Page 92 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Before Statham could give Jervis an excuse, Jeremy stepped into the room with her on his arm. Catherine tried to look unflustered but her heart sped up when she caught sight of her cousin.

He didn’t look good. Martin had always been prone to being red in the face, she guessed from excessive drinking. It was barely eleven in the morning and she saw a crystal tumbler of brandy at his elbow.

“Statham,” Jeremy said with a brisk nod.

Her cousin rose to his feet. “Your Grace.” His eyes flicked to her in unease. Catherine stared, not bothering to greet him.

After a moment, he said, “Sit, please,” as if he only remembered his hosting duties. “Would you care for any refreshment?”

“No. We won’t be here long.”

Jeremy led them to a settee and they sat. “We’re here to discuss your blackmailing my wife,” he said as pleasantly as if he were remarking on the weather.

Statham’s face reddened further. “Blackmail?” he sputtered. “I haven’t the faintest—”

“Let’s dispense with the lies, Statham. You’ve threatened my duchess.” After a long pause, he added, “That means you’ve threatened me.”

Catherine watched the various emotions flit across Statham’s face. He’d been confronted and was trying to think of a way to weasel out of it.

“Listen to me, Everton. I don’t know what your wife has been telling you, but it’s all lies. Blackmail? Why would I wish to blackmail my dearest cousin? What information might I even possess that would lead to my acting in such a despicable, dishonorable manner? Catherine’s the one lying, Everton. Not me.”

“Lying?” Jeremy asked calmly, idly flicking a piece of lint from his trousers. “You think my duchess is lying to me?”

Statham’s face grew redder. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Everton. Catherine was a lying bitch when we were children and she hasn’t changed in the least. She made up nonsense all the time about me bullying her, telling my father and her parents outrageous falsehoods, trying to see me punished.”

Catherine choked and then sputtered, “You were awful to me when we were children. How dare you pretend you never intimidated me. Hurt me. You were mean. Cruel. Spiteful. And you bragged to me how your father never punished you for what you did to me.”

Jeremy took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. It brought her comfort and gave her strength. She leaned back, trying to control her surging anger.

“See?” Statham said, leaning forward. “She’s still lying. She was incredibly spoiled as a child and lied when she didn’t get her way. Though she’s a woman now, she still thinks she can fabricate nonsense and be believed.”

He paused, looking earnest, and Catherine wanted to claw out his eyes. “Look at me, Everton. We are two reasonable, rational gentlemen. Our word is our bond. I give you mine and swear that I have never threatened Catherine—either as a child or an adult. There’s been no blackmail on my part. I promise to forgive her for making such false accusations against me. I only hope that you can get her under control. Madness runs in the family, you know. Her mother was as batty as they come.”

This time, Catherine leaped to her feet. It was bad enough her cousin belittled her but to drag her beloved mother into the situation and utter such blatant lies was unthinkable. Before she could deny his accusations, Jeremy clasped her wrist and pulled her back beside him. His thumb massaged her wrist, calming her. Without looking at her, she knew he was telling her to trust him. That he would take care of her—and her horrid cousin—for good.

“You’ve told Her Grace that if she doesn’t do as you say, you will ruin her and her sister,” her husband said coolly, disregarding everything Statham had said.

Catherine saw Statham’s confidence fade as he realized her husband was taking his wife’s word over a fellow, titled gentleman. His face turned bright red now and his eyes narrowed.

“I can. And will,” he blustered. “You can’t do anything to stop me, Everton. Catherine and Leah are bastards that my uncle pawned off on thetonas purebloods. He presented them as his true daughters, not the by-blows of an actress and some shopkeeper’s daughter. They are barely Crawfords, certainly not ones I’d acknowledge. It’s time society found out who they were.”

She sensed the tension running through him now and knew Jeremy struggled to control his anger.

He did, though, as he coldly said, “You threatened to hold my sister-in-law hostage. You wanted to coerce my wife into forcing my sister to marry you. And if she didn’t, you planned to destroy your cousins’ reputations—and sully my family’s name. Have I got everything correct?”

Statham blanched as Jeremy spoke.

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, Your Grace.”

“Oh? How would you explain it?”

Statham shook his head helplessly.

“Traditionally, when a gentleman has been grossly offended, he demands satisfaction from the offender, especially when it deals with honor. Waiting outside is my good friend, Morefield, who holds a letter issuing a challenge to you. It details my grievances and insists I receive justice. If Morefield delivers this letter, you may choose to accept or refuse my challenge. If you accept it, my terms will be harsh. I won’t see our duel end with first blood. I won’t find it acceptable if you are physically unable to proceed.

“I’ll only agree to death, Statham. Yours.” Jeremy paused. “And believe me when I tell you that I’m an excellent shot.”

Her cousin grabbed the tumbler and downed the rest of his brandy in a single swallow.

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