Page 64 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
Catherine's cheeks heated. "That's inappropriate."
"But true." Martha stood, returning to her duties. "So this courtship—it's all for show?"
"No, it's real. We're trying to see if we can build something lasting, not just... passion."
"And can you?"
Catherine thought about their conversation in the park, about James's declaration of love, about the way he looked at her like she was his whole world.
"I think we might," she said softly.
The carriage ride to the Ravensfield townhouse was brief but gave Catherine time to gather her composure. Her aunt had wanted to accompany her, but the invitation had been specifically for Catherine alone, suggesting an intimate gathering.
When she arrived, she discovered just how intimate; only twelve guests, all carefully chosen. The Duchess had assembled the most influential members of society: Lady Jersey, Lady Cowper, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, Lord and Lady Pemberton, which would beawkward but the duchess wanted to make a point there as well, and a handful of others whose opinions shaped the ton.
"Lady Catherine," the Duchess greeted her warmly, which immediately put everyone on notice. "How lovely you look. That colour is magnificent on you."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"James is detained briefly, some tedious business with his steward, but he'll join us shortly. Lady Jersey was just telling us about the latest scandal involving Lord Mitchum and his valet."
Catherine was thus absorbed into the conversation, finding herself holding court as Lady Jersey regaled them with a story that grew more outrageous with each telling.
"But surely," Catherine said at one point, "a parrot couldn't actually learn to repeat that particular phrase?"
"My dear," Lady Jersey said with delight, "you'd be amazed what parrots can learn. Why, I once knew a bird that could recite entire passages."
The room laughed, and Catherine realized this was a test. Not of her bloodline or accomplishments, but of her ability to navigate society at its highest levels. To hold her own among people who could destroy her with a word.
"Lady Catherine," the Duchess of Devonshire said, "I understand you're from Yorkshire originally?"
"Yes, Your Grace. My father's estate was near Harrogate."
"Beautiful country. I visited once, years ago. Your father was the Earl of Westmont, wasn't he?"
"He was."
"I remember him. A man of principle. He once gave a speech in Lords about industrial reform that had half the peers ready to riot."
"He believed strongly in progress," Catherine said carefully.
"As should we all," the Duke of Devonshire said. "Though perhaps with less inflammatory rhetoric."
"Sometimes inflammation is necessary to cauterize a wound," Catherine suggested, then wondered if she'd gone too far.
But the Duke laughed. "Well said. You have your father's wit."
"And his courage, I'd wager," Lady Pemberton added, giving Catherine a meaningful look. "It takes courage to capture a duke's attention."
"Or foolishness," Mrs. Drummond-Burrell observed, though not unkindly.
"Often the same thing," Catherine agreed, which earned another laugh.
James entered then, and the entire room shifted. He was in evening dress, perfectly turned out, every inch the Duke. Buthis eyes went immediately to Catherine, and something in his expression softened.
"Ladies, gentlemen," he greeted. "My apologies for the delay."
"Estate business?" The Duke of Devonshire asked sympathetically. "It never ends, does it?"
