Page 54 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

“You know, Richard, I don’t think you want Catherine to stay away simply because you think she is a bad influence on me. I think you’re pretending to be angry with her to run away fromthe feelings you have for her. I would be the first to tell you that you are fooling no one. Everyone with eyes can see the way you look at her. I have never thought you a coward, but in this matter, it seems you are.”

That statement caused him to jerk up into a sitting position.

“There is no relationship between Catherine and I. She is just an acquaintance to me. Nothing more,” Richard stated heatedly.

“Are you sure about that, Brother? because I don’t think you look at your other female acquaintances the way you look at her. You certainly don’t follow them everywhere with your eyes, looking like you would love to devour them. You are in love with her, admit it.”

“I am in love with no one,” he said, but his words lacked heat.

He stood up, hoping to escape the awkward conversation, but the sound of Emmeline’s laughter followed him as he hurried out of the room.

Damn and blast, he should have known that with how distracted he had been, it would become obvious to anyone who cared to look that he harbored a terrible infatuation for Catherine Burlow, the daughter of the Viscount Mowbray.

On the surface, she might be best described as ordinary-looking with her brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes, but it just might be the little things that fed his obsession with her.

The twitch in her lips and the twinkle in her brown eyes when she was amused or excited about something, her graceful movements on the dance floor, or the feel of her warm, sweet lips beneath his.

The lady had become a fever in his blood that he had been unable to get rid of. So, of course, why wouldn’t anyone notice when he followed her every movement with greedy eyes, when his hands clenched in barely leashed jealousy whenever Lord Livingston or any of the countless gentlemen who paid court to her made the mistake of holding her waist for too long or holding her a little closer than necessary when they danced.

Whenever she finished a dance, he always released a sigh of relief, realizing only then that his body had been tense throughout the dance. That totally begged the question as to why he would decide to attend these balls, when it was pure torture to watch Catherine dance with those gentlemen while he slowly stewed in jealousy.

He concluded that he must love to torture himself. When he had seen her there with his sister at their ill-fated meeting with his estranged mother, he had seen an outlet for the confusing cocktail of emotions that resided in his chest permanently, growing from the first day of their meeting. So he had lashed out at her. Even though a part of him had been aware that he had been overreacting, he had been helpless to stop himself. With every day that followed, he developed a healthy fear of how easily the petite woman could push him to extreme emotions without making an effort.

It seemed the more he resisted this attraction between them, the worse it became. It had grown to an extent that his innocent little sister had noticed it.

Emmy was right, he was a coward. He was afraid, afraid of how easily Catherine could change everything he knew about himself simply by being present.

Chapter Seventeen

Catherine sat on the window ledge in her room, staring out at the busy streets of London unseeingly.

For the better part of the week, she had been fixated on what happened that night over a week ago, on how she had seen a very different side of Richard—a very angry side.

She had known that Richard carried serious trauma from his mother’s abandonment and love scandal, which had plagued him most of his life, but she had not really comprehended the depth of his pain and how deeply it had eaten at him and shaped him into the man he was today—a strong, kind gentleman who believed women were not to be trusted and had a strong aversion to commitment.

After he had lashed out at her and left with Emmy, she had stood there for quite a while, shocked by the events of the last hour, how she had gone from just helping a friend to becoming the villain, even though a part of her recognized that he had lashedout at her in a bid to ease some of his pain. She saw how his eyes flashed and his body trembled with barely contained rage, and in some part of her heart, she felt pity and compassion for him because no matter her parents’ fault, they had not managed to cause such damage as to turn their children into giant balls of fury, irrevocably changing them.

She also believed that the woman sitting on the ground, weeping, deserved very little pity from her because she had managed to break a whole family in her selfish pursuit of pleasure.

Now that Catherine thought about it, the Dowager Duchess had indirectly contributed to her emotional turmoil because her actions had turned an innocent, trusting child into a distrustful young man, and for that, Catherine did not truly believe that there was much the Dowager Duchess could do to make up for that. So she had left, walking until she found a hackney to take her home so she could process her thoughts.

Catherine looked up when her mother stepped into the room. The pointed look her mother gave the covered plate still sitting on the table in the center of the room reminded her that she had not eaten her breakfast since her maid brought it up.

“Mother, I will eat the food now. I just had something to do. I will eat now, you don’t need to worry,” she said, getting up and moving to the table.

She had hoped her mother would leave her alone after that. Instead, her mother closed the door behind her, walked to the bed, sat on it, and motioned for her to sit beside her.

Catherine hesitated but went over to sit beside her, and then turned slightly and gave her an expectant look. It was a rare occurrence for her mother to call her to sit for a discussion, so her hackles were a little raised, but she tried to keep an open mind.

“Is there any problem, Mother?” Catherine asked expectantly.

“Yes, there is. You, my darling, have been withdrawn lately. You hardly join us downstairs for breakfast or dinner, and the few times I check on you, I find you lost in thought, forgetting to eat sometimes. I know something is wrong, and I would be grateful if you could tell me what it is. Two heads are truly better than one sometimes,” the Viscountess said with an encouraging smile.

“Nothing is wrong, Mother. I just have been slightly unwell, but I am recovering. Do not worry,” Catherine replied dismissively.

Her mother gave her a droll look that told her she did not believe her. “Catherine Burlow, you seem to forget that I am your mother, and while I am aware we might not have the closest relationship, I do know when you are not being completely honest with me. Something is up, and I would wager it has something to do with matters of the heart.” She fixed her with a pointed look that dared her to deny her statement.

“There is someone,” Catherine started haltingly, but the encouraging smile on her mother’s face pushed her to continue. “I met him in one of the balls. He is kind, tall, and if I do say so… handsome.” Her face flushed with embarrassment.

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