Page 44 of His Mad Duchess
The cat gave a decisive littlemrrpand pounced on a stray leaf. Margaret bent, scooped the cat up under one arm—a soft, wriggling, indignant warmth—and let herself imagine the rows of green that might rise if only she asked.
“A duchess’ garden,” she said to the cat, voice light but certain, as if naming a secret aloud. “And ours to keep, hmm?”
She only blinked, entirely unconcerned, and leaped out of Margaret’s arms. The breeze teased a stray curl against Margaret’s cheek. She let herself stand there a moment longer, soft breath threading out into the lavender-scented air, letting the thought of something hers root itself among the roses.
Behind her, the ribbon from her waist slipped loose where she had not knotted it quite tightly enough that morning. A tug at her hem startled her. She looked down to find the little black cat stalking the trailing end of her ribbon with the solemn air of a hunter in miniature. One quick leap, and the ribbon slipped through the grass, the cat bounding after it on silent paws.
It darted forward, little paws patting at the fluttering end. Margaret stopped, watching the silly creature wrestle the ribbon, back arching like a tiger cub.
“Oh, you wicked thing,” Margaret murmured, half to herself, half to the small, determined creature. She gave the ribbon an experimental flick, and the cat lunged, tiny claws catching fabric but never quite snaring it.
Margaret laughed then, a quiet sound that startled the birds as much as the cat. She drew the ribbon back and let it fall again. The cat pounced and tumbled, rolled onto her back, and batted the trailing silk with all the grace of a dancing fool.
“You are hopeless,” Margaret scolded, teasing, letting the ribbon slip through her fingers again just to watch the creature chase it with a triumphant squeak.
She laughed, the sound light enough to carry on the garden breeze. She tugged the ribbon gently, just enough to make the cat leap sideways and tumble into a tangle of mint and grass. A quick pounce, a triumphant squeak, and then the cat was belly-up, ribbon caught between tiny claws that refused to surrender.
“Oh, you little pirate,” Margaret teased under her breath, tugging the silk again until the cat’s paws batted the air. She kneeled carefully, mindful of the dew still clinging to the edges of the stones.
She drew the ribbon slowly across the grass, and the cat followed, a low purr rumbling up like a tiny drum. Margaret’s fingers danced just out of reach, baiting her quarry as if she’d been born to such foolish play.
“You’ve no notion you’re meant to be grand now, do you?” she whispered. The cat pounced, missed, and flipped indignantly into her lap. Margaret giggled at the sudden weight of warm fur pressing into her skirts. She dropped the ribbon entirely and used both hands to scratch behind a black velvet ear.
“You’ll own this place, I suspect. More than I shall.”
She bent close, resting her forehead lightly against the cat’s. The soft purr seemed to answer her.
“Well,” a voice drawled behind her, warm with amusement, “it appears she’s chosen her mistress at last.”
Margaret tilted her head up, cheeks warm, fingers still buried in the cat’s fur. “Your Grace…” she bit back a smile at the sight of Sebastian leaning lazily against the garden gate, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly ruffled as though he’d run a hand through it once too often. He looked infuriatingly at ease.
Her cheeks turned pink at the thought that he had been there watching her.
“Do not let me interrupt,” Sebastian said, pushing off the gate. He sauntered closer, hands clasped behind his back in a mockery of decorum. “I only came to see if you’d been devoured by the wilderness you keep insisting on taming. But I find you instead… playing at cat’s cradle?”
“It is hardly a cat’s cradle,” she sniffed, flicking the ribbon once more, so the cat sprang for it again, hind legs kicking up dust. “She was in want of occupation. Unlike certain idle gentlemen I know.”
He stopped just within reach of the ribbon, eyes flicking from the cat to Margaret’s hand. “You know, she likes you better than she does me.”
“Rubbish.” Margaret made the ribbon dance a slow arc. The cat missed, overshot, and promptly flopped down to chew the grass in indignation. “She likes mischief. I merely provide it.”
“I’d say she prefers you,” he said lightly, eyes flicking to Margaret’s. “Of course, she does. Creatures of mischief recognize their own.”
Margaret gave a tiny sniff, though her lips curved in betrayal of her haughtiness. “If you’d only stoop to charm her properly?—”
“Is that what you were doing?” His grin was too close, too careless. “Charming her? I thought you were being outwitted by a handful of fur and whiskers.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes, but the cat wriggled free of her, nose back on the trailing ribbon at once. The bright silk danced over the flagstones, drawn by a breath of wind.
“Help me, then,” she challenged, rising and brushing her palms clean. She caught the ribbon in one hand, dangling it just above the curious black ears. “Since you’re so clever.”
Sebastian straightened, towering just enough to throw her shadow against his waistcoat. He reached out, not for the ribbon but for her wrist, steadying it as he bent to let the cat leap.
The cat sprang, claws batting silk, landing on Sebastian’s boot with a soft thump. Margaret’s laughter caught in her throat as his fingers brushed hers in a very warm and certain way, altogether too steady for a man she was meant to keep at arm’s length.
He didn’t let go at once. The cat danced between them, victorious ribbon half-dragged under its paws.
Sebastian’s mouth tilted into that lopsided smile she was beginning to know too well, the one that made her heartbeat skip like a girl’s. “Well then. She’s claimed her prize.”
