Page 39 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
Lady Pemberton laughed. "My dear child, that man wants you so desperately he shattered a glass rather than watch my son court you. That's not indifference, that's barely controlled passion."
"Even if that were true..."
"It is."
"...it doesn't matter. He's a duke. He needs a proper duchess. Someone like Miss Worthing, with connections and polish and..."
"The personality of wet lettuce?"
Catherine choked on a laugh. "That's unkind."
"But accurate. Can you imagine her as a duchess? She'd redecorate everything in pink and throw balls where people played charades."
"Some people like charades."
"Those people are wrong."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then Lady Pemberton said gently, "You should know that Marcus plans to propose properly. Soon."
Catherine's stomach dropped. "Oh."
"You don't love him."
It wasn't a question, but Catherine answered anyway. "I care for him deeply. He's a good man."
"But you don't love him."
"No," Catherine admitted quietly. "I don't."
"Then you must refuse him. It would be cruel to do otherwise."
"But..."
"No buts. Marcus deserves a woman who loves him completely, just as you deserve a man who makes you feel alive." Lady Pemberton stood, smoothing her skirts. "Even if that man is currently being a fool about it. And even if what I am saying I know will hurt my son, I need to protect him from a loveless life."
She left Catherine alone with her thoughts, which was rather like leaving someone alone with a pack of wolves; dangerous and likely to end badly.
Catherine stared at her reflection, seeing not herself but that night three months ago. The way James had looked at her whenhe'd first kissed her. The way he'd held her afterward, as if she were something precious he'd never expected to find.
The way he'd said goodbye, as if it were killing him.
Perhaps Lady Pemberton was right. Perhaps he was being noble and foolish rather than indifferent. The thought sent a dangerous hope spiraling through her chest.
She rose, determination filling her. She couldn't go on like this, existing in the same circles, pretending they were strangers when they were anything but. Something had to change.
She just hadn't expected change to come in the form of a scandal that would rock the entire ton.
But that would come later. First, she had to survive the rest of the evening, pretending her heart wasn't breaking every time she thought of grey eyes and a voice that had once called her perfect.
The music from the blue salon drifted through the house—a waltz, slow and melancholy. Catherine closed her eyes, remembering another night, another dance of sorts, when the music had been rain on windows and the rhythm had been two hearts beating as one.
"Lady Catherine?" A footman appeared in the doorway. "Lord Pemberton is looking for you. Something about the supper dance?"
"Of course," Catherine said, straightening her spine. "Tell him I shall be there momentarily."
The footman bowed and departed.
Catherine took one last look in the mirror, squaring her shoulders. She would dance with Pemberton. She would smile and be charming and pretend her heart wasn't elsewhere. She would be the perfect image of what she was supposed to be; an earl's daughter, a lady of rank, a suitable bride for a viscount.
