Page 74 of A Game with the Rakish Duke
Thomas and Kenneth both laughed.
Thomas stared at his old friend fondly. “Do your best, Oakdale. I am sure you will find a bottle somewhere. Go and ask my grandmother.”
Philip grinned before heading across the lawn with a sprightly step.
“I bumped into him at the opera the other night,” Thomas said, turning back to Kenneth. “I did not realize he was back in the country.”
“Neither did I.” Kenneth shook his head. “It is good to have an old friend return to the fold, even if it is not for long.” He stared at Thomas quizzically. “You look different, my friend. I have not seen you in over a week since the Dowager Duchess’ ball. Has anything interesting come to pass since?”
Thomas hesitated, feeling his face redden. “Well, yes,” he admitted, ducking his head. “My wife and I have become… closer.”
Kenneth laughed with delight, slapping him on the back again so hard that Thomas jumped.
“At last!” Kenneth was grinning from ear to ear. “You put up a good fight, Newden, but you were always destined to lose. I could see the strong attraction between the two of you right from the start.”
Thomas laughed, feeling awkward. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings for a woman with his friend. They had discussed women many times over the years, but it was always superficial.
“It is the most wonderful thing,” he said in a hesitant voice. “I have never known such passion or such joy.” He stopped, struggling. “I never knew it was possible. I feel as if I am born again when I am with her.”
Kenneth’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?”
Thomas shrugged, embarrassed. “I… I think so,” he said eventually. He frowned. “But it is hard, Dunford. It is hard to trust. There is a small voice in my head that keeps insisting that she will betray me one day. That she will leave me.”
Kenneth looked solemn. “I understand your fears. I really do. If anyone has a right to feel that way, it is you.” He paused, gazing at his friend with a thoughtful look on his face. “All I will say is that I do not think she will. She is clearly as enamored with you as you are with her. And Catherine has such strength of character. She is a rare gem, Newden. She will be loyal to you.”
Thomas smiled slightly. He appreciated his friend’s comforting words, but he wasn’t reassured. Kenneth didn’t know Catherine that well —he had only just met her after all. He didn’t know the depth of her loyalty or whether she could be swayed by a passing fancy.
Thomas’ thoughts drifted back to the way Philip had been with her at the opera. He had gotten over it, but now, his jealousy was stirring again. He despised himself for it. Was he really going to be watching her like a hawk with other men for the rest of his life? How could he endure it?
Tell her how you feel about her. See if she feels the same way about you. That might make this awful feeling disappear.
He exhaled slowly. He had almost told her a few times, but the moment had never been quite right. He was forced to admit to himself that he was scared. He was scared that she did not feel the same way about him, despite their passion and connection, and he would feel like an utter fool, left dangling on the end of a rope.
“I found a bottle!” It was Philip, holding a bottle of his grandmother’s finest brandy in the air, grinning inanely. “Shall we make a toast?”
They laughed. Tumblers were found, and the brandy was poured. They raised their glasses in the air.
“To old friends,” Kenneth intoned, his eyes shining.
“To old Etonians,” Philip added, his grin widening.
“To the journey,” Thomas concluded, “wherever it may take us.”
They clinked glasses, taking a long sip.
“What a merry party,” a feminine voice said. “Is anybody allowed to join?”
They all swung around.
Lady Isabella Lyndon was standing there, twirling her parasol over her shoulder, smiling brightly. She looked as pretty as a picture in a white muslin gown. By her side was another pretty lady with chestnut-brown hair whom Thomas didn’t recognize.
“Of course,” Thomas replied politely, bowing. “We are at your disposal, ladies.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Oh, Cathy,” Beatrice said, gazing at her friend, blinking rapidly. “What has happened to you? Where have you been?”
Catherine blushed, taking a sip of her champagne. She and her best friend were standing at the edge of the marquee, talking quietly together. She had greeted Oliver and Patrick—she had even greeted Patrick’s wife in a friendly manner, even though the lady had stared at her quite coolly—but she had quickly dragged Beatrice away from the crowd. She needed to talk to Bea privately for a moment.
