Page 33 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
The question was loaded with far more meaning than a discussion of Italian sopranos warranted. Catherine felt her chest tighten with a familiar anger—the same anger that had sustained her these three months as she'd watched him at ball after ball, acting as if she didn't exist, as if that night had meant nothing.
"No," she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut. "We certainly can't. Some of us are better at accepting that than others."
He turned to look at her fully then, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath catch. "And some of us," he said, his voice low and rough, "know that accepting and surviving are two very different things."
"Are you two quite all right?" Pemberton whispered from her other side. "You're being rather loud."
Several people around them were indeed shooting disapproving glances their way. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell looked torn between delight at the obvious tension and horror at the breach of musicale etiquette.
"My apologies," James said smoothly, sitting back in his chair. "I was simply overcome by the... artistry."
Catherine bit her lip to keep from laughing at the way he said "artistry" like someone might say "plague" or "revenue collectors."
The first aria ended to enthusiastic applause. Signora Catalani curtsied deeply, her peacock feathers rustling like an offended bird. She then launched immediately into her second piece, this one apparently about someone's heart being ripped from their chest and laid bare, if Catherine's limited Italian was correct.
"This is interminable," James muttered after five minutes of particularly violent vocal gymnastics.
"It's culture," Catherine corrected primly. "You're supposed to be elevated by it."
"The only thing being elevated is my desire to escape."
"No one's forcing you to stay."
"Aren't they?"
Again with the loaded questions. Catherine was beginning to think he did it on purpose, dropping these little emotional words into their conversation just to watch her scramble.
"I wouldn't know what forces compel you, Your Grace," she said coolly. "I'm not privy to your thoughts."
"Aren't you?" He turned to look at her again, and this time there was something almost vulnerable in his expression. "I rather thought you understood them perfectly."
Catherine's heart performed a complicated maneuver that would have impressed even Signora Catalani. She opened her mouth to respond, though what she would have said, something cutting, something revealing, something catastrophically honest, she'd never know, because at that moment, Signora Catalani hit a note that could have shattered crystal.
Pemberton actually winced. "Heavens, was that intentional?"
"I believe," James said dryly, "that's what the Italians call 'passion.'"
"I call it assault," Catherine murmured before she could stop herself.
James made that sound again—definitely a laugh this time, quickly suppressed. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the careful walls they'd both built these past three months cracked. She saw the man from the inn, the one who'd made her laugh even as he was seducing her, who'd been irreverent and witty and achingly real.
Then the moment passed, and the Duke was back, all proper distance and cool reserve.
The aria finally, mercifully, ended. The audience applauded with the enthusiasm of people who were either genuinely moved or desperately grateful it was over. Catherine suspected the latter.
"There will now be a brief interval," Mrs. Drummond-Burrell announced, "for refreshment and recovery—I mean, reflection."
The audience rose en masse, eager to escape to the refreshment room where they could gossip about the performance while drinking punch that was rumored to be at least half brandy.
"Lady Catherine," Pemberton said immediately, offering his arm, "allow me to fetch you some refreshment."
But before Catherine could accept, James stood and turned to face them both. "Actually, Pemberton, I was hoping to have a word with Lady Catherine. About a matter concerning her late father's estate."
Catherine's heart stopped. "My father's estate?"
"Yes. I've recently discovered some documents that might be of interest to you. Papers concerning certain properties that may have been overlooked in the transition to your cousin."
It was a lie. Catherine knew it was a lie. James knew she knew it was a lie. But Pemberton, dear, trusting Pemberton, merely looked concerned.
