Page 61 of The Duchess Trap
Stephen gasped. “You mean to involve Catherine’s father in your case against Lord Felton?”
“Of course.” Duncan stared at his friend as though such a deduction was obvious, rather than noteworthy. “He is a living, breathing representative who can speak openly and honestly about his dealings with the crooked Earl. I should think he would relish the opportunity to see Felton led away to jail.”
Stephen tilted his head, studying him. “Does Her Grace know you’re doing this? The business with Felton? Does she know you mean to involve her father?”
“No.”
“Will you tell her?”
Duncan’s silence was answer enough.
Stephen exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re a bloody fool sometimes. You claim to protect her, but you shut her out of everything that might show her who you are. Do you think she’ll thank you for that?”
“I do not require her gratitude,” Duncan said evenly. “Only her safety.”
“But do you not think she should know what occupies your every other thought? Should you not consult her on this matter and see what she suggests?”
Duncan did not answer. He could not think of a response that would suffice.
He would give Catherine anything. He would do anything to see that everyone who had ever dared to harm her was brought forward to pay for their crimes. But he would not ask her to join him in this endeavor. She was too kind. She cared too much for the poor and downtrodden. She would never understand the things he did to gain the knowledge and access he needed to seek his revenge.
They stood in silence for a moment, the night humming around them. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the hour.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Stephen muttered.
With that, he tipped his hat and disappeared into the mist, leaving Duncan alone once more with the echo of his words.
CHAPTER 19
“Do sit up straighter, my dear. Dowagers can smell fear.”
Catherine blinked, startled, as the Dowager Duchess’s fan snapped open with military precision. “Fear?”
“Yes,” the older woman said firmly, settling herself in the carriage as if upon a throne. “It exudes from the young like cheap perfume. Best not to wear it.”
Catherine smothered a nervous laugh. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am not afraid of your friends.”
“Liar,” the dowager said pleasantly. “You’ve been pale since I mentioned their names.”
The carriage jolted forward, its wheels clattering against the cobblestones. Through the window, Hyde Park glimmered in thedistance, all bright carriages and parasols fluttering like banners in the breeze.
Catherine folded her hands in her lap, attempting a smile that felt much too tight.
“I am simply uncertain what they will think of me,” she said at last.
“They will think whatever they please,” the dowager replied. “And you will charm them regardless. Youth and beauty forgive most sins, especially when paired with a title.”
Catherine flushed. “I hardly think?—”
“My dear, a duchess who says she hardly thinks is the most dangerous creature of all. Remember that.”
Catherine bit her lip to hide a laugh. The Dowager Duchess of Raynsford was unlike any woman she had ever met: sharp as vinegar and twice as bracing. She possessed an authority that could quiet an entire room, yet wielded her fan like a duelist’s blade.
They rounded the final turn, the park opening before them in a wash of sunlight and green. Ahead, beneath a broad elm, three women waited in a neat semicircle of chairs and parasols, all glittering with brooches and bonnets far too grand for the hour.
“There they are,” the dowager announced with satisfaction. “The holy trinity of gossips. None of them can hold a secret longer than five minutes, so do choose your words carefully.”
Catherine swallowed hard. “I shall do my best.”
