Page 17 of The Duchess Trap
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite every effort to steady it.
The Duke inclined his head once in response. “Do not thank me. It is not kindness, wife. It is pragmatism. You required money. I required a duchess. This is what our arrangement affords us both.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. Gratitude tangled with humiliation, her relief cut by the sharp edge of his coldness. He had saved Brightwater, yes, but not for her, not for love or even for sympathy’s sake. For thearrangement’ssake. The word burned as surely as if he had branded it into her skin.
Her heart thundered. How could he be so cold about everything? So distant? The Duke had done a remarkable thing by saving the orphanage and securing a safe place for all those children. And still, he remained stoic. He did not crack a smile or offer her a kind word. There were many matters Catherine could treat with indifference, but Brightwater…her mother’s legacy…that amounted to more than a gentle nod and large donation.
Catherine never felt so utterly powerless in her life. Even though she now managed a duchess’s household, she couldn’t manage or even begin to understand this man before her, her husband.
The Duke inclined his head once curtly, as though she had thanked him for a passing courtesy.
Catherine’s hand trembled on the tablecloth. Relief warred with fury. Gratitude tangled with humiliation. He had done what no one else could, and he had done it without warmth, without tenderness, without even looking at her as a person.
Her chest burned.
Her voice came unbidden, too soft. “And Lord Felton? You said you wanted to teach him a lesson.”
Duncan’s expression hardened. “That is my concern only.”
Her pulse spiked. “If you mean to act against him?—”
He cut her off. “This is a matter I will handle in my own time, Duchess. You need not tire yourself with it.”
Catherine shook her head vehemently. “I should like to handle this bit of business together. Lord Felton has plagued me and my father for years, and now…”
“I am your husband,” the Duke interjected. “I will ensure that Lord Felton never so much as asks you to stand up with him at a ball ever again.”
Catherine snorted hotly. “I do not need you to find me suitable dance partners.” She stood and stomped toward the end of the table, so that she might look more closely at him and have a vague hope of reading his expression. “I need to feel like an equal contributor.” She lowered her chin so that she might look at him squarely in the eyes. “I would like to do as much for you as you have done for me.”
The Duke’s eyelashes fluttered, and as the corners of his mouth tugged upward, creating an impish grin, Catherine felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. “I only meant to say that when it comes to business concerns…when Lord Felton is involved…I…”
Her husband’s gaze lingered on her, and Catherine self-consciously gave up on her attempts to qualify her statements. Instead, she took to fussing with the lace around the neckline of her gown.
When the Duke’s eyes flicked lower, she understood that this too was a mistake.
“Help me to reconcile these two sides of you,” she whispered throatily. “Are you the devilish rogue with a puckish smile who wishes to tease and cavort with young ladies, or are you the master of business who wants to face the world wholly and completely on his own?”
“Can I not be both?” The Duke took a slow sip of his claret, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers.
“I…” She gulped heavily as he replaced the goblet, and she noticed the smear of purple that beaded on his upper lip. “I only want to…”
The Duke clucked his tongue playfully as though he were a governess scolding her for writing sloppily. “Let us not speak in such absolutes. There is no ‘only’ about you. You want a great many things…the least of which is to better understand my provocations.”
“Yes,” Catherine groaned. “Precisely.”
A flash of something akin to amusement skittered through his eyes.
“I mean…” She tried to backtrack. “It is true that I wish to know you better, but I am…”
“Are you still frightened?” His eyes roved slowly over every exposed bit of her skin. “Last night, I could feel your anxiousness. You were…”
“Timid,” she supplied simply because she did not wish to hear him cast her actions in another light. “I am new to these things and…”
Catherine sorted through her words, choosing carefully what to say next. And while the Duke waited patiently for her to finish her response, the door behind her creaked open.
“Dessert, Your Graces?” the butler asked politely, as servants filed in with trays.
Catherine jerked back, her face flaming. She wanted to speak to her husband, and now that they had just ventured into new territory, they were being interrupted.
