Chapter 15
Tristan stepped inside, his dark coat fitting him well, as always. As he walked toward her, his focus was on a piece of paper.
A letter? A broadsheet? His brows furrowed.
“Cathy, I believe you might be interested in—”
He stopped midsentence. His eyes were on her. She knew what he was seeing and what he expected. He had thought he would see his gray-clad wife, the one who looked like a stern governess. Instead, he found some strange woman in place of her, wearing revealing lavender silk and donning curls.
Uncomfortable silence followed as Tristan’s eyes moved from the top of her head to her face and to the swells of her breasts heaving over the neckline of her dress.
His mouth was still gaping open, but he did not speak.
He stared, his nostrils flaring. The paper in his hand was crumpled in his hand.
On her end, Cathy focused on her grandmother’s instructions.
Smile, but not too widely.
Tilt your head to reveal more of your neck.
Twirl the strands of your hair in your fingers.
Pace your walk.
Cathy tried to look at Tristan through her lashes. Then, she tilted her head to one side, exposing more of her throat. With each ridiculous movement, a real blush deepened on her cheeks.
“You were telling me something, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice coming out soft and breathy. It was probably too breathy. “Something I should find interesting?”
Tristan did not reply immediately. Instead, he took a step toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. She could feel the tension in his muscles and remembered that his pent-up energy must be contained within this home rather than released elsewhere. Her cheeks burned at her humiliating display.
“I... It can wait,” he said, his own voice low and gravelly. It sent shivers down Cathy’s spine.
He was much closer now. How did he cross the room so quietly and quickly? Maybe even her husband could teach her a thing or two about moving more seductively. He moved like a predator afraid his prey would bolt.
“You look different today,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Cathy had to repress a shiver. He was looking at her as if he were starving, and she was his feast. He was making her feel things that she did not know how to handle.
Could this have worked so easily?
“Do you mean it in a positive sense?” she asked, her voice catching. “Or would you rather I...”
Tristan leaned in so that his face was mere inches away. He smelled of the stables and of sandalwood. He had been riding early in the morning.
“I think it suits you. However, is there something wrong with your neck?”
What?
“My neck?”
Was he merely worried about her the whole time she thought her seduction was working?
“Yes, your neck. You seem to favor one side? Are you in pain? A crick in it? Perhaps we need to find someone who can help you with it. Brandon knows a physician who is quite good with such things.”
Cathy stilled. Her neck was indeed aching from the unusual angle, but she did not expect the Duke to diagnose a medical ailment. Shame washed over her, but she refused to show it.
“A... a crick?” she echoed, her voice still stuck on the breathy quality she had started with. Would he diagnose a breathing problem next? Probably. “No, Your Grace. You are perhaps seeing me in a different way, given that I am not wearing my usual gowns today.”
Tristan looked at her strangely, then, and mumbled, “Perhaps. Still, I think a physician should see you just to be certain. You sound like you have run up and down the stairs. Are you feeling feverish?”
Smile, but not too widely. Slow and knowing.
“I am not feverish at all, Your Grace,” she replied, forcing her lips to form what she thought might be a seductive curve. She suspected she was merely baring her teeth when Tristan flinched.
How would anyone make a smile knowing? She narrowed her eyes as if she was conveying a secret between them. Instead of interest, confusion marred Tristan’s handsome features. His frown had deepened.
“Cathy, your eyes are twitching. Your jaw also looked like it had locked tight. You need to see the physician immediately. I will have him called from wherever he is right now.”
That was not the kind of attention Cathy was looking for.
“I was simply smiling!” Cathy snapped, her natural persona flaring up.
All this pretense was truly making her ill.
Then, she remembered her promise to her grandmother.
She quickly softened her expression. Or at least, she tried.
“I, uh... I meant that I am trying to smile as a welcome to my husband.”
Then, she remembered that she had not twirled her hair as taught. Her curls were so distracting, and she could not fathom having to use her finger for such silliness.
But she wanted to follow her grandmother’s advice, anything that would salvage her at this point.
Therefore, she used her index finger to wrap a strand around it and twirl.
She did it slowly and deliberately, as she was instructed, while gazing into Tristan’s eyes.
However, anxiety had her twirling a little too vigorously.
The curl, slick with something Mrs. Collins applied, had her finger stuck in a certain position.
“Ow,” she whispered, as she tried to no avail to pull her finger from her hair.
“Are you all right?” Tristan sounded absolutely aghast. He came closer and gripped her wrist. “What in all that is holy are you trying to do? You are going to pull strands from your scalp! Do you want to go bald?”
“Do not worry, Your Grace. I am merely playing with my hair,” she replied, as she tried to make her efforts subtler. “It is, uh, supposed to be quite feminine. It can be considered a... flirtatious gesture by some.”
Tristan kept on staring at her as if she had grown three more heads. His grip on her wrist remained.
“A flirtatious gesture?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “I see. So, all of these things were part of that? I was about to call the physician!”
“No, I was... I was merely trying something!” Cathy whispered. “Can we simply forget everything that happened?”
“Already forgotten,” Tristan said, finally letting go of her. “The curls are lovely if you do not try to rip them from your head.”
Cathy exhaled audibly, stepping back from the Duke. She wanted to be free of this. It was a strange feeling, lighter skirts and the cool air hitting the tops of her breasts. Should she still try some more?
“Would you care to drink some tea with me?” she asked, this time with her normal voice. She did not want Tristan to think she was close to fainting.
“Ah,” Tristan mused. “I suppose that is a good way to follow my early morning ride, a nice, soothing drink.”
They sat together in front of the table where the tea set was still arranged.
To Cathy’s horror, her movements were stiff instead of graceful, despite her efforts.
Tristan seemed unaware, even as she tried to spread her skirts artistically.
Meanwhile, he appeared completely at ease, sitting as if nothing was wrong at all, even though her plan had been falling apart since the moment he entered the morning room.
Now, it is time to lean forward, she thought. She had to look interested in what he had to say. Perhaps she was. She wanted to know if he found the whole thing ridiculous. If he found her ridiculous.
She leaned to pour his cup, ensuring that he would have a view of her low neckline.
It was a shameful thing, and she swore that even the tops of her breasts were blushing.
While doing so, she tried to casually look at the Duke through her lashes.
It was quite a feat, looking at him while trying not to spill the tea.
“Well, it is a lovely morning,” she murmured. “Do you not think?”
Tristan’s gaze was not on her neck, no matter how much she tried to flaunt it.
Was it really swan-like, or was she just a tall woman with long limbs and neck?
She noticed how the Duke’s eyes darkened, the confusion replaced by something raw and hungry, though.
His eyes were not on her neck, but lower, on her bosoms.
It must be working. I am seducing him!
Cathy should be ashamed at that moment, but she felt triumph in her veins. However, while trying to look sultry, she forgot she was holding the teapot. She had tilted it too far, and the tea missed the porcelain cup, dripping onto the plate beneath and onto the fresh lace doily!
“Oh, no!” she cried, jerking back from the accident.
In her haste to straighten the pot, she hit her teacup with her elbow. The fragile china clattered to the floor, spilling tea on the hem of her skirt.
“Blast!” Cathy cried as she attempted to steady herself. Her Miss Priggish persona flew out of whatever window had been opened by the failed seduction. “Of all the hopelessly clumsy—”
“Let me help you,” Tristan said calmly, as she wished she could just sink into the earth.
He rose to help her dab herself with a napkin, and after that, she just did not want to do any more of the seduction steps her grandmother taught her.
I give up.
“I believe it is best if I retire to my study,” said Tristan as he got to his feet.
“No! I... You mentioned something when you came in,” she said, smoothing her skirts with what she hoped was an air of dignity rather than desperation. “When you first entered, you said I might find something interesting.”
“Oh, yes.” He reached into his coat and produced the crumpled paper. He smoothed it against the table with his palm, taking more time over it than was strictly necessary, before sliding it toward her. “I received it this morning. I thought you should see it before I did anything about it.”
Cathy took it. Her eyes moved across the lines once, quickly, and then again more slowly, because the first reading had not quite convinced her that she had seen what she thought she had seen.