Page 93 of The Duchess Trap
Thomas puffed his chest. “A biscuit!”
“Then a biscuit you shall have.” Duncan rose, dusting off his coat, and turned to Catherine. “Would you allow me to raid your kitchen, madam?”
Catherine crossed her arms, pretending exasperation. “So long as you bring me one as well.”
“As Her Grace commands.” He gave an exaggerated bow and disappeared through the door, trailed by giggling children.
Mrs. Simms laughed softly. “I like him.”
“So do they,” Catherine said, quieter. Then, after a pause, “So do I.”
She giggled girlishly as the truth of her confession washed over her. When Duncan returned a few minutes later, his hair dusted with flour from some kitchen adventure, Catherine couldn’t keep a straight face.
“What on earth happened to you?” she snorted.
“Negotiations with the cook,” he said solemnly. “They turned violent.”
She shook her head, laughing. “I will never forget this.”
“Undoubtedly,” he said, offering her a biscuit. “But at least I come bearing peace offerings.”
She took it, their fingers brushing. The moment stretched, her pulse stuttered, his smile softened, and then one of the younger girls tugged at Catherine’s skirt, demanding approval of a ribbon bow. The spell broke, leaving warmth in its wake.
By afternoon, carol practice had begun. A dozen voices lifted through the hall, off-key but jubilant. Catherine led them with determined grace, clapping the beat while Duncan leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching with the expression of a man who would rather fight ten battles than sing in public.
“Come, Your Grace,” she called. “You can at least keep time.”
“I assure you, I’m perfectly in time. With silence.”
“Coward.”
He stepped forward, mock-offended. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sing, or I’ll assign you to ribbon duty.”
“That sounds perilously close to blackmail.”
“Indeed.”
The children were already laughing, chanting his name until he surrendered.
His voice, when it came, was low and surprisingly rich. Catherine felt it slide through her, unexpected and stirring. She turned the page of music to hide her smile.
When the final notes faded, the room erupted in applause. Duncan bowed to the children’s cheers, then met her gaze over their heads. For an instant, the noise seemed to blur around them, leaving only the two of them and the faint echo of harmony.
Later, as dusk gathered outside, candles were lit and the chaos softened into something gentle.
Catherine and Duncan stood side by side, surveying the transformed hall. Garlands draped every beam; the air smelled of pine and spice and warm wax. The children drowsed by the fire, whispering about Christmas morning.
“You’ve done well,” Duncan said quietly.
“I cannot take all the credit. Grandmother has been very obliging, sending in packages and ribbons galore. Do you know that three enormous geese were sent to the kitchen earlier today and…”
“Clever birds. How did they know where to waddle?”
Catherine snickered at her husband’s foolishness. “Those geese will be roasted tomorrow, and the children will feast for days on the leftovers. Your grandmother really is quite special.”
“As are you.”
