Page 14 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
A man just like her father.
All will be well. It is a marriage of convenience. He will never break my heart like Papa broke Mama’s heart, turning her into a cold, broken shell of herself. That will never happen to me.
“Are you quite mad?” Patrick’s cold voice shattered her reverie. “What the deuce do you think you are doing, Cathy?”
Beatrice bit her lip. “Patrick, you are overstepping…”
Patrick turned, glaring at his sister, who shrunk a little beneath his disapproval. Catherine felt a stab of anger—not for herself but on Beatrice’s behalf. Even though she liked Patrick enormously, he could be a bit of an overbearing boor on occasion towards his gentle sister. It was a side he rarely showed, but when he did, it made Catherine’s blood boil.
“There is no need to direct your disapproval at Bea, Patrick,” she declared, glaring back at him. “I am the one who has accepted the Duke’s proposal. Beatrice has nothing to do with it.”
He shook his head in disgust. “But why, Cathy? The man is a filthy rake! I was not even aware that you were acquainted with him, never mind that you were on the threshold ofbetrothalwith him.”
Catherine tried to shrug in a nonchalant way. “It is my business,” she replied in an imperious voice. “It is an advantageous match. The Duke is very wealthy… and I shall have a higher rank. That is a good enough reason for marriage in our world.”
Even as she uttered the words, she despised herself for saying them, just a little. She sounded like a common fortune hunter. She saw Patrick wince slightly.
“You disappoint me,” he said, shaking his head again. “I thought more of you. You have always declared that you wouldnevermarry, and to change your mind so abruptly, and accept an offer on a whim from someone so disreputable, is troubling…”
“He is aduke, Patrick,” she shot back, bristling. “He is not a navvy working in the docks!”
They kept glaring at each other. Catherine was beginning to feel upset. She knew that Patrick was shocked, and his words were born out of concern and protectiveness. She hated when they were at odds with each other. It rarely happened.
“You are making a mistake,” he insisted in a curt voice. “You will live to rue this day, Cathy…”
Suddenly, Beatrice got to her feet, staring hard at her brother. “I respect Catherine’s decision,” she said crisply. “And we should leave, Brother. Our dear friend will wish to discuss the wedding with her fiancé and brother in private.”
Patrick looked affronted. “No, we should stay, Beatrice. Cathy will need our support…”
“Brother,” Beatrice hissed. “We are not family.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Catherine stared at Beatrice admiringly. Despite how upset she was with Patrick’s blatant disapproval, she was proud of Beatrice for standing up to him. And awfully relieved that her dearest friend was taking some control of this situation and insisting they leave before Catherine or Patrick said something they might regret.
Patrick’s lips thinned with anger, but he did as his sister bid, getting to his feet.
Catherine stood up, as well. “I will see you out,” she offered in a faint voice.
“No need,” Patrick snapped, striding towards the door. “Come along, Beatrice. You are the one who is insisting we go after all.”
Catherine bit her lip.
Beatrice squeezed her arm reassuringly, whispering in her ear, “Come and see me when you are able. We will discuss everything. Good luck.”
Catherine nodded, smiling at her friend. She turned to Patrick to bid him farewell, but to her dismay, he was already gone.
Chapter Seven
“Imust say, this has caught me unawares,” Lord Whitley admitted, rubbing his neck ruefully. “I am taken aback by it all.”
Thomas stared at the gentleman sitting across from him in the study, feeling a little contemptuous. He didn’t know Lord Whitley very well. In fact, he had barely ever exchanged two words with the gentleman. But he knew much, much more about him now than heeverthought he would want or need to know.
He had set to work as soon as he got up this morning, sending one of his men to make the necessary inquiries. The report had come back within an hour—the Viscount Whitley was indeed in dire financial straits on account of the fact he had a weakness for gambling and didn’t know when to stop. He was in serious trouble. There were sharks all over London baying for his blood.
The man has gambled away his fortune and then allowed his younger sister to try to get it back for him. What kind of man is he?
“I can see you are surprised by the haste,” Thomas acknowledged, trying to smile. “But I am a man of action. If I see something I want, then I simply proceed.”
