Page 32 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

She could only pray that this night ended without her embarrassing herself. But then, even if she achieved that feat, her family might just embarrass her.

She loved her family, but they were not exactly popular for their self-control and proper behavior.

By the time she descended the stairs, she found her mother already ushering the Duke and Emmy inside, playing the gracious hostess—something she could excel at when she was not having emotionally charged spats with her husband.

When the Duke walked in, Catherine had to make a conscious effort to take a deep breath. She wanted to believe that her obsession with the man was some figment of her imagination.

The man in front of her was attractive in ways that her mind could not even comprehend. His dark suit and his slightly tousled hair were effortlessly seductive. She lowered her head while she curtseyed to him to try as much as possible to hide theblush she was sure was gradually turning her face the color of a tomato.

“Welcome to our home, Your Grace,” she greeted in a voice that was surprisingly steady, considering her inner turmoil.

She went on to greet Emmy with the brightest smile she could muster. If her friend noticed anything, she did not show it.

When they walked into the dining room, Catherine realized with dismay that she had been placed directly across from the Duke. When she looked at him as he pulled out his chair, he must have read the shock on her face because his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.

It didn’t have to be so difficult to ignore a duke, did it? She soon found the answer to that question to be in the negative because this Duke had long legs that he insisted on stretching fully underneath the dinner table, causing their legs to inadvertently brush against each other whenever they reached for their dishes. Each brush of his legs against hers sent a shiver down her spine and made warmth pool in her belly. The Duke was not immune either if the hot glint in his eyes was any indication.

Catherine was convinced that she would go mad before the dinner ended if it continued this way. So she was grateful when her mother initiated a conversation.

“So, how does it feel to be a duke now, Your Grace?” the Viscountess asked.

At that, Richard smiled innocently, as if he was not stoking her daughter’s desire with every touch under the dinner table.

“It is quite humbling, I must say. I have more responsibility now, so it seems I might have to spend most of the year in the countryside to keep an eye on the estate and make sure the people there do not suffer because of my absence.”

“That is wonderful, Your Grace,” the Viscountess replied, and the Duke inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Catherine had hoped that the conversation would remain civil, but her father’s next question quickly dashed that hope.

“Do you miss your father, St. George?” he asked.

The Viscountess shot him a scathing glare and slapped his arm. Catherine saw her father’s expression turn into that dark scowl that usually heralded the beginning of a spat. She braced herself for one, but it seemed that they had decided to leave it for now. She inwardly sighed in relief.

The Duke’s charming smile had dimmed significantly. Everyone knew that his parents’ absence was a sore spot with him.

But then he turned on that easy charm once again.

“My father was a great man with high acuity for mathematics. I just hope that I am able to preserve the estate accounts the way he did,” he replied, his smile brittle at the edges.

Emmy, the sensitive soul that she was, recognized the tension in the room and decided to dispel it.

“This lamb is quite tender. You should try it, Brother,” she suggested, sharing a look with her brother.

In that one look, Catherine recognized a lot of unspoken things.

Turning to her, Emmy continued. “Please extend my gratitude to Nana Jamie for the wonderful meal.”

“I will,” Catherine replied.

The conversation slowed down after that as everyone focused on their meal until Hugh, who had spent most of the dinner staring out the window, asked, “Your Grace, could I ride your carriage sometime? It seems quite grand.”

“Hugh, we don’t ask our guests for favors. Mind your manners,” Catherine scolded lightly.

Surprisingly, Richard smiled indulgently at Hugh. “I would be honored to take you on a carriage ride, Mr. Burlow,” he replied.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hugh said excitedly, almost upsetting the table trying to execute a full bow while seated.

Lily, spying that she was about to miss the fun, interjected. “Me too, I would love to go.”

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