Page 32 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Her heart was racing hard now. Being in such close proximity to him was doing strange things to her resolve. She could feel the gooseflesh that had broken out over her entire body. But just because her body was a traitor didn’t mean anything. She could control it through sheer will and determination. Shemust.
She walked away, her head held high in the air. But just when she thought he had accepted what she said, she felt herself being spun around, colliding with his chest. She felt the hardness of it as well as the beating of his heart.
“I know you feel it as well,” he growled, his breathing heavy, gazing at her intently. “Why do you deny it?”
“I feel nothing,” she whispered, desperately pushing against his chest. The need to escape was overwhelming. “Nothing.”
They stared at each other, locked in a magnetic gaze. Catherine could barely breathe.
Abruptly, he released her, and she staggered a little.
“My grandmother arrives first thing in the morning,” he said in a clipped tone, looking pained. “We should both get some sleep. She will expect to be greeted in a formal manner by both of us.”
Catherine’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course. I will make sure that I am downstairs in time to greet her.”
He nodded curtly, gazing at her for another second, before turning and marching away down the hallway. She heard the click of his door opening and then closing.
Catherine took a deep breath before walking slowly down the hallway. At her chamber door, she hesitated, gazing at his door for a moment, then she slipped into her room.
The maid started to undress her. Catherine stood as passively as a doll, staring at the wall. The wall between them. He was on the other side of it. Was he thinking about her as well?
Quickly, she pushed the thought out of her mind. It was late. His grandmother was arriving in the morning, and the Dowager Duchess was formidable, despite her advanced age. Catherine needed all the sleep she could get.
“I want my usual chambers,” the Dowager Duchess declared, tapping her walking stick on the marble floor as she marched into the foyer, gazing around sharply before her gaze settledon her grandson. “They are already prepared, are they not, Thomas?”
Catherine swept into a deep curtsey, even though she was the Duchess of Newden now. She just couldn’t help it. The old lady had such an air of authority about her which she couldn’t help responding to.
The air was filled with high barking and chatter as the Dowager Duchess’ retinue followed her into the house. It was a menagerie. Catherine counted five small dogs and three maids, who looked flustered, running after the dogs and trying to control them. One of the maids held a bird cage from which emerged faintly distressed tweeting.
The Dowager Duchess, however, looked serene, as if nothing could ever faze her.
“Abigail, control that pug,” she barked, shooting a fair-haired maid a withering look and pointing at a dog with her walking stick. “You know that Fifi is liable to relieve herself on the floor if given even half the chance. I do not want to slip in a puddle and break my other hip.”
“Grandmother.” The Duke kissed her on both cheeks. “How lovely to see you.” He smiled. “Do not worry. Your usual chambers are ready for you.”
“Wonderful,” the Dowager Duchess clipped, smiling slightly and patting him on the cheek. “It is good to see you as well, Thomas.” Her eyes slid to Catherine. “And you, as well, Duchess.” Shepursed her lips. “You do not need curtsey to me, child. Have you forgotten you are the Duchess of Newden now?”
Catherine felt her cheeks redden slightly. “Of course not.” She hesitated. “It was a mark of respect to you, Duchess. Youarethe original, are you not?”
The Dowager Duchess looked at her for a moment, raising her eyebrows, before letting out a bark of laughter. She turned back to her grandson.
“I like her,” she declared, her lips twitching. “She has spirit and charm. Just as you told me.”
Catherine smiled, feeling inordinately pleased both by the Dowager Duchess’s stamp of approval and the fact that the Duke had told his grandmother that she was spirited. Then she pulled herself together.
It does not matter what he thinks about me. It would be far better if he took no notice of me at all.
Quickly, she glanced at him. They had barely exchanged two words over breakfast. The atmosphere between them had turned decidedly chilly. She knew Beatrice had felt it as well, for her friend had taken her leave quickly, heading back to London with the sour-faced Miss Vickers.
“Take the dogs away,” the Dowager Duchess cried suddenly, rapping her walking stick on the marble floor and glaring atthe maids. “Take them to the grounds. I need a hot cup of tea. Honestly, a lady could die of thirst in this place, Thomas!”
Mercifully, the yelping receded as the maids gathered the dogs and headed outside.
Catherine, the Duke, and his grandmother proceeded to the parlor where morning tea was waiting.
Catherine had heard the Duke instructing the housekeeper himself on what his grandmother would want when she arrived. Apparently, the Dowager Duchess liked her tea extra strong and only had cucumber sandwiches with her morning tea, cut into small triangles. Under no circumstances was cake to be served.
Catherine’s eyes flicked to her husband, watching him take the old lady’s arm and help her settle into a chair. His face was creased with tenderness.
