really be so terrible for you?”

A large lump had formed in Catherine’s throat at his words and the gentleness in his voice. However her body might ache and throb for him, she did not want to trust this man or any other. Whether his conversation with Lady Brightling had been innocent or not, Hugh was bound to hurt her in the end, and it would be harder to bear if she believed in him.

From the start, she had told herself repeatedly that their marriage was a contract like any other. Both parties had defined rights and must meet their obligations, and that should be all there was to it.

Catherine might be compelled by law and nature to satisfy her husband’s desires and even bear his children, but she could not allow herself to trust him. Yet, every time Hugh spoke to her or touched her, it felt as though all of her old beliefs were being shaken.

“I can’t…” Catherine began but then had to stop to hold back her tears. Closing her eyes tightly, she remained silent and ignored Hugh for the rest of the journey.

“Her Grace is unwell,” she heard Hugh telling Mrs. Kaye as she proceeded directly up the grand staircase towards her rooms. “I do not know whether she will join me for dinner tonight.”

“I will arrange the meal accordingly. If Her Grace wishes to remain upstairs, we could also send up a tray to her rooms.”

Unable to think about food, Catherine didn’t even turn to answer either of them. Up ahead, she saw one of the maids staring at her as she polished the banister.

Unconcerned by how her manner might appear to Elsie or any other member of staff, Catherine carried on up the staircase, leaving all explanations to Hugh.

“I will speak to my wife, Mrs. Kaye.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

A persistent rapping on the door woke Catherine from her feverish dozing. She had not changed before lying down in bed earlier and was still wearing the pale green dress she had donned for the garden party, although it was now heavily creased and her hair was partially hanging out of her updo.

Unwillingly, she rose and unlocked the door to reveal Hugh in the corridor outside. A tray of food lay on the ground beside him—largely cheese, cold meats, and bread.

“Mrs. Kaye brought you some supper earlier, but you didn’t answer the door. How are you feeling?”

“I am feeling quite recovered,” Catherine declared, although this was not true.

At this moment, she felt tired, sick, and miserable about everything. However, if she wanted Hugh to leave as quickly as possible, she could not make such an admission. Nor could she concede to such vulnerability if she wished to keep an emotional distance from him.

“Then you must eat something,” he insisted. He picked up the tray and brought it into her room, and then set it on a small table beside the window.

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