Chapter 10
The clatter of wheels on stone cut through the early morning.
Catherine startled awake as her heart lurched wildly.
Horses. A carriage. The sound grew louder, filling the courtyard below.
She leapt from the bed and darted to the window, pushing aside the curtain.
Moonlight silvered the gravel drive, where lanterns bobbed at the front of an elegant carriage rolling to a halt. Figures moved: grooms, a footman leaping down, voices hushed but hurried.
Someone has come. At this hour.
Catherine’s pulse raced. She knew of no reason to expect visitors, and yet the sounds made below were distinctive. Someone had come to visit her husband in the dead of night.
She harrumphed indignantly.
Well…I shall not lie abed whilst my husband ravishes another woman in his chambers next door.
Positively enraged by the Duke’s audacity, Catherine vaulted from bed and tugged the bell cord sharply, summoning Alice. Within moments, the girl appeared, bleary-eyed but alert enough to curtsy.
“Lay out a morning gown at once, please,” Catherine said, breathless but not unkind. “And do make haste.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Alice bobbed again and hurried toward the wardrobe.
She helped her dress swiftly, Alice fastening hooks and smoothing the skirts of a pale blue muslin gown with practiced hands, while Catherine’s mind refused to be still.
Who would she find when she went downstairs? Who could not wait until the light of day to meet with her husband?
When at last she stepped into the corridor, candlelight flickering along the paneled walls, she gathered her skirts and hurried toward the main stair. The house seemed alive in a way it had not been yesterday, servants darting like shadows, the air thick with the promise of arrival.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a wall of broad muscle and dark cloth.
“Oh!” she cried, stumbling back.
A strong hand shot out, steadying her arm before she toppled. The Duke.
He looked as though he had just risen from some brooding vigil, coat hastily buttoned, hair ruffled in that maddening way that made him appear both lordly and untamed.
She was bewildered.
He is not dressed to entertain.
Catherine’s heart thundered, her arm burning where his hand clasped it.
She jerked back, chin lifting high. “You might have knocked me flat.”
“I might have,” he returned evenly, releasing her as though she weighed nothing. “But I did not.”
She narrowed her eyes, breath still unsteady. “Do you make a habit of receiving visitors at this hour?”
“Not since we married.” His tone was maddeningly calm, though she noticed when his eyes shifted and he darted a glance around her shoulders. “I was on my way downstairs, as you were. I suggest we refrain from colliding again.”
She wondered at his response. He was acting as if he did not know who had come calling. So, she asked what seemed to be the obvious question. “Who would arrive at such an hour, unannounced?”
Duncan’s eyes met hers, steady, implacable. “I suppose it must be my grandmother.”
Catherine blinked. “Your grandmother?”
Of all the things she had expected him to say, this had not been one of them.
“The Dowager Duchess of Raynsford,” he clarified. His jaw flexed as if he braced for her reaction.
From below drifted the butler’s deep, polished tones, carrying through the stairwell as he hurried to assist their visitor.
“She is here,” Catherine whispered as she frantically fiddled with her coiffure and tugged on a few tendrils that had already escaped their pins.
The Duke’s gaze flicked over her. She could sense that he was scrutinizing her. “Compose yourself,” he said quietly, as though she were a trembling debutante. “My grandmother respects only steel.”
“And if I have none?” she retorted, though her voice wavered.
“I very much doubt that, wife,” he replied without hesitation, his hand settling briefly at her back to guide her toward the stairs.
The touch was light, scarcely more than pressure through fabric, yet her whole body leapt to life at it. She stiffened, furious with herself, but she did not shake him off.
“Duncan!” The call rang through the great hall, crisp and imperious. “Where is my grandson?”
His jaw flexed. He gave Catherine a single, warning glance before they descended together.
The Dowager Duchess of Raynsford was a vision of black silk and gleaming jet beads, her frame slender but ramrod straight, her chin lifted as though the entire house belonged not to her grandson but to her alone.
A diamond brooch glinted at her throat. Her gray hair was swept into a coiffure so severe it looked carved rather than arranged.
Her eyes, however, were keen as a hawk’s. They landed on Duncan first, then shifted to Catherine and lingered.
“Well.” Her voice sliced through the silence, dry as old sherry. “So, the honeymoon is not quite over yet?”
Catherine forced a curtsy, though her knees trembled. A flush of embarrassment overtook her as well once she recognized how the Dowager had misread the situation between herself and the Duke. “Your Grace.”
The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. “You’re pretty enough. But too nervous.” Her gaze snapped back to Duncan. “You’ve not frightened the poor girl into silence already, have you?”
“No,” Duncan said evenly.
“Yes,” Catherine said at the same time, cheeks flaming.
The Dowager’s brows shot up. “Which is it?”
Catherine darted a glance at Duncan, who stood as immovable as a marble statue, then blurted, “He has a dreadful way of staring. One feels one has committed some grave crime simply by existing in his presence.”
The Dowager barked a laugh. “At last, a woman with a tongue sharp enough to answer him. About time. Duncan, you ought to be grateful. Heaven knows I despaired of ever seeing you married before your hair turned white.”
“Grandmother,” Duncan said, his tone flat with warning.
“Oh, hush. You cannot silence me.” She swept forward, skirts rustling, and seized Catherine’s hand with surprising strength. “Well then, girl. How goes the marriage?”
Catherine’s mouth opened, but Duncan’s voice cut across hers in the same instant.
“Smoothly,” he said.
“With difficulty,” Catherine admitted at the same time, her voice soft but far too honest.
The Dowager’s eyes glittered. “Ah. Differing opinions, I see.”
Catherine’s cheeks burned hotter. “I did not mean—only—”
“She exaggerates,” Duncan said smoothly.
“I do not!” Catherine snapped, then bit her lip too late.
The Dowager’s laughter rang out while scandalized servants shifted uncomfortably along the walls.
“Oh, I like you. You’ve got some spirit.
God help us all, perhaps enough to match him.
” She released Catherine’s hand and tapped her cane smartly against the floor.
“Now then, tell me, did I interrupt the two of you whilst you were in the throes of passion?” Her curious eyes flicked up and down Duncan’s unruly appearance.
“Have you settled your chambers as man and wife ought?”
Catherine froze, every drop of blood in her body surging to her cheeks.
Duncan’s jaw tightened. “That is a private matter.”
“Private?” The Dowager scoffed. “Rubbish. A marriage without heirs is no marriage at all. You are a duke, Duncan, and your line depends upon it. Have you—”
“Grandmother,” Duncan interrupted, voice low and edged with perturbation, “you will not interrogate my wife on the subject of our bedroom habits.”
Catherine’s entire body felt as if it had been set aflame. Images she had tried to banish surged to the fore—his mouth descending on hers in the carriage, the way she felt when he pulled her closer, and how much it had hurt to be so cruelly disregarded once the carriage stopped rolling.
Her thighs pressed together beneath her gown, desperate to still the ache those memories conjured.
She lowered her head quickly, hoping the shadows of her lashes might conceal the color blazing in her cheeks.
“Look at her,” the Dowager crowed, misinterpreting entirely. “Blushing like a maid on her wedding night. Well then, perhaps there is hope yet.”
Duncan’s mouth thinned into a severe line. “That is enough.”
“Nonsense.” The old woman adjusted her cane and surveyed them both with hawkish pride. “However, a marriage must be tested in public as well as private, which is why I have taken the liberty of arranging a ball in your honor. Three nights hence. Invitations are already sent.”
Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “A ball?”
“Yes, child, a ball. Music, dancing, half the ton gathered under one roof to see whether you and my grandson are truly wed in spirit as well as in law.”
Her stomach plummeted. To stand before Society, to be scrutinized, whispered about, measured for every tremor and glance, so soon after that kiss? The very thought made her skin prickle with dread.
She managed, “Is it… is it quite necessary?”
The Dowager arched a brow. “Do you mean to hide yourselves away forever? Of course it is necessary. You will attend, and you will show London that your union is ironclad.”
Catherine’s pulse thundered. She looked at Duncan, desperate for some reprieve, some refusal, but he only regarded his grandmother with that same calm which overwhelmed her, then inclined his head.
“Seeing as we are the guests of honor, it would have been nice if you had cleared the date through our diaries first.”
His grandmother tutted. “Your diary is quite empty now, my dear grandson. You are a married man—one who has hidden himself and his bride for far too many weeks.”
Duncan lifted his hand slowly as if meaning to halt her speech. “Enough cajoling,” he said tiredly. “We shall attend the soiree.”
Catherine spun toward him, aghast. “We shall?”
His eyes caught hers, steady, inexorable. “It is time we made a public appearance. People will expect us to be sociable, as we were before.”
The Dowager smirked, satisfied. “Excellent. I shall expect you both in full splendor. And dear Catherine, choose a gown that will silence every whisper in the room. You are a duchess now. Best you look the part.”
With that, she swept past them, her cane tapping briskly, servants scattering in her wake as though she were an army of one.
Catherine did not know what to make of this impromptu visit. Moreover, she could not believe that her husband had acquiesced so easily.
She pivoted to face him and saw nothing, but exhaustion etched into the lines of his face.
“Could your grandmother not have called upon us at an earlier hour to relay such information?”
Duncan guffawed. “Doing things suitably—in the accustomed fashion. That is hardly my grandmother’s way.”
Catherine chewed pensively on her lower lip. “I feel as if those words carry a warning.”
“Indeed, they do.” Duncan took her hand lightly in his own. “Do as my grandmother suggested. Ready yourself. In three days’ time, all eyes will be on you…on us. And…”
“And?” she prompted when he seemed reluctant to proceed further.
“Get your rest, Catherine.” He brushed a chaste kiss across her knuckles before dropping her hand. “You will need it. I can assure you of that much.”