Page 44 of The Duchess Trap
Her stomach tightened.
Would he care that she was speaking with Benjamin? Would he even notice?
And why did it matter so terribly whether he did?
Helen nudged her, drawing her back. “You’ve gone pale,” she murmured, concerned.
“I am well,” Catherine said quickly, though her pulse raced, though her throat felt tight with the rush of so many emotions at once. She turned back to Benjamin, forcing brightness into her tone. “Tell me everything. Where you’ve been, what you’ve built. I must hear it all.”
His eyes softened, warm and familiar, carrying with them echoes of childhood summers. “Then I shall tell you,” he said gently, “if only you promise to scold me less than you did as a boy.”
She laughed again, lighter than before, and the sound mingled with the strains of violins, the rustle of silk, the murmur of Society all around.
For the first time that evening, the knot in her chest loosened, just a little. She could almost feel the warmth of her mother’s hand on her shoulder as she reminded Catherine to be kind and watch over the boys.
Catherine’s gaze slid past Benjamin’s shoulder, seeking a glimpse of Duncan against her will. Her smile held steady, though her stomach gave a sudden twist.
Instead of him, she found two matrons in heavy satin posted near the edge of the floor, their fans half-raised, their whispers concealed with all the subtlety of a dagger beneath lace. Their eyes cut toward Benjamin with censure keen enough to wound, lingering upon him as though his very presence offended propriety itself.
Helen followed Catherine’s glance. Her lips curved into a sly little smile. “Do you see them? They look as though Mr. Selkirk has trampled their roses rather than stepped into a ballroom. One would think he had appeared with hay still clinging to his boots.”
Catherine’s fan snapped open with a quiet flick, disguising the sudden heat that rose to her cheeks. “Their stares cannot diminish what they lack themselves: grace enough to leave others in peace.”
Helen gave a soft laugh, but her eyes remained sharp on the whispering pair. “Pay them no mind, Mr. Selkirk. Thetonmust always have someone to whisper about, and tonight we seem to be their chosen diversion.”
Benjamin’s mouth curved, careless and warm. “Let them whisper. It would not be the first time I’ve been accused of lowering the tone of a room.”
Helen gave a soft laugh, though her gaze darted toward the pair of matrons. “They stare at you as though you’ve appeared barefoot.”
“He might as well have,” Catherine teased, finding it in her to lighten the mood and return to their previously playful manner. “When Benjamin first came to Brightwater, he insisted upon walking barefoot everywhere. I daresay the Duchess of Hereford would faint if she saw it.”
Benjamin’s eyes lit with mischief. “And if memory serves, you joined me several times, Your Grace.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks despite herself. “An accident.”
“An adventure,” he corrected with a grin. “Though I was soundly scolded for leading the virtuous Miss Terrell astray.”
Helen arched a brow, her tone wry. “I cannot imagine Catherine ever straying. Not then. Not now.”
“Do not be so certain, my lady,” Benjamin said lightly. “Our Duchess here was braver than she knew, even then.”
Catherine’s lips curved, though her fingers tightened around her fan. Brave. Perhaps once. But bravery felt far away now, with Duncan’s gaze heavy upon her from across the ballroom, as though he could hear every word spoken, see every smile she offered.
The first notes of a waltz rose above the hum of conversation. Benjamin extended his hand, his smile unguarded. “May I have this dance, Your Grace?”
Her heart leapt in part relief, part dread. Duncan was watching. She felt his gaze like a brand on the nape of her neck.
Still, she laid her gloved hand in Benjamin’s. “Gladly.”
The crowd parted as they stepped onto the floor. The familiar patterns of the waltz guided her feet, the rise and fall of the violins steadying her breath. Benjamin’s hand rested respectfully at her waist, his other enclosing hers with gentle strength.
“You look well,” he said as they turned. “Being a Duchess suits you more than I imagined.”
Catherine forced a smile. “And you look unchanged. Still laughing too easily, still too certain that every lady will fall at your feet.”
Benjamin laughed, boyish and unrepentant. “Not every lady.”
Catherine arched a brow with mock severity. “Oh? And what precisely do you mean by that, sir? Am I to believe there is a woman somewhere in London who has withstood your charm?”
