Page 23 of Duke of Destruction
Her expression flickered, her smile becoming a little brittle, and Percy felt a surge of triumph. That brittleness was real.
“I daresay I offer you especial gratitude,” she said more quietly, sounding not at all grateful, “considering that matters have been somewhat…fractious between us.”
It was, maybe, an olive branch.
Percy threw it to the ground and stomped on it. Even he couldn’t have told himself precisely why.
Instead, he let his tone grow caustic. “It has. But do not think this constitutes a truce, my lady.”
He held her gaze. Heneededthis last part to be true.
“Nothing has changed between us.”
CHAPTER 6
If Catherine had thought that a near-drowning was enough to exhaust her sufficiently so that she could sleep, she would have been proven wrong.
And who said you couldn’t learn something at a house party? It wasn’t all frippery and flirtation, apparently.
Being awake at night wasn’t the part that bothered her. She’d spent many nights awake, usually fretting after Ariadne. Her sister didn’t like to admit to it, but she was still plagued with nightmares from that long-ago fire, and often couldn’t get back to sleep after being woken by one such terrifying dream. It was not at all unusual for Catherine, the only one of her siblings who enjoyed rising early, to wake only to learn that Ariadne had already been up for hours.
Tonight, however, her mind wasn’t on her sister. Ariadne had taken the day’s events remarkably in stride, all things considered. Indeed, she had rather seemed to relish her chance to be the sister delivering the lecture.
“This,” she’d told Catherine sternly, “is what this dreadful competitiveness of yours gets you. I love you, darling, you know I do, but you mustn’t let your desire to win a mere game lead you to a watery grave.”
She’d held Catherine’s eyes to let this message sink in, then had pushed up onto her toes to kiss her sister on the forehead.
“Now. Go to bed. You poor thing.”
Ariadne had flounced off to her own bedchamber, clearly delighted in her occupation of the moral high ground.
Catherine decided this was fair enough. Thinking back to how absurd she’d been over a game made her want to go back and throw herself into the lake again, this time on purpose.
Catherine wanted to believe that this was a character flaw she would overcome, but she, tragically, had her doubts.
It was not her irredeemable competitiveness that kept her awake.
It was that awful nuisance, the Duke of Seaton.
After he’d made his snappish little remark about things not changing between them, she’d flounced off back to the house, desperate for a hot bath and some dry clothes. He’d goaded her into doing as much.
But once her head had cooled (and her body had warmed from the truly frigid plunge), she’d felt rather bashful about this behavior.
She owed him a real thanks. Not one shrouded in propriety, and not one that was begrudging.
He had actually saved her life. She needed to acknowledge that.
But it was—she glanced over at the clock, just visible in the dim glow of the banked fire—half one in the morning. The afternoon’s excitement had led the members of the house party to be uninterested in evening entertainments, so everyone was abed.
She would thank him tomorrow. Yes. That was a good plan.
But still, she could not sleep.
Eventually, she threw back her bedclothes with a huff. She knew herself well enough to know that if she laid here, staring at nothing, trying to force her body to rest, she’d be awake all night. If she distracted herself, however—with a walk, with some time spent reading in the library—she might eventually find weariness overtaking her.
She slipped on a dressing gown and shoes. The veranda would suit, she decided. She wanted to be outside, but dared not wander around gardens she didn’t know in the dark. She’dalready had one humiliating accident that day, thank you very much.
Candle in hand, she crept down to the back parlor that opened onto the covered veranda.
