Page 44 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Catherine didn’t know how it happened, but his mouth had suddenly slipped to her neck, kissing and biting it. She shuddered, her head tilting back as sparks of fire started shooting through her body. She heard herself groan.
The sound seemed to electrify him. The next moment, his lips sought hers, tilting her back further, hungrily devouring her. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart was racing so hard that it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest.
Her lips parted beneath his as she felt his tongue plunge into her mouth, exploring. Another stab of desire snaked down her spine. She thought she remembered what this was like, but there was so much she had forgotten. The taste of him. The feel of him. The thrill of him.
How could she have ever believed she could live without this?
As soon as the thought entered her head, she pushed him away, panting hard. He stood there, gaping at her, his eyes bright with desire, clearly confused.
“Why?” he whispered, reaching for her again. “Let me…”
“No,” she said in a cold voice, even though it killed her to resist him. “This marriage was a means to an end for both of us. I only married you to pay off my brother’s debts. You only married me because you needed a wife quickly to pacify your grandmother. This cannot happen.”
A flash of pain crossed his face, but then he quickly masked it. He took a step back, gazing at her steadily. Catherine could barely stand it.
“I do apologize,” he said in a stiff, formal tone. “I am being disrespectful. And you are right, of course. We agreed to marry as a means to an end for both of us with no personal involvement.” He paused, gazing at her steadily. “This was a mistake. And you have my word that as soon as this ball is over, we can finally lead separate lives as we agreed.”
“Good,” Catherine uttered in a wavering voice. “That is good.”
They stared at each other for a moment. The air was so thick that she felt like she could cut through it with a knife.
“Well, I should go,” she murmured, biting her lip. “I should start packing.”
“Yes,” he said in a strained voice. “I might take my dinner here tonight.”
Catherine nodded before turning quickly and leaving the room. She had gotten what she wanted. So why did she feel so hollow?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Be careful, Cathy!” Beatrice turned to her friend, grabbing her arm firmly as they crossed Bond Street. Her voice was sharp. “You were about to walk into that milk cart!”
Catherine took a hasty step back, her heart thumping hard. She hadn’t even noticed the milk cart clattering down the street. Her mind was elsewhere.
“Silly me,” she cried as they made their way carefully across the street once the cart had passed. “I must be still used to the quiet country life, Bea. It might take me a while to get used to London traffic again.” She bit her lip, gazing around. “It is just sobusy.”
She kept gazing around, slightly alarmed. Bond Street was the same as it ever was with carriages and carts rattling back and forth, street sellers calling their wares, and ladies and gentlemen strolling along. It had never particularly bothered her before. Sowhy was it grating on her nerves now, causing a dull, throbbing headache at the back of her head?
They had only been back a day. Her husband had been true to his word and had been avoiding her. She had barely seen him——they exchanged just a few awkward words at breakfast this morning—before he had left the house, saying he was heading to his club.
And now, she was shopping with Beatrice.
Catherine glanced back. The sour-faced Miss Vickers was trailing them, acting as a chaperone for her friend, as always, hovering like a shadow.
“Mama received the invitation to the Dowager Duchess of Newden’s ball just this morning,” Beatrice said, her lips curling into a smile. “I must say, that venerable lady does not waste time. First, a garden party in the country and now, a grand ball. Clearly, she wishes to show you and the Duke off, Cathy.”
“Clearly,” Catherine agreed in a sour voice. “That lady is used to getting her own way in all things.” She sighed heavily, blinking as she gazed at the shops. “I am not in the mood for shopping, and yet I must do it. The Dowager Duchess insists that I have a new gown for the occasion, and there is not a moment to spare if it is to be finished in time.”
“Of course, you must have a new gown for the ball,” Beatrice said, dragging her along the street. “I quite agree with her.” Sheglanced quickly at her friend. “It is not like you to not feel like shopping, Cathy. Are you in low spirits?”
Catherine pressed her lips together. She hardly knew what kind of spirits she was in. Her mind was in turmoil, thinking about that scorching kiss she had shared with her husband just before they had left the country and how she had pushed him away, insisting that they could never have that type of relationship.
And he agreed. He wants us to live separate lives. He only tried to seduce me because of his pride, because that is just what he does with any woman he finds attractive. It matters little to him.
She sighed irritably. She had always known this. Shewantedthem to lead separate lives—she had insisted on it. So why did she feel slightly hollow inside and consumed with a burning restlessness which she could not name?
They reached the modiste and entered the shop. It was instantly quieter than on the street. The noise of the traffic receded. Catherine felt her heartbeat slow down.
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Slocombe, the modiste, approached them, before curtseying deeply. “And Lady Beatrice. What a pleasure it is to see you both on this fine day.”
