Page 9 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“You’ve never been this close to a man before, have you?” he murmured, barely holding back his longing to embrace her passionately.

She shook her head.

“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed and then leaned forward to kiss her cheek lightly, and then her ear, whispering her name as he did so.

As Hugh dropped a series of light kisses on her throat and neck, Catherine made an involuntary sound of breathless, pleasured surprise. But then, he stopped, knowing that if he let his lips stray down to the pale flesh exposed by the loosened ribbon of her bodice, he might not be able to stop himself. Thosetemptingly round breasts must wait for his attention until the proper time.

With a distinct effort, Hugh stepped away.

“You’re going?” Catherine asked, her face flushed and confused in a way that aroused both his tenderness and his lust all over again.

Her response only confirmed his conviction that he must leave the house immediately.

“I must go now, Miss Wright. I will be back in the morning to make the necessary arrangements with your father. We should arrange the wedding as soon as possible.”

At her nod, he let himself out of the room and then away into the street.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Really?” Lord Sedgehall said incredulously, his spectacles falling off his nose and onto the richly colored Indian rug beside the drawing room fireplace. “You say you’re going to marry someone called Hugh? Am I to assume that Hugh is the Christian name of the Duke of Redbridge?”

Jemima knelt down and retrieved his eyeglasses before he could step on them. She said nothing, but her expression was as sweet and smiling as ever as she listened to the conversation between her father and her older sister.

“Yes, I have agreed to marry the Duke of Redbridge, and he will return in the morning to make all the necessary arrangements with you,” Catherine confirmed flatly. “That’s all there is to say.”

“All there is to say?” Her father snorted in disbelief and then burst out laughing fully, his expression overjoyed. “My eldest daughter is finally getting married. My daughter is marrying aduke. A duke with a fortune. Elford! Bring up the champagne! Miss Wright is getting married.”

“Really? I mean, congratulations, My Lord. Congratulations to you, Miss Wright, of course. I shall fetch the champagne.”

Catherine groaned as Elford bowed and hurried away, presumably towards the wine cellar while stopping to break the news to every maid and footman he passed on the way.

“Don’t do this, Father, please. Can’t we just have a quiet, sensible evening tonight? There’s no need for all this fussing and telling the servants.”

“There’s every need.” Albion laughed, hugging her despite her stiff response, and then embracing Jemima, who hugged him back. “It’s not every day that your beloved daughter gets engaged to a duke, is it? Why in the world do you look so unhappy? This is wonderful news!”

Shrugging ambivalently, Catherine tried to understand why her father’s happiness irked her so much. Perhaps it was because her state of mind was now one of such confusion and anxiety.

Hugh had been kind when they spoke and had seemed sincere in all that he said and did. But he was still a man and therefore motivated by lust and self-interest. Catherine knew that men never really cared about women, and she must not let her judgment be clouded.

Even when this mysterious duke had kissed her, she had not been able to forget that men wanted only one thing in the end. But what had really disturbed her the most was that she had wanted it, too. For the first time in her life, she had sincerely wished that a man would touch her, kiss her, and physically possess her.

In the drawing room now, Albion popped open one bottle of champagne after another and was merrily handing out glasses to the servants.

“You must have a glass, Elford, and you, Mrs. Gardener. Lewis! Come in here and hear the news. Miss Wright is to be married. What do you say to that? Here, have a glass of my finest champagne. Oh, do cheer up, Catherine. Anyone would think you are planning a funeral rather than a wedding.”

“Father, just because I have agreed to marry him doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it!” Catherine snapped, her patience thinning.

“Nerves,” Mrs. Gardener, their cook, pronounced after the silence that followed Catherine’s outburst. “I was just the same before my wedding—a bundle of nerves.”

“Were you, indeed, Mrs. Gardener?” Lord Sedgehall topped up the cook’s glass, glad to have his daughter’s ill temper explained away so conventionally. “But after you got married, you were happy, I assume?”

“Oh, yes, My Lord. We couldn’t have been happier, Mr. Gardener and I. Five children, thirty years, and we’re still happy. You can’t ask for more than that, can you?”

“Indeed, you cannot, Mrs. Gardener. Indeed.”

Exasperated by such nonsense around her, Catherine balled her hands into fists and turned away, wishing she could shut everything out by simply closing her eyes and thinking of something else. The feeling of Jemima putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her cheek calmed her slightly.

“What did you mean, Catherine?” Jemima asked softly. “About marrying but not being happy about it? Why would you agree to marry someone if it would make you unhappy? I should not like you to be unhappy, and I can’t believe that the Duke of Redbridge would make you unhappy intentionally.”

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