Page 55 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

“That is excellent! You seem to have developed a tendre for this mysterious gentleman, so I fail to see the problem. Does he not reciprocate your feelings?”

“I believe he does, but he is not interested in marriage, and frankly, I am not looking for a love match. I would prefer a sensible match with a respectable and responsible gentleman.”

“Who says you cannot have it both? A responsible man who you have feelings for. Besides, if my guess is correct, I would venture to say that your mysterious gentleman is none other than the Duke of St. George.”

At the mention of that name, Catherine’s head jerked upwards with a shock that she fought to conceal with outrage.

“Why would you think I have developed feelings for Richard? It is a widely known fact that he is a rake of the highest order.”

At that, her mother just gave her an amused smile. “Child,” she said, taking her hands in her own. “You and I both know that his status as a rake has no bearing on your feelings for him because the heart, my dear, chooses who it wants no matter how we fight it.”

“And,” she added when Catherine shook her head in denial, “don’t bother to deny that the Duke is the topic of this discussion because I am your mother, and beyond that, I am sure half of the ton must have guessed your relationship, going by the calf-eyed looks you exchange when you are convinced no one is looking.”

“You love this man,” she continued in a mellow voice. “I fail to see why you would want a sensible, loveless marriage when you can have a lovely one with a person you genuinely love and respect.”

“Unfortunately, Mother, I do not desire a love match. I want a peaceful home, devoid of conflict, with a calm partner who is not overwrought by emotions that result from being in love,” Catherine said drily.

Silence fell over them, and Catherine could guess that her veiled reference to her parents’ marriage did not fly over her mother’s head. Jemima Burlow might be impetuous and hot-headed, but one thing she was not was stupid.

“Darling,” she murmured, “look at me.”

When Catherine raised her head to look into her mother’s eyes, she did not notice any sign of censorship in them.

“I am sorry,” the Viscountess continued. “I am immensely mortified that our spats have given you a bad view of marriage. Even when you were much younger, you had always been so strong, surviving and thriving on your own while we were distracted. I realize now that it was not fair to you to forceyou to raise yourself and your siblings. I know that the damage has been done, but, darling, love is beautiful. At the beginning of our marriage, your father and I were so happy—we were inseparable.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look, and a reminiscing smile touched her lips.

“Over time—and I am ashamed to say this—we soon realized that we were two different people with very strong opinions about everything. While that fact did not diminish our love for each other, we quarreled like children just out of the schoolroom. It soon became a game to know who apologized first, and I must admit I loved those games.” Her smile faded to be replaced by a sober look.

“But I realized we neglected you and your siblings in favor of remaining eternal newlyweds with no responsibilities, and it has made you skeptical about love. But it is worth it. I bet my life on it.”

“Mother, I love you, and I know that your and Father’s love is rare, but what I feel for Richard… it is dangerous.” Catherine forced a smile. “Besides, I already have a good suitor. Lord Livingston is the perfect gentleman, and if he proposes to me, I will wholeheartedly accept. He is kind, good-looking, cool-headed, and most importantly, he cares for me. He would make a good father.”

“Yes, he might make a good father, but is he the right husband for you?”

With that cryptic question, her mother stood up, patted her shoulder, and then headed out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaving her to her thoughts.

Richard looked up from the ledger he had been scrutinizing for the better part of an hour when he heard a knock on his study door.

“You may come in,” he called out, closing the ledger. He might as well put it away, seeing as he had spent the better part of the last hour staring at the same column of numbers without any hope of comprehending it.

The door opened to admit the butler.

“What is it, James?” he asked expectantly.

“You have a guest, Your Grace,” the butler announced.

“Inform them that I am not home. I am in no state of mind to receive guests at this time,” Richard said dismissively, turning back to open the ledger.

He waited for the sound of the butler leaving, but when it did not come, he looked up to see that the butler was still standing in the doorway, staring at him with a flustered expression.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling slightly annoyed.

“The guest is actually a woman, Your Grace, and she is veiled,” the butler answered.

The mention of a veil intrigued Richard, and he did not care to examine that feeling because a part of him hoped that she might be Catherine. He blamed his numerous daydreams for that thought.

Making sure to keep his expression neutral, he said, “Send her in.”

Several moments later, a tall, veiled figure stepped into the study. The figure was obviously a woman’s, going by the curves and the satin, but the height was wrong, and Richard could see a strand of blonde hair that escaped the veil. The sight of that familiar color sent a shiver down his spine.

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