Chapter 13 #2
She took his hand and led him to the center of the floor. For a moment, they stood there alone, the subject of every eye in the room. Then, miraculously, the orchestra began to play. A waltz, slow and romantic.
James pulled her into his arms, closer than strictly proper, and they began to dance.
"That was magnificent," he murmured.
"That was necessary."
"You defended me."
"You defended me first. It seemed only fair."
They moved together in silence, the strains of the waltz threading through the candlelit air.
Other couples had taken to the floor, but for Catherine, the glittering ballroom faded until there was only him—his hand warm at her waist and his gaze fixed wholly upon her.
Lady Harrington had vanished into the crowd, as had Miss Worthing, but Catherine hardly noticed.
“Catherine,” James said suddenly, his voice rough with something urgent.
Her heart leapt. “Yes?”
“Marry me.”
She faltered, nearly stumbling, but he tightened his hold, steadying her as if she weighed nothing at all. “What?”
“Marry me. Tonight, tomorrow, as soon as I can secure a special license. I cannot wait.”
Her eyes widened. “James, you cannot propose in the middle of a ball!”
“Why not?” His jaw was set, his voice fierce. “We have done everything else unconventionally. Why should this be any different?”
“Because...” She broke off, her tongue failing her. Because propriety demanded otherwise? Because the entire ton was watching? None of it seemed reason enough.
“Two weeks,” he pressed, his voice low, desperate.
“You asked for two weeks of proper courtship. It has been two weeks. You have seen all that I can offer—the title, the wealth, the influence. You have also seen the worst—the scrutiny, the whispers, the specter of women like Harrington. And through all of it, there has been one constant, Catherine.”
Her breath caught as his grey eyes burned into hers.
“That I love you,” he said simply. “Desperately, completely, eternally. I know this is not the proposal you deserve. You should have roses, music, champagne, and me on one knee before you. But I cannot wait another hour, let alone another day. I cannot pretend that this is some careful, measured arrangement, when we both know it is not. Catherine, it is you. Only you. Always you.”
They were still dancing, but Catherine felt like the world had stopped. Around them, people were watching, whispering, understanding that something momentous was happening.
"I need to think," she managed.
"No," he said firmly. "You've been thinking for two weeks. For three months. What does your heart say?"
"My heart is a fool."
"What does it say?"
Catherine looked up at him, at this man who'd stolen her virtue and her heart in one night and had been slowly giving her his soul ever since.
"Yes," she whispered.
James stopped dancing. "What?"
"Yes," she said louder. "Yes, I shall marry you, you impossible man."
He kissed her. Right there, in the middle of the Cowpers' ballroom, in front of half of London society, he kissed her like they were alone, like they were back at that inn with the storm raging outside.
The room erupted. Gasps, applause, shocked exclamations. Someone, probably Lady Jersey, actually whistled.
When they finally parted, both breathless, the entire room was staring.
"I believe," James said loudly, not taking his eyes off Catherine, "that I should make this official. Lady Catherine Mayfer has done me the honour of accepting my proposal. We'll be married as soon as possible."
"How soon?" someone called out; Lord Ashford, sounding skeptical.
"Tomorrow, if I have my way," James replied, which caused another wave of gasps.
"Three weeks," Catherine corrected. "A proper wedding, not some rushed affair that makes everyone think we have something to hide."
"We do have something to hide," he murmured for her ears alone.
"Yes, but they don't need to know that."
The rest of the ball was a blur. Everyone wanted to congratulate them, to hear the story, to be part of the scandal that had become a romance. Catherine found herself separated from James, surrounded by ladies who suddenly wanted to be her best friend.
"So romantic!" Lady Cowper gushed. "A proposal in my ballroom! It'll be legendary!"
"When did you know?" Lady Jersey demanded. "When did you fall in love?"
Catherine caught James's eye across the room. He was similarly trapped by well-wishers, but his gaze found hers, and the heat in it made her shiver.
"The moment I met him," she said truthfully, which caused another round of delighted exclamations.
It was past midnight when she finally escaped to the terrace for air. She'd had too much champagne, too many congratulations, too much everything. She needed a moment to process what had just happened.
She'd agreed to marry James. To become a duchess. To bind herself forever to a man she'd known carnally for one night and socially for two weeks.
"Second thoughts?"
She turned to find James behind her, having apparently escaped his own admirers.
"No. Maybe. I don't know."
He moved closer, backing her against the terrace railing. "Which is it?"
"I love you," she said. "That's not in question."
"But?"
"But three weeks ago, you were ignoring my existence. Two weeks ago, you were ready to fight Lord Pemberton over me. Tonight, you proposed in the middle of a ballroom. It's all rather... sudden."
"Sudden?" He laughed. "Catherine, I've been in love with you for three months. The fact that it took me this long to propose shows remarkable restraint."
"Three months ago, you didn't even know my real name."
"No, but I knew you. The real you. The woman who argued with me about room prices and traded barbs over terrible beef. The woman who gave herself to me so completely, so trustingly." His hands went to her waist, pulling her closer. "The woman who's haunted my dreams every night since."
"James," she breathed, aware they were visible from the ballroom.
"Let them look," he said, echoing his words from the park. "We're betrothed now. A little impropriety is expected."
"A little?"
"You're right. A lot." He kissed her, deep and thorough, his hands sliding to her waist. "My goodness, Catherine, these two weeks have been torture. Being near you but not able to touch you. Dancing with you but not able to..."
"Someone's coming," she gasped, hearing footsteps.
James growled in frustration but stepped back to a proper distance just as Lord and Lady Pemberton appeared.
"There you are!" Lady Pemberton said brightly. "We wanted to offer our congratulations properly."
"Thank you," Catherine said, trying to calm her racing heart.
"You're good together," Lord Pemberton said simply. "Anyone can see it."
"Marcus," Catherine started, but he held up a hand.
"I'm happy for you. Truly. You deserve someone who looks at you the way he does."
"And how do I look at her?" James asked, genuinely curious.
"Like she's your whole world," Lady Pemberton said softly. "Like she's the sun and you've been living in darkness."
"Accurate," James agreed, which made Catherine blush.
They talked for a few more minutes before the Pembertons departed. Catherine and James were alone again, the ballroom's lights casting shadows across the terrace.
"Three weeks," James said. "You really want to wait three weeks?"
"We need time to do this properly. Banns read, wedding clothes, guest lists..."
"I don't care about any of that."
"Your mother will."
He groaned. "You're right. She'll want the full production."
"Besides," Catherine said, moving closer, "anticipation makes everything sweeter."
"Does it?" His voice dropped. "Because I'm anticipating quite a lot, and I'm not sure sweet is the word I'd use."
"What word would you use?"
"Desperate. Aching. Consuming."
Each word sent heat through her. "James..."
"Do you remember," he said softly, "that night at the inn? How you trembled when I first touched you?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"How you gasped when I kissed you here?" His fingers brushed her throat, barely a touch but enough to make her shiver.
"James, we can't..."
"How you said my name when you..."
"Your Grace! Lady Catherine! There you are!"
They sprang apart as Miss Worthing appeared, her face twisted with fury she could barely conceal.
"Miss Worthing," James said coldly. "I thought you'd left."
"I wanted to offer my congratulations," she said with false sweetness. "Such a romantic proposal. Though rather sudden, wouldn't you say?"
"Not particularly," Catherine said calmly. "We've been courting for two weeks."
"Two weeks. How... thorough." Miss Worthing's smile was sharp. "Though I wonder what prompted such haste? Could there be a reason you need to marry quickly?"
The implication was clear. Catherine felt James tense beside her.
"The only reason," Catherine said clearly, "is love. Something you clearly know nothing about, or you wouldn't have to resort to spreading lies and aligning yourself with bitter former mistresses."
Miss Worthing flushed. "How dare..."
"No," Catherine interrupted. "How dare you. You've spent weeks trying to destroy my reputation because James chose me over you. It's pathetic and cruel and ultimately pointless."
"You think you've won," Miss Worthing hissed. "But I know the truth. I know there's something you're hiding. And when I find out what it is..."
"You'll do nothing," James said quietly, dangerously.
"Because if you make one more move against Catherine, if you speak one more word of slander, I will destroy you.
Your father's business interests, your brother's military career, your family's standing in society.
..I will systematically dismantle everything. "
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Miss Worthing turned on her heel and fled.
"That was probably unwise," Catherine said.
"That was necessary." James pulled her back into his arms. "No one threatens you. No one."
"My protective duke," she murmured.