Page 34 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Oh, well, of course. Estate matters are important. I'll fetch punch for all of us, shall I?"
He wandered off before either could protest, leaving Catherine and James standing awkwardly in the rapidly emptying room.
"Documents concerning my father's estate?" Catherine hissed as soon as Pemberton was out of earshot. "Really?"
"Would you have preferred I tell him the truth?" James asked mildly. "That I needed to speak with you because the sight of you in that dress is slowly driving me insane and if I had to sit beside you for another moment listening to that Italian harpy while Pemberton calls you 'my dear,' I might have done something spectacularly inappropriate?"
Catherine's mouth fell open. She quickly closed it, looking around to make sure no one had heard. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"The truth," Catherine said carefully, her voice shaking slightly, "is not always appropriate for public consumption."
"No," he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers. "Some truths are better shared in private. In the dark. Behind locked doors."
Heat flooded through her so fast she felt dizzy. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You know what. This... whatever this is. You made it very clear three months ago that we were to go our separate ways."
"I did."
"You've ignored me at every social function since."
"I have."
"You've acted as if that night never happened."
"Would you prefer I acknowledge it publicly? Should I perhaps announce to the ton that I know exactly what sounds you make when you..."
"Don't." The word came out as barely a whisper, her entire body responding to the memory his words evoked. "Please."
Something in his expression softened. "Catherine..."
"No," she said firmly, taking a step back. "You don't get to talk to me like that. Not after three months of 'Lady Catherine' and cold bows and treating me like a stranger."
"What would you have me do?" he asked, and for the first time since that night, she heard real emotion in his voice. "Acknowledge you properly? Court you? Marry you?"
The last word hung between them like a blade.
"I never asked for marriage," Catherine said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "You asked for freedom. And I can't give you that. Being a duchess isn't freedom, it's a different kind of cage. A prettier one, perhaps, with better jewels, but still a cage."
"How fortunate then that you've never offered it to me."
"How fortunate," he agreed, though his expression suggested it was anything but.
They stood there, looking at each other, three months of carefully maintained distance crumbling between them. Catherine could feel herself swaying toward him, drawn by the same magnetic pull that had brought them together that night.
"Your Grace!" A shrill voice shattered the moment. "How delightful to find you here!"
Miss Amelia Worthing descended upon them like a particularly determined butterfly, all fluttering lashes and strategic décolletage. She was this Season's incomparable, with golden hair, blue eyes, and a dowry that could fund a small war.
"Miss Worthing," James greeted with notably less enthusiasm than her arrival seemed to expect.
"I was just telling Mama that you looked positively thoughtful during Signora Catalani's performance. So few gentlemen truly appreciate fine music." She turned to Catherine with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Lady Catherine, how lovely you look. That's last year's style, isn't it? How clever of you to bring it back."
