Page 34 of The Taming of the Duke
Catherine looked away. Why did Blanche have to be so happy?
Why did they all have to be so damnedhappy?
Then she cursed herself. She would never have resented her sister’s—or anyone else’s—happiness before today.
But, today, she’d caught a glimpse of what happiness might have been like forher—of what it might have been like to be loved.
Until it had been wrenched from her. Until she’d realized that she had been used as a pawn, as a means to earn one hundred guineas for a wager.
She averted her gaze from the happy faces and moved around the perimeter of the ballroom, in search of a quiet corner. Then she collided with a solid wall of muscle.
Her breath caught at the familiar masculine scent.
“Miss Parville,” a deep voice spoke, and her body tightened with recognition. “May I request…”
“No, you may not,” she said, her voice sharp to hide her heartache.
She glanced up, and her senses were assaulted by his deep blue gaze.
“Won’t you let me explain?” he asked.
“Explain what, Your Grace? That you took on the challenge of persuading the Spinster Shrew into a pretend courtship in order to earn yourself a hundred guineas and have a jolly good laugh at my expense?” She shook her head. “I have no wish to listen to what you have to say. Suffice it to say that ourcourtshipis at an end—though it had never really begun, had it?”
He stepped toward her, and she raised her hand. “No!” she cried. “There’s nothing you can say that I could possibly want to hear. You mock me for being a spinster, but I consider spinsterhood to be significantly better than the alternative.”
His blue eyes narrowed, regret in their expression. But she was no longer fooled by him, no matter how well he might conceal his true intentions.
She turned her back and strode toward a footman brandishing a tray of champagne glasses. Though she loathed the stuff, she needed something to erase the pain—and her host would doubtless object to her disappearing into his study to seek oblivion in his brandy.
She plucked a glass from the tray and took a sip. But, before she could take another, a hand caught her sleeve. She looked up into a pair of red-rimmed eyes, framed in a sallow, weather-beaten face creased with anger.
“Papa.”
“I see it didn’t take you long to scare off your suitor,” he hissed. “Useless child!”
“I have no suitor,” she said. “I never did.”
He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, and her senses were assaulted by the stench of stale liquor.
“Frightened him off, did you? I hope you’re proud of yourself.Youcan tell your sister that she must break off her courtship with Lord Horton.”
“Leave her be, Papa!” Catherine cried. “What Blanche does is none of my business.”
“Itisyour business,” he snarled, “seeing as you’re such a miserable shrew that it’s impossible to get you off my hands! Do you think I wanted to be saddled with daughters?”
“Then be grateful that someone’s courting Blanche.”
“I’m not grateful!” he cried. “I’m bloody furious! If Blanche marries, I’ll be left with you plaguing me all my life. And nobody wants a shrew for a daughter—particularly one who repulsed two suitors.”
“Papa…”
“Mr. Leander was right about you!” he snarled. “Ye gods, I hate the man for not ridding me of you, but you cannot deny he was right. With your shrewish tongue, you’ll never attract a man.”
“Perhaps I don’twantto attract a man!” she cried.
The music faltered, and Catherine became aware of several pairs of eyes on her. The dancing had stopped. But she’d passed beyond the realm of wanting to pander to the sensibilities of the other guests.
Let them hear. Let themallhear!
