Page 42 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
He had been so close to having her. He knew he would have done it. The hunger was just too intense.
But now, mixed in with his bitter disappointment, came sense. She was a maiden. Ravishing her on the floor of a gazebo was probably not a good idea. She would have been ashamed and mortified afterwards—she wasn’t a woman who was used to letting herself go with passion.
His hands balled into fists at his sides. Was he breaking down those high walls of hers at last? Or was she even now reconstructing them?
Chapter Twenty
“Iam hosting a ball next week in London,” the Dowager Duchess declared as she carefully sliced the top of her boiled egg. She glanced up, looking at her grandson and then Catherine. “I am holding it in your honor.”
Catherine put down her knife and fork, gazing at the venerable lady, whose eyes were back on her breakfast. She then glanced at her husband, who looked slightly irritated.
“A ball?” he repeated, scratching his chin. “Why the deuce do you want to host a ball, Grandmother? Is not a washed-out garden party enough social events for one week?”
The Dowager Duchess pursed her lips. “The garden party took an unfortunate turn,” she sighed, picking up her cup of tea. “Such chaos as everyone scattered in all directions when the rain started falling…”
“Not to mention poor Lord Bertram breaking his ankle when he tripped over a potted plant in his haste to escape the rain,” the Duke supplied in a droll voice. “I have never heard such a caterwauling in my life. That was a very unfortunate turn, indeed.”
Catherine’s lips twitched. She picked up her teacup to hide her smile. Lord Bertram’s broken ankle wasn’t funny. Or at least, it shouldn’t be.
“That man has always been a clumsy oaf,” the Dowager Duchess declared a bit huffily. “He always manages to break or strain or injuresomethingor other. But he does exaggerate, too. I once saw him get a paper cut and act as if he was about to bleed to death.”
Catherine almost spat out her tea.
“Anyway,” the Dowager Duchess continued, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “The garden party was rained out. But a ball will last the distance!”
“Why are you so intent on throwing social events?” the Duke asked, eyeing her as he buttered a piece of toast. “You never entertain this much, Grandmother.”
The Dowager Duchess snorted. “Yes, it may be true that I have become rather more socially reticent with my advancing age, but I still know how to do it, my boy.” She stared at him. “The answer is obvious, Thomas. I want to show the two of you off to the ton. The garden party, now that I think about it, was never going toachieve my aim as there were too many obscure country folk. It was just as well it was washed out. I was about to die from boredom.”
Catherine sighed heavily.
The Dowager Duchess fixed her with a steely glare. “Well, Catherine? What is it? Spit it out, girl!”
Catherine suppressed a smile. “But why a ball, Duchess? Why do we have to be paraded and put on show like prime heifers at an auction?”
The Duke burst into laughter, gazing at her with warm eyes.
Catherine ducked her head, concentrating on her tea. She was feeling a little flushed, and it wasn’t just because of the growing heat of the day.
You let him touch you in an intimate way in the gazebo yesterday. You let yourself be swept away. You need to not let that happen again.
“Because you are the Duke and Duchess of Newden!” The Dowager Duchess rolled her eyes, as if the answer was evident. “You married very quickly, and now, it is time to put any gossip or whispers aside and display yourselves in all your glory to Society.”
The Duke groaned.
The Dowager Duchess’s steely glare fell on him now. “You have complaints, Thomas?”
“I agree with Catherine,” he said, gazing quickly at his wife. “You do not have to hold a ball for us, Grandmother. Who cares what the ton think?”
“I care,” the Dowager Duchess growled, putting down her spoon with a clatter. “I do not want the ton whispering behind your backs, Thomas, saying that you compromised your wife, and that is the reason you rushed her to the altar. Because I have heard whispers along those lines.”
“Let them say what they like…”
“Thomas.” Her voice held ice in it now. “I am holding a ball in your honor, and it is your duty to graciously accept.” She paused, glaring at him.
Catherine looked down at her plate, trying not to laugh.
“I am a grown man, and I am fully aware of my duties, Grandmother,” the Duke asserted. Then, he glanced at Catherine. “I guess we are going to a ball, Duchess.”
