Page 23 of The Duchess Trap
“I mind myself very well indeed,” Stephen said cheerfully. “Better than you, by the look of you. Tell me—” he lowered his voice, grin wicked “—is it the bed that plagues you, then? Is the duchess keeping you awake at night?”
The question slid into Duncan’s ears like a blade. He stilled, every muscle drawn taut. Heat surged beneath his collar, betraying him. His mind betrayed him further, conjuring the image of Catherine in her nightdress, silk clinging to pale skin, trembling hands fumbling at ties as though preparing for execution.
He had stopped her, not for lack of wanting, but because the sight of her terror had been unbearable. Her trembling had cut through him sharper than any wound could. His throat tightened even now at the memory.
The truth was inescapable. He wanted her. God above, he wanted her with a hunger that scorched through his entire body. Her nearness alone was enough to set his veins alight, to undo years of discipline with a single glance. And yet he could not have her, not like that. Not while fear shadowed her eyes and made every breath a plea for escape.
This entire week, he had waited for her to give him a sign…an indication of her readiness. He wanted her to show interest, rather than obligation. He looked into her eyes and sought desire, but all he continued to see reflected was her hesitancy and reluctance. It was unsettling and made him feel like the rogue she dreamed him to be.
Stephen’s laugh was softer now, though no less pointed. “Ah. So that is it. She rattled you more than you care to admit.”
Duncan’s jaw worked. He shook his head slowly, forcing composure into his voice. “I am never rattled.” The lie felt ludicrous as it dripped from his lips. Surely, Stephen, who had known him for ages, would see through this fabrication.
But Stephen only watched him, sharp eyes gleaming with mischief. “I have known you long enough to tell when you are hiding something. And right now, my friend, you look like a man who cannot decide whether he wants to run away from his wife or kiss her senseless.”
Stephen proved to be as astute as ever. The words struck too close. Duncan’s grip tightened around his glass, though he did not lift it.
He wanted to press his lips against her, to stop the endless clash between what he thought and what he felt. The sight of her trembling haunted him, stirring something he could neither master nor name. God help him, he wanted her to relax around him and give him leave to do as he wished with her.
Stephen leaned back, smug as a cat with cream. “Say nothing, if you must. But your silence tells me everything. You, Duncan Witherley, Duke of Raynsford, master of control, are undone by a woman. It is almost poetic.”
Duncan closed his eyes briefly, dragging in a breath.
Control. I must master myself. I must.
“It is business,” he said again, each syllable ground out. “My accounts, my tenants, my obligations. That is all.”
Stephen smirked. “If you say so. Though I suspect the true balance you are struggling with is not in your ledgers.”
Duncan ignored him, staring hard at the tablecloth as though it were a battlefield map. But Catherine’s face came into his mind again. The curve of her lips, the fire in her gaze…
He ground his teeth in agitation. He had thought himself impervious. He had thought no woman could pierce the armor he had forged through years of discipline and duty.
And yet Catherine had done it in a week. A week, and already she haunted him.
“Felton,” Duncan said abruptly, the word like flint striking against stone.
Stephen, who had been halfway through a smug sip of port, stilled. One brow rose. “Lord Felton? Ah. A viper, to be sure. But I did not think he featured further in your business. Am I wrong? Has he slithered back into the tale?”
Duncan set his glass down with deliberate care, as if too much force might betray what seethed beneath his skin. “He was involved with my father-in-law’s debts. Deeply.”
Stephen leaned back in his chair. “I had thought as much. The man’s nose twitches at coin like a hound at blood. What, pray, do you intend to do? Challenge him to pistols at dawn? Or shall you simply glower until he withers?”
Duncan shot him a look that could have frozen rivers. “I intend to gather proof. Enough to have him arrested. Extortion, fraud, whatever will see him ruined. Portsbury himself could provide testimony. If I can bind that with other evidence…”
Stephen whistled low, setting his glass down. His usual grin faded into something more sober. “Dangerous game, old friend. Felton will not go quietly. He is a rat, yes, but rats bite when cornered.”
“I am not afraid of his teeth.”
Duncan’s jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck grew taut as a bowstring. He welcomed the thought of Felton cornered, stripped of his smirk, his power broken. He could almost taste the satisfaction.
How many nights had he stood at his father’s study door, listening to raised voices, to coin changing hands, to the long, ugly silence that followed?
His father had thought himself clever, striking bargains with men like Felton, masking weakness with bravado. But Duncan had seen the truth. He had watched a proud man drink himself into cowardice, watched debts mount until the Raynsford title, once unshakable, was whispered with pity. And when ruin came, it was not only his father’s shame that was buried. It was the family’s honor as well as the security of every tenant who looked to Raynsford for strength.
He had sworn then, standing in that cold hall as a boy of fifteen, that he would never fall to such disgrace. That he would never beg, never gamble, never lean upon another man’s word. He would take what was his, hold it with iron, and never let it slip through his fingers.
So, Duncan had poured his every effort into restoring his family’s good name and recuperating the wealth his father had lost. He made friends with everyone he met and sweet-talked quite a few ladies so that they felt compelled to whisper in the ears of their husbands. He had earned his reputation by cavorting with gorgeous young ladies as well as mingling with widows. With each new conquest, he sought to build relationships and establish greatness where his father had brought disgrace. Duncan knew his reputation was not pristine, but the change he had exacted served to buoy his estate, save his tenants, and fill him with a sense of pride.
