Page 88 of The Duchess Trap
“Brave enough,” Duncan said. “Bravery isn’t in shouting; it’s in enduring.”
The boy considered this, then smiled. “Are you returning for Christmas, sir?”
Catherine laughed softly. “Henry, we’ve not planned that far?—”
But Duncan’s gaze met hers, amused. “That depends. Would we be welcome?”
The children erupted into cheers before Catherine could answer. Mrs. Simms clapped her hands. “There now, it’s settled! Christmas at Brightwater!”
Catherine turned to him, incredulous. “You cannot be serious.”
He shrugged, lips curving. “I find myself curious to see what sort of celebration my wife would plan for a dozen orphans.”
Her eyes softened. “They deserve a little joy.”
“Then we shall give it to them.”
She stared at him for a moment, struck by the quiet certainty in his tone. It was not the Duke of Raynsford who had spoken, but the man she had glimpsed last night, the one capable of passion and tenderness.
She had never seen him like this: unburdened, smiling easily, letting the world touch him.
When he caught her watching, he mouthed,What?
“Nothing,” she whispered back, but her cheeks burned with affection.
Inside, the orphanage smelled of woodsmoke and bread. Garland of evergreen and dried orange peel hung along the hall, an early preparation for Christmas.
Catherine’s heart lifted at the sight. “You’ve begun decorating!”
“The children insisted,” Mrs. Simms said. “They’ve done nearly everything themselves.”
Duncan glanced upward at a crooked sprig of holly dangling from a beam. “An industrious lot,” he said dryly.
By the time they left, dusk had fallen again, and the first stars pricked the sky. As the carriage rolled away, the children waved from the gate, their shouts echoing down the lane.
“They adore you,” she said.
“They adore the one who brought me,” he replied. Then, softer, “You change a place merely by entering it.”
She felt the words settle deep inside her. “You exaggerate.”
“I do not.”
Two days later, they attended Lady Penworth’s winter soiree, a glittering affair of ice sculptures and hot spiced wine served beneath a glass pavilion.
Catherine wore pale blue silk and Duncan a dark coat that made his eyes almost impossible to look at for long. They moved through the crowd together, the new ease between them drawing more notice than she liked. Everywhere she turned, she heard murmurs.
Duncan leaned close. “Ignore them.”
“I was attempting to.”
“Then let me make it easier.” He brushed her gloved hand with his fingers, a small, private gesture that sent warmth through her despite the cold.
Before she could answer, a hush rippled through the guests near the fountain. Catherine followed the direction of their glances and felt her stomach tighten.
Across the terrace, Lord Felton stood among his acquaintances, glass of wine in hand. His smile was pleasant, but his dark, assessing eyes lingered on them too long.
Duncan’s body went still beside her.
