Page 22 of The Duchess Trap
I could never fall for a man like him.
CHAPTER 6
“Good God, it lives.” The voice carried easily across the club, pitched with amicable mockery.
Duncan’s shoulders stiffened before he even turned his head. There was Stephen, sprawled in his chair as though it were a throne, glass already in hand, his grin wolfish.
The hush of White’s wrapped around Duncan the moment he crossed the threshold. Newspapers rustled like dry leaves, dice clattered in some back corner, and the air smelled faintly of brandy, smoke, and old money. He had shrugged out of his coat and let the attendant take it, ignoring the curious glances that followed him.
Men had nodded to him out of habit, but Duncan scarcely registered their greetings. His mind was elsewhere, churning with accounts, with Brightwater, with Catherine.
“You have been a ghost,” Stephen went on, rising just enough to clasp Duncan’s arm when he reached the table. “Vanished from society, vanished from supper, vanished from this very seat for, what, a week now?” He made a show of counting on his fingers. “I had half a mind to put up a notice.”
Duncan gave him a look, the kind that had once silenced men across the gaming table. Stephen only smirked and waved the waiter for another glass.
“Well?” Stephen prompted. “Where in God’s name have you been hiding? The Season is half-spent, and your seat here has grown cold. I was beginning to think marriage had tamed you into some dull creature who dines at three and retires at six.”
Duncan’s mouth curved, though it was not quite a smile. He pushed the glass aside untouched.
“Obligations,” Duncan said flatly, pushing his glass aside as Stephen’s brows rose.
Across the polished table at White’s, his friend leaned back in his chair, the very picture of amused disbelief. The club hummed with quiet conversation, the rustle of newspapers, the clink of crystal and silver. All of it grated against Duncan’s nerves.
Stephen grinned. “Obligations. Is that what we are calling it now?”
Duncan arched a brow, willing his expression into granite. “That is precisely what we are calling it. I left Raynsford Hall to attend to my estates, to my tenants, and my accounts. London requires my presence.”
“Mm.” Stephen swirled his brandy, eyes glinting. “Curious, then, that your presence here comes only a week after your wedding. Most men prefer to linger on their honeymoon.” He tipped his glass in mock solemnity. “Unless, of course, their bride is so dreadfully dull that they?—”
“Enough.” Duncan’s voice indicated he was not in a playful mood and hoped his friend would desist.
Stephen’s grin widened, unrepentant. “Struck a nerve, did I?”
Duncan stiffened in his chair, shoulders rigid. He would not rise to the bait. He knew Stephen was aching to ask for details about the week he’d spent with Catherine. But, since there was little to tell, Duncan wished to steer the conversation away from that territory.
Yet Catherine’s face intruded, unbidden, her green eyes flashing like fireworks, lips parting, trembling hands pressed against the tablecloth as she leaned forward and attempted to flirt with him.
Oh, his wife wasn’t dull. Certainly not.
Duncan reached for his glass again, though his throat was too tight to drink. “Keep your tongue leashed.”
“Oh, come now, old man,” Stephen said easily, leaning forward. “I only wish to understand. You vanished into matrimony, and within days, you reemerged here, looking as though you had been shot through the heart. What else am I to conclude but that your duchess has you in knots?”
“I amnotin knots.” The words came too quickly, sharply.
Stephen chuckled. “Which ispreciselywhat a man in knots would say.”
Duncan exhaled slowly, willing control back into his lungs. “You mistake me. Catherine is?—”
His jaw clicked shut.
Stephen’s grin softened into something almost sly. “Catherine Terrell is… what?”
“Catherine is now the Duchess of Raynsford and as such, deserves to be granted a modicum of privacy…” He paused and eyed his friend carefully. “And decency.”
Stephen laughed outright this time, startling a pair of older gentlemen at the next table. “God’s teeth, you are a wonder, Duncan. I know not whether to applaud your newfound sense of chivalry or shake you and demand that you send the real Duncan out to join this conversation.”
Duncan snorted. “I am here, old friend. I only lack the mirth this discussion seems to require.” He picked up his cup and slowly swirled the brown liquid in a circle. When he glanced sidelong at Stephen, he saw that his friend was beaming at him ridiculously. Understanding what sort of jests were to follow, Duncan thought to head him off by muttering, “Suthmeer, mind yourself.”
