Page 100 of The Duchess Trap
When one of the boys stumbled, she crouched beside him, speaking softly until he stopped crying. When another asked if their toys had burned, she promised they would have new ones. He saw the way her hand lingered on each small shoulder, how she smiled even through exhaustion.
“Your Grace?” His steward appeared at his elbow. “Provisions are being sent from the main kitchens. The physicians are on their way for the injured.”
“Good,” Duncan said curtly. “See that no one leaves until they’re checked.”
The man hesitated. “And the duchess, sir? She’s?—”
“I’ll see to her,” Duncan said, more sharply than intended.
The steward bowed and left.
Catherine stood near the hearth, the glow painting her skin in gold. She had shed her cloak, revealing the tear in her sleeve, thefaint bruise forming on her shoulder. Her fingers were stained red from tending to wounds that weren’t her own.
He crossed the room. “You should let the physician look at you first.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He reached for her arm. The scrape was angry and raw beneath his thumb. “You’ll scar if it’s not cleaned properly.”
She looked up at him, a weary challenge in her eyes. “Then I’ll have a scar to remember tonight by.”
His breath caught. “You think I want you to remember this?”
Her gaze softened. “I’ll remember that you came.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Words tangled in his throat. He wanted to tell her he would have torn down the building with his bare hands if it meant finding her.
Her breath hitched. The silence between them grew taut. He could feel the heat radiating from her, smell the faint trace of smoke in her hair.
She stepped back first, as if sensing the desire building inside him. “The children need food,” she said softly. “I’ll help the staff prepare it.”
“Catherine—”
But she was already turning away, gathering herself, hiding whatever had flickered in her eyes. He watched her cross the room, graceful even in exhaustion, and something in him twisted painfully.
He wanted to follow. To pull her back, to tell her what it meant—that he’d never known a woman who could make him feel both unmade and whole. But the words stayed trapped in his chest.
Because love, he reminded himself, was perilous. Love was chaos disguised as beauty.
When she disappeared down the corridor, he exhaled, long and unsteady. The ache in his chest did not ease. He had saved her, yes. He had saved them all. But somewhere amid the smoke and ruin, something in him had caught fire too, and he feared there was no saving himself from it.
Hours passed. The house had quieted. The physicians came and went. Children slept in borrowed beds, the younger ones clutching the toys his steward had hastily procured. The matron and servants rested in adjoining chambers. Only Catherine remained awake, moving quietly from room to room, adjusting blankets, whispering comfort in her smoke-roughened voice.
Through the nursery’s half-open door, he saw her bending over one of the smaller beds, smoothing a blanket with careful hands. The candlelight cast her in soft gold, her shadow moving gently across the wall as she tucked each child in turn.
“There now,” she murmured, her voice low, warm. “You’re safe, all of you. Sleep, my darlings. The fire can’t reach you here.”
A small hand caught hers, and she paused, brushing the child’s hair from their forehead before pressing a faint kiss there. “Rest,” she whispered. “It’s over.”
He stood in the doorway, unseen. Watching her speak such peace into chaos made something shift in him — something that frightened him more than any flame. But she turned, and the thought vanished.
“Duncan,” she said softly, surprised to find him there. “They’re settled.”
He nodded once. “You should be as well.”
“I will,” she said. Her voice was steady, though the tremor in her fingers betrayed her exhaustion. “Just one more check.”
He might have smiled if his chest didn’t hurt so much. “Of course.”
