Page 51 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
But sleep eluded her. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day. Miss Worthing's calculated cruelty, Pemberton's proposal and subsequent anger and James's public declaration.
It was that last that she kept returning to. The way he'd stood there, facing down society's judgment, and claimed her. Not physically, he was too proper for that, but with his words, his protection, his determination.
Anyone who harms her will answer to me personally.
The words sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with cold.
Tomorrow, he would come. Tomorrow, they would have to talk—really talk, not the careful dance they'd been doing for months. Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, she allowed herself to remember. The weight of his body over hers. The way he'd whispered her name like a prayer. The perfect peace of lying in his arms as the storm raged outside.
Tonight, she could pretend that love was simple, that wanting someone was enough, that two people who'd found each other in a storm could weather anything together.
Tomorrow would bring reality. But tonight, she could dream.
***
The next morning came too soon, bringing with it a flood of calling cards and letters. News of yesterday's drama had spread through the ton like wildfire.
"Lady Jersey has written," Vivienne announced over breakfast, reading through the correspondence. "She wants to know if the Duke has formally approached me as your guardian. Oh, and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell is reconsidering your vouchers for Almack's."
"Reconsidering?" Catherine set down her teacup. "Because of yesterday?"
"Because you're now at the center of the most delicious scandal of the Season. She's probably worried you'll cause a riot at Almack's."
"This is disaster."
"This is fame, my dear. There's a difference, though I admit it's sometimes hard to tell."
"What else?"
"Let's see... Lady Cowper wants to know if you'll attend her gathering next week—she's probably hoping for more drama. Lord Ashford has withdrawn his interest, citing 'an abundance of excitement.' And... oh my."
"What?"
"The Duchess of Ravensfield has written."
Catherine's blood chilled. "James's mother?"
"The very same." Vivienne held up an elegant cream envelope sealed with the Ravensfield crest. "Addressed to you personally."
Catherine took it with trembling fingers, breaking the seal carefully.
Lady Catherine,
I believe it would be beneficial for us to speak privately regarding my son's intentions. Would you do me the honour of calling this afternoon at three o'clock?
I trust you understand the importance of discretion in this matter.
Margaret, Duchess of Ravensfield.
The writing was elegant, controlled, revealing nothing of the writer's feelings. But the summons itself said everything—the Duchess wanted to assess her son's choice.
"What does she say?" Vivienne asked.
"She wants to see me. This afternoon."
"Alone?"
