Page 53 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

He raised his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Then I am a man on a mission. If you’ll excuse me.”

As he walked off, Charlotte said, “That won’t do. He’s to dance the second dance with you. Morefield!” she called out.

“Good evening, ladies,” a deep voice said.

As Catherine turned, Charlotte said, “Oh, hello, Everton. Would you go and fetch Morefield? The music’s about to start and he was to partner with Catherine.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs as Jeremy St. Clair’s eyes met hers. “I arranged with Morefield to claim this particular dance.” He offered his arm. “Lady Catherine?”

He was here. After all this time. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of this man. She remembered between worrying about her own injuries and her father’s how Lord Sather was supposed to call on her that day after the ball. Catherine never learned if he had. Their servants had presented no note from him. No flowers. With everything that had occurred and her insisting they return immediately to Statham Manor, none of the servants had mentioned the marquess at all. She’d been swallowed up in caring for her father and by the time she’d thought to ask, it was too late.

She assumed he knew what had happened to her family. After all, he was friends with Morefield. Charlotte had mentioned Sather a few times in her letters. How he’d become the Duke of Everton. That he’d wed. But Catherine knew nothing beyond that. She didn’t want to.

Yet here he stood in front of her, looking even more handsome and distinguished than he had when she’d first met him. She realized he was one of those men who would only grow better looking with age.

When she hesitated, he took her hand and placed it on his forearm and led her to the dance floor.

As they moved to its center, he said, “You may not remember me.” His arm went about her as he took her hand in his. “But I remember everything about that night.”

“I do, too,” she said softly and the music began.

They danced the first measures without speaking. She inhaled the clean, masculine scent that she’d never forgotten as she drank him in. She could see motion and color swirling about them but she focused solely on him. The solid feel of his shoulder as her fingers rested upon it. His hand splayed across the small of her back. Yet what good could come of this? He was married. Catherine almost wished Jeremy St. Clair hadn’t come back into her life for already her heart ached more than it had since losing Papa.

“I’m sorry about the accident,” he said. “I would have called to see how you were but my own father passed away that same night. By the time I returned from Eversleigh and the funeral, you were gone.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’ve regretted that ever since.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” She paused, deciding to address what stood between them. “Charlotte and I correspond every month. She told me you’ve wed. Is your duchess here? I would enjoy meeting her.”

An odd look crossed his face. “Mary is gone,” he informed her, his voice void of emotion. “She gave birth to our daughter over a year ago and was lost in childbirth.”

Catherine thought she might faint and clutched his shoulder. “My deepest sympathies, Your Grace. As hard as it was for me to lose Mama and Papa, I cannot imagine losing a beloved spouse.”

His gaze locked on her. “I’m not here to talk about Mary, Catherine. I’m here to talk about us.”

“Us?”

“I have never felt a stronger connection with anyone than I did with you that night at the Wethersby ball. I tried to put you out of my mind but it was impossible. Tell me you’ve thought of me, Catherine. Tell me I’m not alone in my feelings for you.”

The dance ended. Reluctantly, he released her.

“I have thought of you often,” she admitted as they left the dance floor. “But years have passed, Your Grace. We are two very different people now.”

Everything he’d said thrilled her. It was as if all her dreams were coming true. Yet Catherine was aware of something that she hadn’t know all those years ago when he’d kissed her in the moonlight.

The circumstances of her birth.

It was the reason she wanted to marry a low-ranking gentleman. If Jeremy St. Clair pursued her, she was certain it would end in an offer of marriage. One she could never accept. How could she marry into one of England’s oldest, most noble families? She was illegitimate. A bastard of her father’s by some unknown actress. It didn’t matter that her parents had passed her off to society as their own offspring. She knew the truth. And if it came out after she wed Jeremy, it would destroy him. Catherine couldn’t risk the scandal. She had Leah’s future to think of, even more than her own.

They reached the edge of the dance floor and he said, “I agree that our experiences have changed us. What has not changed are my feelings for you, Catherine. Nothing could ever change them.”

She refused to destroy him and his family’s good name. She would have to put an end to this.

“I was a very young woman when we met, Your Grace. I’m afraid we no longer suit one another.”

He grabbed her programme and struck through the name written beside the next dance.

She gasped. “You can’t do that.”

He gave her a wicked grin. “I’m a duke. I make my own rules.”

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