Chapter 17
“Shall we sit, Your Grace?” Cathy asked, gesturing toward the round table.
It was surprising that she was able to keep her composure and keep her hand from trembling. She reminded herself of the task at hand.
Tristan did not immediately sit. He did not say anything, either. He let his eyes travel from her slippered feet up the emerald skirts and to her low neckline. Finally, his eyes reached her face.
“By all means, Cathy,” he murmured. “Let us sit.”
Tristan moved behind Cathy’s chair, sliding it out for her to sit. In the process, his knuckles brushed against her spine through the sleek fabric. She felt a jolt at the contact. After that, her movements were stiff, but she did sit down. When he leaned toward her, his breath was hot on her neck.
“You look marvelous tonight,” he whispered.
Cathy swallowed hard. “T-thank you. The gown is new. I purchased it with the allowance you gave me. It was a very fair price for the fabric’s quality.”
Why was she ranting? She could not help it. No matter how much she promised to act calmly, she just had to focus on the practical aspects of things.
“You and I both know it is not the gown I care about.”
Then, he walked around to take his own seat as if he had not just given her praise that made her hair stand on end. She tried to focus on the feast of pheasant, steaming turkey, and candied fruits.
Focus. Cathy, focus.
She reached for the bottle, wrapping her hand around it.
“You must be ravenous after your day at the north fence,” she remarked, keeping her voice normal.
She rose to pour the wine for him, her eyes fixed on him.
This time, she knew how to steady herself so she would not spill the wine all over the food.
Her body leaned forward, her movements deliberate.
She understood what he was seeing from this angle—the swell of her breasts illuminated by the firelight.
This time, she knew she was being provocative, and she refused to apologize for it. More surprisingly, she felt no urge to retreat or surrender. There would be no panic or maidenly vapors over this.
Instead, Cathy felt a heady sense of empowerment whenever his gaze lingered on her. His eyes followed her cues, giving her satisfaction. It made her feel like she was holding the match that would ignite the flames between them.
Control.
Yet, in some way, he also had control over her. She could not admit how much she wanted his attention. She was no longer Miss Priggish, the sensible daughter, nor was she now just another “ruined” woman. She was the woman who could ignite a duke’s desire.
“The north fence is certainly tedious business,” he said, but his expression said otherwise, as he seemingly tried to tear his eyes from her.
From what she could see, his pupils were dilated.
It made her shiver. “There is a lot of work to be done. Even tomorrow, but hopefully less than what we did today.”
“How unfortunate that you exert yourself so,” Cathy murmured, leaning forward.
She had made certain the table was small.
By leaning, their faces were so close. “You must have perspired so much. I know you like being part of the workforce, but you should be careful not to overdo it. That is why you need to drink something.”
“Oh? Is that what we are doing here, Cathy? Drinking something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps. I am merely trying to be companionable. Is that not what you wanted? Someone to accompany you for your meals?”
“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, his voice deepening. “I asked to share meals with my wife. I just did not expect a private dinner with a siren.”
He reached for a piece of fruit while his eyes remained on hers. His fingers moved almost languidly and deliberately. Cathy could not breathe. It felt like the air had thickened, as if preparing for a summer storm.
“You are not eating,” he observed.
“Oh, I will get there. After all, it would be a shame for us to waste the feast before us. However, I find I have very little appetite for the food, not when I am interested in... other things,” she said, as her index finger traced the pattern over the doily.
Tristan barked a laugh. “I warn you, Cathy. Do not lean further, or you are going to become part of the feast.”
Cathy blushed, reining in her prudish side. She had felt it creeping up to the surface. She held her tongue.
“What if that is my intention?”
Tristan’s jaw dropped slightly, and he smirked.
“Tell me, wife,” he said, lowering his voice. “Why do you look like you are trying to read my soul?”
“Is it so terrible to try to make this marriage work, Your Grace?” she asked. “Grandmama advised me to be present and active in this marriage. She said I should try to find ways to make you stay.”
Tristan’s expression shifted. The faint amusement was gone. Now, his face was a blend of true concern and intense hunger. Cathy could not bear the way he was watching her. Was he always like this? Was this what he did to all the women who had been in his life?
He reached across the table, his larger hand covering her own. She was surprised by how calloused it was. How warm.
“Stay? You think I will leave this marriage? Do you think I will have it annulled and leave you destitute?”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on.
“I will not be discarded, Your Grace. While I do not care if I fall into ruin, as you know, I cannot let my sisters suffer the consequences just because I had been too cold.”
“Too cold?” Tristan echoed, standing up slowly.
His eyes were on her like a challenge. He held her hand throughout.
She gasped when he pulled her upward. Her body followed, her legs shaking.
“You have always had fire in you, Cathy. But now? You are a burning flame. I cannot understand anyone who would describe you as cold.”
Then, like a panther, he swiftly moved around the table until he was just inches from her. He reached out to cup her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip. He teased the lip, pulling it down so her mouth was slightly open.
“There is no need for you to lean forward until you lose your balance. No more hair-twirling that will pull at your scalp. No more rehearsed dialogues. I just want you. Not the siren. Not Miss Priggish. The real you.”
“Then what will happen?” she wanted to know. Her heart thundered in her chest, as if she were already certain what he would say. She was also quite sure that he could hear the beats.
“This.”
Tristan leaned down and nuzzled her neck.
She shivered, but did not pull away. His nose was right where her pulse stuttered and leaped.
He inhaled her as if she were the meal for the night, his hands pulling her at the small of her waist. She whimpered when she felt her softness mold with the hard planes of his body.
Even as her body dealt with the shock, her hands flew to his shoulders for support. Her palms reveled in the solid, warm muscle that met them. He was a strong man, one who knew how to use his strength. She wanted him to use it on her. To wield the power that he had learned to put on a leash.
Tristan groaned. It made her proud to hear that he was just as affected as she was. The guttural sound that he emitted in her ear made her whole body pulse.
“Do you have any idea what you have been doing to me this past week? You flirted with me in the most ridiculous ways, and yet, instead of wanting to laugh, I wanted to drag you into my bedchamber and have my way with you. That is absolutely not me. And yet...”
“D-did you like it?” she asked, daring to hope. Her body did not care anymore. It had its own mind, with her head falling back. Weightless as his lips trailed kisses on her throat.
That throat.
The one that her grandmama said she should show the duke. Perhaps she had been right all along.
“I suppose you can say that I both loved and hated it,” he replied, as his hands found the curve of her hips.
“I knew it was a game to you, and yet I was entertained. I missed the woman who tore through her ledgers, the one with ink on her fingers. Now, I have to deal with a woman who seduces me only because she is afraid of ruin. Yet, I want any version of that woman. I want all of you.”
Tristan pulled away only to look at her with his green eyes, turning dark with desire.
He reached for the pins in her hair, the ones that Lottie had carefully positioned to create the tousled curls.
Then, he pulled each pin from her hair. One by one.
He dropped each one on the rug. She bit her lip as she watched them fall to the floor. Soon, her hair fell down her back.
“I suppose you want to show me that you are more than just ledgers and practicality,” he whispered, as he let his hands thread through the strands of her hair. With one hand, he tilted her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Show me, then. Show me everything.”
Then, he kissed her.
The kiss was not gentle, but Cathy had never expected it to be. It was wild and hungry, just like their first kiss. This time, though, there was something more that she could not explain.
She pulled him by the neck again, grabbing the hair at his nape. She wanted him closer and closer until there was nothing between them.
Tristan was becoming just as frantic. There was an urgency that he had not shown before.
His hands spanned her body from her waist to her ribs, with his thumbs rubbing the undersides of her breasts.
Cathy could feel the thrumming between them as she arched into him, letting go of unholy moans she could not believe came from her lips.
He was making her feel things that she could not understand, but longed to know better.
It started with a sweet ache in her chest, the one that felt like a burst of joy tinged with something sharper.
Longing, perhaps? The sensation moved downward quickly to the spot between her legs that was quickly getting sodden.