Page 57 of Duke of Destruction
Catherine couldn’t help but admire her for it, even as she winced every time baby Cordy decided to leave some sort of unmentionable goo on one of Helen’s frocks. Catherine’s own mother had been little more than a shadow that flitted in and out of her life when it suited her. Catherine knew that Cordelia would reap the benefits of Helen’s adoration and dedication.
But that didn’t mean that Catherine and Ari couldn’t still tease her about it. Theyweresisters, after all.
“That’s a very clever idea, Ariadne,” Catherine said brightly. “Helen, I’m surprised you hadn’t already thought of it.”
“Oh, shut up, the both of you,” Helen said without true ire. “Cordelia, love, your aunties are being utter terrors.”
“Point of clarification,” Catherine asked, raising a prim finger. “Do you wish us to shut up, or do you wish us to tell you everything? Those purposes are rather at odds.”
“I’m going to put frogs in their shoes,” Helen mock-whispered to Cordelia. “They have annoyed me, so I shall shower them with frogs.”
“Good Lord, you win,” said Catherine with a shudder. She didn’t know where Helen was likely to access ashowerof frogs, but Catherine had a city-bred lady’s natural distrust of slimy creatures. “What do you wish to know?”
“Well,” Helen said, settling back, satisfied in her victory, “not to be the boring old married lady about it, but—did either of you meet anyone to whom you took a fancy?”
Catherine fought to keep her face bland.
“We weren’t there for me,” she remarked, toying idly with one of the cushions on her settee. “Though, Ari, I don’t particularly think you found anyone either, did you?”
“I found someone to hate,” Ariadne said cheerfully.
Helen practically gleamed with delight.
“Even better,” she said. “No, Kitty, don’t get that look; finding a potential husband is all well and good, but I desireintrigue, and hate provides that in spades. Tell me, Ari.”
“Well, his name is the Earl of Crompton, and he is perfectly odious,” Ariadne reported. She went on to describe the earl’s insistence on cropping up no matter how little encouragement she gave him, and how he became pushier and pushier as the party went on.
At this, Helen’s amusement faded into a protective frown.
“Well, I can’t say I like that,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” Ari replied, shaking her head. “Kitty put him very much in his place. And then, when hestilltried to be difficult about it, the Duke of Seaton stepped in.”
Catherinereallycould not react to the sound of Percy’s name. She toyed with the fringe some more. Goodness, this was an ugly cushion. Soft, but very ugly.
“The Duke of Seaton?” Helen echoed. “Why do I know that name?”
“He serves in Parliament with Xander, I believe,” Catherine offered before Ariadne could say something to reveal how often she and Percy had been together during the party.
“Oh, yes, that’s it!” Helen said, snapping her fingers. Cordelia looked at this like it was the greatest magic trick in the world. She grasped for her mother’s hand and began chewing toothlessly on one of Helen’s fingers. “Xander says he has good ideas, but that he’s rather unpleasant to work with.”
Catherine had to press the tip of her tongue hard against her sharp incisor to keep herself from smiling. Yes, that would be her Percy.
Or—Percy. Not hers. Not ever, but certainly not anymore.
Not that her foolish body seemed inclined to get this message. Since she’d returned to London, she’d been plagued with thoughts of Percy, memories of their arguments, and their embraces cropping up at the most inconvenient moments. Worse, however, were the dreams that her mind seemed determined to throw at her, erotic, sensual dreams that made her wake damp with perspiration and with the sheets tangled madly about her.
More than once, she had considered continuing the experiment she’d begun in the bath—she wouldn’t be interrupted in her own bed at half two in the morning, after all—but every time she forced herself not to.
This…preoccupationof hers could only be blamed for one thing. The experiences she’d enjoyed at the party—and theyhadbeen wonderfully enjoyable—had been her first taste of physical intimacy.
And yes, they were probably her last, too. Perhaps one day her incipient spinsterhood would lead her to seek pleasure at her own hands.
But doing so while Percy still haunted her mind like an unhelpful ghost seemed profoundly unwise. She merely had to forget what he felt like—his kisses, his caresses—and then she could properly banish him to the recesses of her memory, where he belonged.
“Or, is that not right, Kitty?”
Helen’s doubtful tone made Catherine snap back to awareness. Gracious, how long had she just been sitting there, lost in her thoughts?
