Page 4 of The Duchess Trap
He did not. He struck her as a man who wasted nothing, neither time, nor breath, nor the heat now radiating off his frame as he closed the distance between them.
Catherine swallowed hard, hating that her body thrilled at his nearness, hating that she could not breathe properly with his gaze locked so firmly upon her.
“This is a private family matter, Your Grace; I will not be interrogated,” she whispered, though her voice lacked the steel she craved.
“Ah,” he said quietly. “You plead delicacy rather than surrender the details. Where did all the fire you displayed before go? Why do you cower now? Is not this the moment of revelation?Should you not bear your soul to me and pour out your family’s downtrodden saga?”
“You think me capable of deceit?” She scoffed. “You believe I would invent an entire tragedy for pity?”
“I believe,” he said, stepping closer, “that you have reason to hide something. Whether for pity or for gain, I cannot yet decide.”
It had become difficult to keep track of her ever-changing emotions. One moment, she was filled with contempt for Lord Felton and gratitude toward the Duke for holding his tongue. But now that he had begun talking again, she could not help feeling incensed. “Not every silence conceals a scheme, Your Grace. Some things are simply too heavy to be spoken.”
His expression shifted, as though the thought unsettled him. “Then you would have me guess? I should cobble together the full story based on only what I’ve heard and the reaction I watched you display?”
“You may do as you please,” she said quietly. “It will make little difference.”
“You mistake the matter entirely,” he replied, his voice low. “What you say makes all the difference. I would rather be wrong than misled.”
She contemplated that heavy statement. She, too, did not enjoy being kept in the dark, and she preferred always to have honest, frank conversations, rather than ones rich with innuendo and irony.But can I trust this man? Just because he is here—now—showing a modicum of concern, does he deserve to know the entirety of my family’s plight?
“You care for this…Brightwater,” he said slowly, pulling her from her reverie.
She blinked owlishly.
“I have heard of it, My Lady, and of the generous work you do there, but I know little of the establishment myself.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
“Tell me about the place,” he pressed. “Help me understand why it is so important to you and your family.”
Finally, she whispered, “It is an orphanage, Your Grace.”
The word slipped out soft and reverent, as though naming a holy place. Something flickered in his expression.
“I gathered as much previously. But I wish to know more.” He rubbed his hand down the length of his cheek before scratching the whiskers of his beard. “Your work?” he asked.
“My mother’s,” Catherine breathed, and her throat closed around the rest. She turned away, unable to let him see the sheen in her eyes. “She devoted her life to the place and the…the children. I… I try to continue what she began.”
“Hmmm…” The Duke hummed softly, breaking the silence with his musing. “And Lord Felton—he appeared just now bearing that dreary remainder because he holds the deed to the property?”
She forced herself to nod.
His hand flexed at his side, as though he longed to strike something. “Is he one of your father’s main creditors?”
Another nod. Shame burned through her.
“Wretched man.” The words were quiet and spoken almost to himself, yet they seared the air.
Catherine wrapped her arms around her middle, fighting the ache rising in her chest. Brightwater, the children’s bright faces, their laughter, their fragile safety, balanced on the edge of Lord Felton’s whim. If she lost it, she would lose her mother all over again.
Her breath trembled.
You must not break here, not before him.
But the Duke was still watching. She could see him making quick calculations and evidently attempting to size up the situation based on the sparse bits of information he had gleaned.
At last, he exhaled, low and slow, as though deciding something monumental. His gaze swept over her, from the trembling of her lips to the clenched fists hidden in her skirts.
