Page 18 of The Duchess Trap
“No,” she said quickly as she backed away from the Duke’s side of the table. “Bring it to my chambers.”
Her skirts swished as she swept from the room, her pulse pounding, her body aflame with humiliation and longing. She knew that what she’d just said made no sense at all. She had given the servants contradictory orders and left them to make the best of the situation.
But, as she fled the dining room, raced up the stairs, and shut the door to her bedchambers, she did not look back at all she’d left behind.
CHAPTER 5
The carriage jolted as its wheels struck uneven cobbles. London’s lanterns outside flickered against the polished wood of the interior.
Catherine stared at the dark blur beyond the window, her gloved hands tight in her lap.
One week.
It had been one week since she had spoken her vows, since the vicar’s voice had pronounced her the Duke’s wife.
The days at Raynsford Hall had blurred into one another, a strange rhythm of command and isolation. She had thrown herself into the duties of a duchess—organizing the staff, correcting ledgers, answering questions about menus and rents—because the work gave her purpose, even dignity. It made her feel she could breathe again.
The nights had been harder. Each evening, she felt untethered. She knew not which version of the Duke would sit across from her at the table—if he came to dinner at all. In an instant, he could be cold and nearly silent. Then, a split second later, he could transform into the charismatic Duke she’d heard about so often from more adventurous young ladies.
A week married, and she might as well still be a stranger.
Her eyes flicked sideways. The Duke sat opposite her in the carriage, broad shoulders squared, coat fitted sharply, his golden-brown hair catching stray fragments of lantern light.
He looked like stone, calm, immovable, and entirely self-possessed. He had not spoken since they got in the carriage and set forth for London. Neither had she.
It still irked her that he controlled the conversations. His wavering moods dictated what her own must be, but Catherine remained determined. She would not sway before him like some young coquettish girl, nor would she become a bothersome wife who chattered constantly.
The wheels slowed, the motion gentling as the horses drew to a halt. The Duke stirred, the first movement in what felt like hours.
“We have arrived,” he said at last, voice full of resignation.
Catherine’s pulse leapt. She despised that even his voice could do that to her. “Is this your townhouse, Your Grace?”
His mouth twitched faintly, though whether in amusement or disdain she could not tell. “Our townhouse, wife. And yes, this is where the driver was meant to stop.”
The door swung open, and the Duke stepped out first, tall and commanding beneath the gaslight. Catherine gathered her skirts and placed her hand in his when he offered it, the heat of his palm searing through her glove. He helped her down with effortless strength, then released her just as quickly, as though her touch scalded him.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” the butler intoned, bowing deeply from the threshold.
Behind him, servants lined the hall, their faces lowered.
Catherine inclined her head, her smile brittle. Another household, another performance.
The Duke gestured once toward her blithely, yet a solemn expression lingered on his face. “My duchess,” he said to one and all. “Her needs require your immediate attention.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Catherine was baffled. She had studiously sat next to him throughout the entirety of the ride and said not a peep. Shehad not spoken of her discomfort, but she mentioned that her throat felt parched and that she ached for refreshment. But somehow, the Duke had interpreted her silence to mean she needed something specific. She turned to correct him, but before a single word fell from her lips, the Duke marched up the stairs, crossed the threshold, and vanished. He left nothing except the faint clicking of his boots on marble floors in his haste to be rid of her.
Catherine stood in the entry, spine stiff, throat tight.
She drew a steadying breath.
Very well.
If he would disappear into a dark room, she would not. Brightwater called to her more loudly than these empty halls.
She spun quickly and beckoned to the carriage driver. “I should like to go out now.” A footman helped her back into the coach, and, mustering the most carefree tone she possibly could before departing, Catherine called to the servants, “If my husband should bother looking for me, tell him I have gone to see to some important business of my own.”
