Page 48 of The Duchess Trap
Her head whipped toward the sound, her body tensing beside him. Duncan followed her gaze.
At the far side of the ballroom, the Viscount of Portsbury, her father, stumbled into view. His cravat was askew, his coat wrinkled, his hand clutched loosely around a glass that sloshed red wine down his sleeve.
A murmur rippled through the crowd as he lurched forward, laughter too loud for the music, words spilling without care.
“My darling girl!” he bellowed, weaving toward them. “The duchess herself! Come now, Catherine, give your old father a smile—tell these fine people I raised you well, eh? You ended up a duchess.”
A few guests turned away; others whispered behind gloved hands. The violins faltered, one note lingering too long before the melody died altogether.
“Portsbury,” someone muttered under their breath, and the name spread through the hush like smoke.
Catherine inhaled sharply, horror flaring across her face. She took a step forward, but Duncan’s arm barred her path at once.
“No.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument.
She looked up at him, anguish bright in her eyes. “He will disgrace himself. When I saw him earlier, I did not know he would overimbibe. I should have said something then. Should have cautioned him. Should have…”
She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered something unintelligible under her breath.
Then, she continued, “He will?—”
“He will disgraceyou,” Duncan finished for her, his jaw tight. “I will deal with this.”
Her lips trembled, fury and shame battling in her gaze. “You cannot simply?—”
“I can,” he said, his tone flat with command. “And I will.”
The music faltered as more heads turned toward the disturbance.
“Another bottle!” Lord Portsbury called, raising his glass high enough for the claret to spill down his sleeve. “A celebration, eh?My daughter—my fine, beautiful duchess of a daughter—she’s done what her old father could not!”
Laughter, loud and misplaced, burst from his chest. “Married herself a fortune and a title all in one. Smart girl—takes after her mother!”
Catherine blanched, and Duncan took another step toward the Viscount.
“My lord…perhaps some air,” a servant murmured, stepping forward with uncertain hands.
“Air?” Portsbury barked. “Nonsense. What’s a ball without a little cheer? Come now, Your Grace!” His eyes swept those gathered until they found Catherine. “Don’t look so grim, my girl. Smile for the guests, show them the Portsbury charm!”
His voice rang out across the marble floor, too loud, too familiar. A murmur rippled through the assembly; fans paused mid-flutter, and the whisper of silk stilled.
Catherine’s hand clenched into a fist at her side. Her shoulders straightened. Duncan saw the love she still bore for a father who had failed her, the despair of a daughter who could not stop him, and the shame of a duchess whose family might drag her down.
He leaned into his wife and lowered his voice so that no one else might overhear them. “Stay here. I will fix this. Do not move.”
Her chin trembled, but she gave a single, tight nod.
He released her arm, though it cost him, and squared his shoulders. His stride was steady, controlled, but each step carried the weight of fury tightly leashed.
The crowd shifted around him, eyes following as the Duke of Raynsford cut across the ballroom with purpose.
He would end this spectacle before it destroyed her.
For he wouldn’t let anyone disgrace his wife so.
CHAPTER 15
“Catherine!” Helen’s voice cut through the rising murmur of the ballroom as she hurried to her friend’s side. “Good heavens, are you all right?”
