Page 56 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Thomas laughed. “Go on, then.”
Kenneth flashed him a dazzling smile before adjusting his cravat and heading towards the Harrow sisters. Thomas watched his friend weave his way through the crowd before materializing in front of the ladies, taking their hands one by one and bowing low.
To his credit, the ladiesdidlook rather entranced by Kenneth. He was clearly putting on the charm, flirting up a storm. Objectively, Thomas supposed his friend was a handsome man, and he always had success with the ladies. He might even manage to lure one of the sisters away from their engagements. Good luck to him.
Thomas turned away, taking another glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, grimacing as he took a sip. Champagne wasn’t his favorite tipple, and he was growing restless and bored again. How much longer must he endure this? How long did he and his new wife have to stay to appease his grandmother before they could slip away?
Just thinking about Catherine stirred his blood again. Eagerly, his eyes sought her through the crowd. She had returned to her brother and her best friend again. But now, they had been joined by another gentleman.
Thomas frowned. It was Patrick Wickes, the Earl of Afferton, the older brother of Lady Beatrice. Thomas studied the man carefully. He didn’t know him well, but he recalled how affronted the gentleman had looked on the day he had announced his intention to propose to Catherine in her home.
Lord Afferton had attended the garden party in the country as well, now that he came to think about it. And he had monopolized his wife’s attention there as well.
Thomas took another sip of champagne, watching the Earl. He was hovering by Catherine’s side, staring at her avidly as she talked and laughed. And then he noticed that the gentleman was holding Catherine’s elbow in an almost possessive way. The gesture was intimate. And wasn’t the gentleman standing just a tad too close?
Thomas felt a wave of anger sweep over him. Anger… and something else. An ugly, primitive emotion that he had never felt before, or only the faintest hint of it, in regards to any lady he was involved with.
But this… this was barreling him over like an out-of-control carriage. He couldn’t believe it. Was this jealousy?
Thomas was so stunned that he almost staggered back. No, it couldn’t be. Jealousy implied he had feelings for the lady. And he didn’t, even if Kenneth insisted that he did. He couldn’t. It wasn’t possible.
But still… the jealousy was increasing, not diminishing. He gripped his champagne glass so tight that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.
What was he going to do about it?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Isimply could not believe my eyes when I saw you across the room, Cathy,” Patrick said, gaping at Catherine. “Whatever possessed you to wear such a gown?”
Catherine laughed. “Oh, do not be such a prude, Patrick,” she scoffed, gazing at her old friend and taking a sip of champagne. “You are in danger of becoming an old stick in the mud. Where is your sense of fun?”
Patrick looked affronted.
Catherine edged away a little. She had just noticed that her friend was standing a tad too close and was holding her elbow tightly. He was probably doing it absent-mindedly, but still, it wasn’t proper, especially since she was a married woman now.
“I heard that your wife accompanied you this evening, Patrick,” she continued, taking another small step away from him. “We should find her. I am dying to talk with her. Where is she?”
Patrick started. “Oh, I think she is some place or other,” he replied vaguely. “I am sure we will see her, eventually.” He paused, looking at Catherine closely. “How is your husband treating you, Cathy? I noticed him talking with that same lady he was talking with at the garden party.”
“Oh, yes,” Catherine said, trying to smile. “Lady Isabella. He is just being polite. She lives on a neighboring estate in the country, and they have known each other for years.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Polite?” He let out a derisive bark of laughter. “I suppose that is one way of putting it.”
Catherine felt a flash of irritation. It was one thing for her to notice that Lady Isabella seemed to be popping up everywhere, commandeering her husband, but it was quite another for Patrick to constantly be remarking on it. For all intents and purposes, her husband and Lady Isabellawerejust talking. Patrick didn’t know any different.
Suddenly, she spotted Lady Afferton, Patrick’s wife, walking through the ballroom, fanning herself vigorously. Catherine watched her for a moment. The Countess of Afferton was a short, plump woman with bright red hair. Catherine had always thought her a pretty woman with a charming smile although she was certainly no great beauty.
“There is your wife now,” she cried, turning towards the Countess. “Let us go and speak with her.”
Did Patrick grimace? If so, he disguised it quickly. He nodded.
“If you insist,” he said in a stiff voice.
Catherine flashed him a mystified smile before taking off through the crowd, seeking his wife.
“Lady Afferton,” she greeted when she reached her. “It is so lovely to see you!”
Lady Afferton turned, her eyes widening when she saw Catherine, and she swept into a low curtsey.
