Chapter 4 #2
She harrumphed. “That cannot be true. I have heard stories of your escapades and dalliances. I am sure you were not always serious with other young ladies.”
The Duke snorted. “You listen to gossip?” He twirled his spoon through his soup, then added almost inaudibly, “That is rather disappointing, but I should expect nothing more or less.”
Catherine ground her back teeth in frustration.
I will not be thwarted. I will not allow him to mildly insult me. I must make some progress with him tonight—lest I want to spend the rest of my days dining in silence.
“I wish to listen to you, Your Grace. If you are determined to be humorless, then share with me the trite matters of the day. Perhaps we make talk of the weather?”
“The household,” he said flatly, lifting his glass of claret with unhurried precision. “We may speak of household affairs, if you wish. Nothing else concerns you.”
The calm dismissal struck harder than any raised voice could have.
She stared at him across the expanse of table, the flicker of candlelight catching along the severe line of his cheekbones, dancing over the uncompromising set of his jaw.
He looked utterly composed and impenetrable, while she burned.
If only the simpering young ladies he so much wanted to rid himself of could see him now. If any dared to spend a whole day in his presence, he would not have felt the need to marry me. His standoffish attitude would have sent them running.
“Nothing more,” she repeated, as she tried to puzzle out the inconsistencies in his nature.
Outwardly, when he mingled with others, he gave the impression of being a bit roguish.
But now, whilst in his own home, he was rather reclusive and curmudgeonly.
She drew a deep breath, then nodded. “Then let us speak of accounts. My father’s debts, for instance. ”
That earned his attention. Slowly, the Duke lifted his gaze and stared at her.
“They have been paid.”
She choked back a gasp. “Paid?”
“Yes. In full.”
The words were startling. Catherine pressed a hand to her breast as though her corset might suddenly loosen enough to allow air into her lungs.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
Her throat worked, but no sound emerged. She could hardly think for the rush of relief flooding her chest, the sting of tears rising unbidden.
“How…how did you manage it all so quickly? I only just arrived and…”
“I do not waste time. It is an invaluable commodity.”
Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. When she had sent the letter to Lord Felton earlier in the day, she had been filled with such elation at knowing that soon, very soon, all her family’s debts would be paid. But somehow, without her knowledge, the Duke had already seen to her needs.
“And Brightwater House?” she whispered, the words no louder than a prayer.
“I purchased it,” the Duke returned as though it were nothing at all, an item jotted at the end of a long list of business dealings. “As your husband, it falls under my protection. As its matron, it falls under yours. You may continue the work you do there with my full support.”
Her lips parted. Her heart squeezed painfully.
Brightwater. Saved.
The faces of the children rose in her mind, their laughter echoing in her memory, her mother’s voice whispering, “Promise me you’ll protect them, Catherine.”
She blinked rapidly, vision blurring. Her head swam with so many thoughts.
The Duke does not tend to his own estate with such enthusiasm. I spent the day pointing out one improvement after another. Yet my home…my father’s debts…Brightwater. He made all those things a priority.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking despite every effort to steady it.
The Duke inclined his head once in response. “Do not thank me. It is not kindness, wife. It is pragmatism. You required money. I required a duchess. This is what our arrangement affords us both.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. Gratitude tangled with humiliation, her relief cut by the sharp edge of his coldness. He had saved Brightwater, yes, but not for her, not for love or even for sympathy’s sake. For the arrangement’s sake. The word burned as surely as if he had branded it into her skin.
Her heart thundered. How could he be so cold about everything?
So distant? The Duke had done a remarkable thing by saving the orphanage and securing a safe place for all those children.
And still, he remained stoic. He did not crack a smile or offer her a kind word.
There were many matters Catherine could treat with indifference, but Brightwater…
her mother’s legacy…that amounted to more than a gentle nod and large donation.
Catherine never felt so utterly powerless in her life. Even though she now managed a duchess’s household, she couldn’t manage or even begin to understand this man before her, her husband.
The Duke inclined his head once curtly, as though she had thanked him for a passing courtesy.
Catherine’s hand trembled on the tablecloth. Relief warred with fury. Gratitude tangled with humiliation. He had done what no one else could, and he had done it without warmth, without tenderness, without even looking at her as a person.
Her chest burned.
Her voice came unbidden, too soft. “And Lord Felton? You said you wanted to teach him a lesson.”
Duncan’s expression hardened. “That is my concern only.”
Her pulse spiked. “If you mean to act against him—”
He cut her off. “This is a matter I will handle in my own time, Duchess. You need not tire yourself with it.”
Catherine shook her head vehemently. “I should like to handle this bit of business together. Lord Felton has plagued me and my father for years, and now…”
“I am your husband,” the Duke interjected. “I will ensure that Lord Felton never so much as asks you to stand up with him at a ball ever again.”
Catherine snorted hotly. “I do not need you to find me suitable dance partners.” She stood and stomped toward the end of the table, so that she might look more closely at him and have a vague hope of reading his expression.
“I need to feel like an equal contributor.” She lowered her chin so that she might look at him squarely in the eyes.
“I would like to do as much for you as you have done for me.”
The Duke’s eyelashes fluttered, and as the corners of his mouth tugged upward, creating an impish grin, Catherine felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. “I only meant to say that when it comes to business concerns…when Lord Felton is involved…I…”
Her husband’s gaze lingered on her, and Catherine self-consciously gave up on her attempts to qualify her statements. Instead, she took to fussing with the lace around the neckline of her gown.
When the Duke’s eyes flicked lower, she understood that this too was a mistake.
“Help me to reconcile these two sides of you,” she whispered throatily. “Are you the devilish rogue with a puckish smile who wishes to tease and cavort with young ladies, or are you the master of business who wants to face the world wholly and completely on his own?”
“Can I not be both?” The Duke took a slow sip of his claret, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers.
“I…” She gulped heavily as he replaced the goblet, and she noticed the smear of purple that beaded on his upper lip. “I only want to…”
The Duke clucked his tongue playfully as though he were a governess scolding her for writing sloppily. “Let us not speak in such absolutes. There is no ‘only’ about you. You want a great many things…the least of which is to better understand my provocations.”
“Yes,” Catherine groaned. “Precisely.”
A flash of something akin to amusement skittered through his eyes.
“I mean…” She tried to backtrack. “It is true that I wish to know you better, but I am…”
“Are you still frightened?” His eyes roved slowly over every exposed bit of her skin. “Last night, I could feel your anxiousness. You were…”
“Timid,” she supplied simply because she did not wish to hear him cast her actions in another light. “I am new to these things and…”
Catherine sorted through her words, choosing carefully what to say next. And while the Duke waited patiently for her to finish her response, the door behind her creaked open.
“Dessert, Your Graces?” the butler asked politely, as servants filed in with trays.
Catherine jerked back, her face flaming. She wanted to speak to her husband, and now that they had just ventured into new territory, they were being interrupted.
“No,” she said quickly as she backed away from the Duke’s side of the table. “Bring it to my chambers.”
Her skirts swished as she swept from the room, her pulse pounding, her body aflame with humiliation and longing. She knew that what she’d just said made no sense at all. She had given the servants contradictory orders and left them to make the best of the situation.
But, as she fled the dining room, raced up the stairs, and shut the door to her bedchambers, she did not look back at all she’d left behind.