Page 12 of The Duchess Trap
She removed her hand from the table and settled it primly in her lap.
I braced myself for meeting with him here. I dressed specially for the occasion.
She smoothed down the folds of her dress, then slid her eyes discreetly toward the clock which sat on the mantelpiece.
Have I really been sitting here on my own for more than half an hour?
Annoyed, Catherine lifted her glass and took a long gulp of wine. Her stomach gurgled in response, so as she replaced the goblet in its proper place, she picked up her fork and knife, helped herself to a fine cut of venison, and took a hungry bite.
She was so frustrated and vexed that she intended to eat everything within her reach and boldly sample all the other foods on the table as well—even those that were not situated directly in front of her. Instead, after tearing her way through that first portion of meat, she ate little. The cavernous room unnerved her as it swallowed every sound until even the clink of her fork felt like mockery.
Disgruntled, she dropped her cutlery, signaled to the footman that she was finished, then left the room.
Hours later, after she had already dressed in a sheer nightdress and climbed into bed, a knock sounded in her chambers. Three firm raps against the adjoining door reverberated.
Her breath snagged. She rose from her bed, each step unsteady, until her hand found the latch. She opened it, and there he stood.
Duncan Witherley, Duke of Raynsford—barefoot, in shirtsleeves and trousers, the crisp linen of his shirt open at the throat. His hair, golden and unruly, fell loose across his brow. Without his coat, without the armor of society, he looked different somehow.
The informality of his attire paled in comparison to the look on his face. He seemed to be contemplating a great deal, and the expression he wore indicated that he found his world just as confounding as she did.
She eyed him keenly and waited for him to speak first. But, when he gave her nothing, she politely bobbed her chin at him and said softly, “Your Grace.”
“Duchess.” His gaze flicked down her body, pausing at the thin silk of her nightgown before returning to her face. “I trust the rooms are satisfactory.”
She continued to study his features. “Quite.”
“Good.”
A faint crackle from the hearth broke the quiet, the sound far too loud in the space between them. The silence stretched until she could no longer bear it.
At last, she blurted, “I was surprised by your absence at dinner this evening.”
His brows lifted faintly. “I assumed you would prefer solitude.”
“Prefer solitude? It is our wedding day, and I am your wife.” The word felt foreign on her tongue, clumsy and raw. “Should I not have anticipated the two of us breaking bread together? Am I to eat alone in perpetuity?”
His mouth twitched. “If it spares me endless chatter, perhaps.”
Her brows arched defiantly. “I do not chatter on endlessly.”
“Perhaps not yet, but I am certain once I lend you my ear, you will find reasons enough to talk incessantly.”
Catherine frowned. She was most perturbed by the assumptions he’d made regarding her character. “I will have you know that I expect nothing more from my dinner companions than polite chit chat. I…”
“Yes…” The Duke pulled out the word drolly. “Whatever would we do without the constant tittering of the ladies?”
Agitation coursed through Catherine’s insides. She squared her shoulders and stared evenly at her new husband. “Are your words designed to offend? Did you knock on my door this evening so that you might berate me, Your Grace?”
“I’m sure you are the exception to the rule, but I have found that once a young woman is given leave to pursue a course of conversation, she will continue until all the gentlemen have successfully tuned her out.” He sighed aggrievedly. “Alas, I should not dare lump you in with the others, though, right?”
When she did not respond immediately, he added, “I speak only from experience, so?—”
“Then you must have had a very narrow one.”
His eyes gleamed faintly. “Would you truly care to know the breadth of my experience, Catherine?”
The question caught her off guard, as did the use of her Christian name. Color rose swiftly to her cheeks. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and turned away.
