Page 29 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Catherine nodded, her heart pounding hard. “No, I never want him to kiss me again. Once was quite enough, thank you.”
Her eyes shifted, gazing out the window again, avoiding her friend’s eyes.
Beatrice didn’t need to know that in her weaker moments, Catherine yearned for it. Like when she had seen him in all his bare-chested glory, emerging from the lake like an Adonis. Like when he had slid his hands down her arms, caressing her hands as she had played the pianoforte.
No, her friend didn’t need to know that at all. Because another kiss was never going to happen, never mind anything else…
Catherine started, her heart pounding hard. A carriage had just pulled up outside the tavern across the street. She recognized that carriage—it belonged to the Duke. They had ridden in itwhen they had first come to Newden Estate on their wedding day.
The Duke stepped out, followed by his friend, the Duke of Dunford. They lingered on the street, talking and laughing, clapping each other on the back. It was obvious that they were good friends—the closeness between them was tangible.
She watched, her eyes widening, as two ladies, one with red hair and the other with golden hair, twirling their parasols over their shoulders, strolled towards them. The Duke of Dunford watched them before raising his hat and engaging them in conversation.
The women were beautiful and elegantly dressed. Their faces were animated as they chatted with the gentlemen, and they laughed, their eyes shining. With a stab of clarity, Catherine knew the ladies were flirting with her husband and his friend.
Suddenly, a lace handkerchief belonging to the fair-haired lady fluttered to the ground. As quick as a flash, Thomas bent down to pick it up, offering it back to her. His eyes were pinned to the lady’s face intently as she blushingly accepted it.
Quickly, Catherine turned back to her friend. She felt slightly ill. Perhaps the clotted cream wasn’t quite that fresh after all.
“Let us leave,” she said abruptly. “I think I am tired. And there is nothing else to see in this village, anyway.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Did you have a good time in the village today?” Catherine’s voice was frosty as she stabbed a piece of venison on her dinner plate, gazing at her husband. “Did you meet anybody by chance?”
Thomas was just about to take a bite of his own venison. He was ravenous. He and Kenneth had spent rather a longer time than he had intended in the Crompton tavern that day, downing ales and chatting with the locals. Towards the end of the afternoon, they had played some dice in a back room and then clutched their winnings to their chests as they stumbled a tad unsteadily into the carriage, heading back home.
Thomas glanced at his friend, who had stayed for dinner, even though Kenneth was slightly worse for wear from the day’s drinking. He told himself it was because he wanted to spend more time with his friend, but he knew it was also to circumvent another evening of being alone with Catherine. The tension between them was so thick now that he could carve it with his spearing knife.
Kenneth smiled at him, a bit bleary-eyed, picking up his wine glass. Lady Beatrice was dining with them this evening as well. Perhaps his new wife had the same idea he had regarding safety in company.
“No one in particular,” he replied, turning back to Catherine. “We chatted to some locals in the tavern. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Catherine replied in an offhand manner, toying with the meat on her plate. “You are certain you did not speak to anyone of note?”
Thomas frowned slightly. “Quite certain. Actually, therewasa rather interesting fellow: a wandering minstrel, who played us a tune on his fiddle for a coin after regaling us about his recent trip to Spain…”
“How fascinating,” Catherine said, raising her eyebrows. “I am sure you were riveted.”
Thomas’s frown deepened. His wife was in a strange mood tonight. He had noticed her shooting him questioning looks ever since they had sat down for dinner.
His eyes roamed over her. She was looking as beautiful as ever this evening but slightly different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it until he realized that she had removed the white lace on the bodice of her rose-colored evening gown, creating a rather more daring, plunging décolletage, and thus exposing the swell of her creamy, full breasts.
Hastily, he averted his gaze from her bosom. Her hair was styled differently this evening, as well. It was swept up in a dramatic way, with tiny brown tendrils framing her face. The look suited her, exposing the whole line of her long, swanlike neck.
“That minstrelwasan interesting fellow,” Kenneth piped up, grinning at everyone. “But he had one funny eye. I swear it was glass. It never moved an inch in his head. The eye justglaredat us the whole time. It was rather disconcerting.”
Thomas let out a bark of laughter. His friend really was getting a little worse for wear with drink. He would make sure that the footman didn’t refill his wine glass and that they had only one after-dinner brandy together this evening. Kenneth would surely thank him tomorrow.
“And how did you like the village?” Thomas asked, turning back to his wife. “Did you stay there long?”
“Not very long,” Catherine replied, an icy look in her green eyes. “You were right. There is nothing of particular interest in that village. Even the local ton seems rather… ordinary.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You met with some members of the local ton? Who? I might be acquainted with them.”
“I never spoke with them,” she said airily. “I just saw two ladies strolling down the main street in a haughty way, as if they were royalty. They looked rather provincial to me.” She picked up her wine glass and took a long drink.
“Oh,” Kenneth piped up, smiling at her. “Do you mean Miss Baker and Lady Isabella Lyndon? They were the only ladies about today.” He frowned slightly. “But they are both rather lovely. I do not think them provincial at all.”
