Page 46 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Catherine burst out laughing. “And what is wrong with that? They are sensual, and they know it. Why must I look like a priggish Englishwoman all the time?”
Beatrice looked shocked.
“Oh, do not look so appalled, Bea,” Catherine said, reaching over and patting her friend’s knee. “You will not be wearing it, after all.”
She kept sipping her tea, feeling content for the first time since she had arrived back in London.
My husband’s eyes will certainly pop out of his head when he sees me in this gown. I wonder what his reaction will be? Will he insist that I change gowns? Or will he applaud my individuality?
Catherine shook the thought away. She didn’t care what the Duke thought about her gown. She wasn’t dressing to impress him, after all.
But she had to admit to herself that she did want to see his reaction. She could barely wait.
If they were going to lead separate lives, then this ball would be their last hurrah before that occurred. She might as well go out with a bang.
The modiste walked back into the room, carrying her sketchbook and another big book. She sat down beside Catherine and opened it to show the design. Catherine’s eyes widened, trying to suppress the shock she felt. Mrs. Slocombe had taken her at her word. Was she really going to be this daring?
“It is perfect,” she declared, her heart thumping hard. “It isexactlywhat I want.”
“I am so glad,” the modiste murmured. “Shall we pick the fabrics, Your Grace?”
Catherine nodded.
The modiste passed her the other book which was filled with fabric samples. Catherine’s face flushed as she flicked through it, choosing the fabrics. She had made her choice, for better or for worse. And there was no going back from it now.
After they had finally left the shop, they drifted down Bond Street towards the Tearooms, arm in arm. They were just about to enter when Catherine came to a sudden halt, her heart almost stopping.
Her husband was on the opposite side of the road. And he was chatting to Lady Isabella Lyndon, the golden-haired beauty from the country. The lady who had claimed that shenevercame to London.
“Come on,” she said to Beatrice in a loud, cheery voice, turning her friend away before she saw the pair as well. “I am famished.”
They entered the Tearooms. Catherine insisted they sit at the back of the shop, even though there were tables by the window. It was only when they were safely seated that she felt like she could breathe properly again.
She barely listened when the server came to take their order. Thankfully, Beatrice took over, telling the girl what they wanted, ordering a half dozen éclairs as well as tea.
All Catherine could see in her mind’s eye was her husband smiling widely as he gazed down at Lady Isabella Lyndon. And Lady Isabella looking up at him as if he were the only man in the world.
Catherine blinked rapidly. “I… I rather think I have lost my appetite.” She smiled apologetically at her friend before gazing up at the server. “Just tea for me, thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Sorry I am a little late,” Thomas said, taking off his gloves and sitting down opposite Kenneth at a secluded table in the club. “I was unavoidably delayed.”
Kenneth laughed, crossing his legs and gazing up at his friend. “I hope you were unavoidably delayed doing somethingverypleasant,” he drawled with a sly smile. “How are things going between you and your beautiful new wife, Newden?”
Thomas felt his cheeks burn. “Unfortunately, I was not referring tothat,” he replied, gazing up at the hovering footman before taking a brandy. “More is the pity.”
Kenneth gazed at him curiously. “That is confounding, my friend. The sparks between the two of you are so bright that they could light a bonfire.” He shook his head incredulously. “I was sure it was only a matter of days before it would ignite. Are you still resolved to keeping her at arm’s length, then?”
Thomas sighed deeply, taking a long sip of brandy. “It seems like it is the best thing for both of us,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach lurched. “It is what we both agreed on. Catherine is determined that I will not seduce her. She seems to believe that I am an impossible rake who will toy with her and then toss her aside.”
“You are,” Kenneth quipped, his lips twitching. “At least, that is what you have always been. But if the two of you can figure out an arrangement, so to speak, where feelings are not involved, then what does it matter?” He smiled archly. “You can have the best of both worlds.”
“No,” Thomas said with a vehemence that surprised him. “I will not enter into such an arrangement with my own wife, Dunford.” He paused, frowning. “And even if I wanted to, she would never agree to it. She is not like that. She is not a sensualist who can separate feelings from the act. She is still a maiden, for crying out loud!”
Kenneth raised his hands in the air. “There is no need to bite my head off, old friend. It was just a suggestion. I can see that you are yearning for her. I thought it might be a way to slake the thirst, so to speak.”
Thomas’s frown deepened. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like talking about Catherine in this way, even with his oldest friend. He had talked about women a lot with Kenneth over the years. They had crowed about their first conquests when they had been at Oxford. And there had been many more women since then—more than Thomas cared to think about.
