Page 31 of Duke of Destruction
“Well, pardon me for not memorizing Debrett’s,” she retorted . “Believe it or not, your family history is not all that fascinating.”
For some reason—the reason likely being that he was an irksome lunatic put on this earth to bother her—this seemed to please the duke.
“My point,” he said emphatically, “is that you are not a spinster, not unless you wish to be.”
There was something about the way he said this last part, like her wishes mattered?—
It shook her even more than finding out that shelikedarguing with him.
She surged to her feet, nearly knocking back her chair in her haste. Prim and proper Catherine Lightholder was nowhere to be seen at the moment. She fumbled for her reticule, for coins to pay for her lunch, but the duke was faster; he laid down enoughmoney for both of their meals before she could even undo the string on her bag.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head.
“Indulge my pride just a little, would you?” he asked. It was an innocuous enough question, but she wondered if there wasn’t something…real lingering beneath the surface.
She nodded mutely. She even let him take her by the arm and begin leading her out of the tavern, while the barmaidandthe small child regarded them curiously.
“After all,” the duke whispered in her ear, just as Catherine had started to relax, “you made me spill in my trousers like a boy last night. I must redeem myself somehow. Though what man could resist the way you moaned and fell apart in my arms? That, my dear lady, is not the way aspinsterbehaves.”
His voice was low and thick with desire, and Catherine felt a shiver travel down her spine.
And then the duke pulled back andchuckled.
Catherine’s face flamed. God above, the arguing was bad enough, and the insults. But to mock her for succumbing to this horrid attraction between them—when he had clearly done the same? No, it was too much.
She yanked her arm away from his.
“Stay away from me,” she commanded. “I mean it.”
She stalked out of the tavern. As she went, she feared that she did not actually mean it at all—and feared that she would be disappointed, rather than pleased, if he did what she had ordered.
CHAPTER 8
“Catherine!”
The duke called her name, just the once, as Catherine stalked back toward the group. She kept moving, torn between continuing to ignore him and snapping at him to use her title, for Christ’s sake. They weren’tfriends.
They were enemies, most likely. Their…interlude didn’t change that he made her furious, that he seemed to enjoy provoking her on purpose, that—worst of all—he made her enjoy fighting with him, too.
She was grateful when she was able to rejoin the partygoers with only a slight flicker of notice from Ariadne, who was happy and smiling with the same crowd of young ladies with whom Catherine had left her. She was even more grateful when Lady Reid came to her side and began happily prattling about some of the flower cuttings—the lady being known for her beautiful and well-tended garden—that she’d managed to get out of some of the local sellers.
“I’m not certain that I have ever seen this particular shade of foxglove before,” the lady said happily as she and Catherine began the long trek back to the Wilds estate. “They shall look simply marvelous beside my yellow agrimony.”
Catherine, who knew little about plants, just hummed approvingly at certain intervals. It was about as much as her racing mind could manage.
Not in the least because she could feel the Duke of Seaton’s gaze on her. Itseared.
By the time they made it back to the manor, Catherine was as much of a wreck as she could ever recall being.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said hastily to Lady Reid. “I am feeling rather out of sorts. I think I’ll rest before supper.”
The older lady put a maternal hand to Catherine’s cheek. Catherine tried to ignore how nice that little bit of consideration felt.
“Yes, dear, you are looking a little peaked,” the woman said. “A rest will do you good.”
Catherine went up to her rooms and laid down until supper, not that she managed a wink of sleep in that time.
By the time she returned downstairs, the bruise on her neck disguised this time by a deftly placed neckerchief, the group hadassembled for pre-dinner drinks. Ariadne crossed to Catherine at once, concern creasing her features.
