Chapter 16
Baxter Hall became a witness to a strange dance between the duke and the duchess over the next few days.
Cathy was anxious about the possibility of her marriage being annulled or cast aside before she could provide an heir, and the fear of humiliation had become secondary.
She realized she had to double her efforts.
What if I am simply not desirable to him? Especially after... all I said to him.
The thought was horrifying and humiliating, but to her chagrin, not surprising—at least to her. It was a learning experience, though, as she managed to soften her smiles. They no longer looked like snarls.
On Tristan’s end, he found that the gowns were working.
She might not have chosen an emerald gown next, but the rose was a far cry from the blacks and the grays that might have made some people think that Miss Priggish was not only priggish, but a widow, too.
She also had a midnight blue that made her creamy skin look softer.
Cathy was not used to it. Tristan noticed how she would tug at her necklines every few minutes.
Her cheeks would flush naturally. They were no longer soaked with rosewater, thank heavens, and even her lips only had a hint of pink.
There were days when he had to control himself to keep from touching those lips and cheeks, or even helping her adjust those necklines for her.
Today, she seemed eager to return to her repertoire of seduction over their breakfast. She tilted her neck once more, probably trying to see if she could do so gracefully without being accused of having a crick in the neck.
“Are you trying to look at what is happening behind my back?” he deadpanned.
“No. No. I, uh, was just—” she protested, straightening herself. “Never mind.”
“Oh, do go on. I am your husband. I want to know what and how you are doing.”
“It is nothing, really,” she mumbled, as she slowly twirled a lock of her hair.
“Were you in the gardens this morning?” he asked, proud of himself for resisting a chuckle.
“Why did you ask that?”
“It is your hair. There must be something caught in the strands. What do you think? Hopefully, it is not lice.”
Cathy straightened once more, her hands back on the edge of the table.
“Of course, I do not have lice, Your Grace!” She sounded rightfully indignant.
“Mm. I suppose it is your new form of communication, then?”
“I am trying to match yours,” she mumbled, looking like she might hurl him toward the end of the room.
There she was.
Of course, Miss Priggish was peeking out somewhere there. She tried her best to resist herself. Her jaw was clenched, and she was now slicing her eggs as if she were murdering them.
“You are being... difficult, Your Grace.”
“I do not see what you mean,” he replied, adopting an air of the same indignation his wife was feeling. “I believe I have been attentive these last few days. Admit it, Cathy. I do appreciate that you have deigned to join me during meals. But if these interactions are making you ill, then—”
“I told you I am fine, Your Grace!” Cathy exclaimed.
Her attempts to become more pleasant were taking a toll on her. It would be awful if she succeeded. She would be like another Anne Longrove.
“You are looking well now,” he observed. “The color is coming back to your face. I must say I loved how you walked in this morning. One could hear the rustling of silk from your dress. That will certainly catch everyone’s attention.”
Cathy narrowed her eyes at him. Suspicious? Offended?
“Is that so, Your Grace?” she asked, managing to keep her voice soft, but at least not in the breathy way she was doing that first day.
“Yes,” he said happily.
Then, he stood up and walked past her, making certain his hand trailed almost imperceptibly against her shoulder. She shuddered. Oh, yes, she did. If she was playing her game, he was playing his, too.
“By the way, I shall meet with my men in the woods today. We will see about fixing the north fence, and they need my guidance.”
“Will you return early enough for dinner?”
He could not help but feel his chest twinge at how she sounded. She was almost like a child, feeling small. Still, he liked teasing her. He stopped at the door, looking back over his shoulder at his wife.
“Of course, I will. I would not miss dinner with you for the world, Cathy.”
I cannot wait to see what else you have planned.
“It is not working,” Cathy murmured to herself in front of her bedroom mirror. “None of this is working!”
This time, an emerald dress awaited her.
She had done everything in her arsenal to seduce her husband, but he always seemed like he was ready to escape.
It was humiliating. It seemed like her own husband would rather be celibate than respond to her attempts.
Tristan had been polite most of the time, but he had also blatantly stared at her, teased her, and touched her skin fleetingly, so that she sometimes wondered if it was merely in her imagination.
Perhaps he was more honorable than she thought.
She had made him promise to leave her alone. So far, he had respected the bargain.
Was he watching her and waiting for her to fail all along?
Cathy’s pride wanted her to completely retreat, but with an annulment threat, she knew she should not. The thought of being discarded was not as terrible as the thought of her sisters being ruined.
“Does he want the truth?” she muttered. “Does he truly want to know what I am thinking? Can I be direct?”
Perhaps she should let Miss Priggish take the reins this time if her new persona did not work at all. Perhaps the Duke needed someone to dominate and not flirt with him. She sighed. Either persona did not know what to do.
Oh, she wondered about what life would be like without having to marry a man to save oneself.
“Lottie!” she called.
The young maid scurried to her room, as if she were just waiting around the corner. Cathy chided herself for not using the bell pull. She was still not quite used to having someone wait on her. She had not had that in years. This marriage had provided her with that kind of comfort.
“Yes, Your Grace?” Lottie asked breathlessly.
“Please inform Cook and Henderson that His Grace and I will be dining in the small parlor by the library tonight. There is no need for footmen to watch over us. The trays can be served, and I will handle the rest. Do you understand?”
The maid’s eyes widened. “A private dinner for two, Your Grace?”
“Yes, very private,” Cathy replied, keeping her voice nonchalant even though her maid was looking all thrilled. “I think I will wear the emerald gown tonight.”
Lottie left the room shaking with excitement, while Cathy studied her reflection. She looked at her fingers. Finally, she managed to scrub the ink away until her skin was red.
“Tonight,” she whispered. “Let’s see if you can resist my charms, husband.”
She shuddered after she said those words, disgusted with how things were unfolding, but mostly disgusted with herself.
It felt like a tawdry performance, a betrayal of who she truly was.
Her dignity would be stomped on, crushed.
Yet, beyond that surface shame, she felt a thrill.
The thrill of being desired by her husband.
This performance is for my sisters, she told herself, the lie tasting bittersweet. I am merely doing it for their future.
It was a convenient mask. She wanted to believe that if she did all this, she was merely being a tactician, not a fool for a handsome face. Yet she wanted to feel his skin, the weight of him, and how much bigger he was than she. It somehow made her feel... protected.
“All’s well that ends well.” If it did not, he would more likely be aghast at her behavior and insist on calling the physician once more.
Either way, she should be able to show him that the Duchess of Baxter was more than ledgers and high-collared dresses.
At dusk, Tristan had returned from the woods after they had successfully dealt with the north fence, among other matters. He was bone tired, muscles aching from the effort. He never liked merely watching and supervising work. Participation was always part of the experience.
As he entered the dining hall, Henderson rushed to him, looking a little nervous.
“Your Grace,” the butler greeted, bowing low. “Her Grace requested that dinner be served in the library parlor tonight. She does not want the staff to wait on you. She was very specific about the details of the private dinner.”
Tristan paused. All the day’s exhaustion was suddenly gone, replaced by a slow, dark heat urgently pooling in his groin.
“A private dinner?” he repeated, sounding awed even to himself.
“Yes, Your Grace. The meal is already laid out, and the servants have been dismissed for the evening.”
Tristan looked in the direction of the parlor. He sighed. Acting oblivious was harder than he thought it would be. As she made the strange twitches she called seduction, she was actually seducing him in the most ridiculous way. Anticipation coiled within him.
“Very well,” he growled. “Don’t you worry, Henderson. I can manage the service myself.”
The Duke leaned back in his chair, his mind reeling.
He attempted to catalog every strange but beautiful thing that had transpired in the last few days.
Every day, it seemed like the curtain to the stage had been pulled back to reveal a woman he barely recognized.
He became a witness to the transformation of an efficient accountant into a creature of calculated glances.
He turned and headed toward his chambers to wash and change.
He intended to fully prepare for whatever Cathy wanted.
It was clear that she was trying to seduce him.
After all, a man did not reach his thirtieth year without learning the language of a woman’s intentions.
However, he could not fathom the cause of the changes in her.
Why? She had wanted distance, and now she wanted to get closer.
“What are you planning, Cathy?” he muttered. “Are we to finally see the final act of whatever this is?”
Tristan dressed in his finest evening black coat. Everything else was impeccable: his hair, his cravat, and his shirt. He looked at his reflection and saw what others saw: the rake. He was known for taking what he wanted. It looked like marriage to Cathy had softened him a bit.
After taking a long, deep breath and another look at the mirror, he went downstairs and strode purposely to the library. He opened the door and was greeted by the scent of rich meat and sweets. Never had the library smelled so marvelous.
The room was warmly lit by the hearth, and a small, intimate round table was positioned near it.
Near the fire, with the flames as her worthy backdrop, Cathy stood out. Tristan’s breath caught. She was a vision in emerald silk. The gown hugged her curves like a second skin, and her hair was swept up in a softer style, with curls framing her face. This time, it did not look ridiculous.
Cathy’s face was pale, but her eyes held his. There was no smiling this time. No awkward tilting of the neck. Instead, she merely stood there, with the orange flames highlighting her silhouette and the shadows emphasizing her cheekbones.
“You are late, Your Grace,” she said, using her normal voice, and not the breathy performance.
“I was delayed,” he murmured as he walked closer to her. “Don’t you think the wait was worth it?”
This time, it was her breath that hitched. He followed the movement with his eyes, caressing her bosom with his gaze.
“A private dinner, Cathy? No footmen. No butler. Just us?”
“Just us,” she confirmed, lifting her chin in defiance. “We needed a… more focused environment.”
He stepped even closer, feeling the heat of the fire. Feeling the heat between them.
“Well, I cannot say no to a more focused environment, wife.”