Page 43 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Catherine shrugged. “I guess we are.”
The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows, gazing from one to the other. “Do not think I have not noticed the coldness between you both,” she warned. “In fact, it seems to blow hot then coldand back again. You both need to sort this out, once and for all. The duchy requires an heir!”
There was an awkward silence. Catherine looked down at her plate again, feeling her face grow hot. She had been avoiding her husband like the plague since their encounter in the gazebo yesterday, turning and almost running down the hallway when she saw him approach once.
She knew it was juvenile and quite silly, to behave in such a way, but she just couldn’t help it. As soon as she saw him or felt his eyes turn towards her, the desire to run away overwhelmed her.
The Dowager Duchess was leaving Newden Estate today. And tomorrow, they would be heading back to London as well. The country idyll was over at long last, and Catherine was fervently looking forward to returning to the city and picking up the threads of her old life again, as if her marriage had never happened. She was looking forward to getting away from her husband and starting their separate lives at last.
She sighed heavily. And now, the Dowager Duchess was arranging a ball in their honor which meant they must attend together.
She gritted her teeth. Was this torture ever going to end?
“Catherine.” The Duke’s voice was commanding. “Might we have a word in my study, please?”
Catherine gritted her teeth. They had just farewelled his grandmother, who had exited Newden Estate with the same pomp she had arrived with, accompanied by a cacophony of barking and chatter.
“I shall see you both at the ball,” the Dowager Duchess declared, leaning out of her carriage window, her eyes bright. She gazed at Catherine. “And you need to get a new gown for it, my dear. Spare no expense.”
Catherine frowned. “But?—”
“No buts.” The Dowager Duchess shook her head adamantly. “It is your first important social event as the Duchess of Newden, and you must make an impression. Make sure that their eyes will pop out of their heads, my dear. I always did so.”
Catherine had been forced to agree. Then the carriage had set off, whisking the lady away at long last. They had headed back into the house in awkward silence. Catherine had really thought she might escape her husband until he had summoned her.
“Now?” she asked in a cold voice. “Can it not wait?”
“No,” he said in a short tone. “It cannot.”
She sighed, following him down the hallway to his study. She gazed around. It was the first time she had been in this room. It was lined with bookshelves. A large mahogany desk sat against one wall with a cabinet holding numerous bottles of liquor next to it.
“Take a seat,” he instructed, sitting at his chair behind the desk.
Catherine sighed irritably, doing as he bid. They stared at one another across the desk. Her heart was pounding now. She glanced longingly at the door, dying to escape.
“Why are you trying to avoid me?” he asked in a crisp voice.
Catherine let out a short bark of laughter. “Is it not obvious? You keep trying to seduce me.” She shook her head. “We have spoken about this, and yet you keep trying. And I know that you are a rake. It is nothing special. You would do it with any lady you happen to be married to.”
“Would I?” He kept staring at her. “I agree, Idohave a past, but why are you not taking advantage of that?”
Catherine gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”
He leaned across the desk towards her, studying her intently. Her heart started to pound frantically.
“I know exactly how to please a woman, Catherine,” he stated in a quiet, intense voice. “I know that you have needs just the sameas I do. I can feel them whenever we are close. Why do you not let me satisfy those needs?”
“I do not have any needs,” she countered quickly, standing up, her stomach lurching. “I do not know what you are even talking about!”
He stood up, approaching her. “Do you not?”
He was standing so close to her that she could smell his cologne. It was an intensely masculine smell. She gazed up at him, noticing the dark stubble on his chin and jaw. She felt like reaching out and caressing it, running her hand along it, just to see what it felt like.
“No, I do not,” she whispered, feeling like she was about to swoon. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He reached out, slowly pulling her into his arms. She resisted at first, pressing her hands against his chest, trying to push him away, but he held her firmly, putting his lips against her ear.
“You are the sweetest thing,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “You are sweeter than honey.” He paused. “And your lips taste better than wine.”
