Page 39 of The Duchess Trap
“It will come.” Duncan’s voice was deadly calm. “Sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER 12
“Do stop frowning,” Catherine hissed under her breath, clutching her fan tightly as the carriage rolled to a halt before the blaze of lanterns. “You look as though we’ve come to a funeral.”
Beside her, Duncan did not so much as twitch. His profile, stern in the glow of the lamps, might have been carved from marble.
“I am not frowning,” he said evenly. “I am preparing.”
“For battle?” she asked archly.
“For scrutiny,” he corrected, blue eyes cutting to meet hers. “They will weigh every glance, every word, every silence. It is the nature of such gatherings.”
“Didn’t you say we shall give them nothing to pick apart? What are you worried about now?”
A flicker of approval, or even the faintest trace of amusement, passed through his gaze. But beneath it, she glimpsed something hotter, something that made her chest tighten.
Her lips tingled at the memory of their previous kisses, and she allowed her body to lean ever so slightly toward him, desperate for a touch that never came. He must not have noticed because as she moved, so did he. The Duke slid closer to the window, allowing an expanse of space to spring wide between them.
“They will see what I choose for them to see,” Duncan said quietly.
Catherine could not refrain from giggling at that pronouncement. Her reaction drew his attention, so she said, “Let us enjoy ourselves, husband. Try to remember the man you were weeks ago and show the world your most enchanting smile.”
Duncan grimaced slightly, which only prompted Catherine to laugh louder.
“Very well,” he conceded as his eyes focused wholly on her. “We shall make merry you and I.”
The words should have steadied her, but they only sent her pulse racing faster, though she strove to hide it. She contemplated reaching for him or scooting into the void gaping between them and resting her hand upon his knee, but before she could make such a movement, the carriage slowed.
The door swung open an instant later. The Dowager Duchess was already there, having descended from her own carriage, which had led the procession. Her cane struck the ground with imperious rhythm, her presence commanding as a general. Her sharp eyes swept over them both, lingering with keen satisfaction.
Duncan turned then, offering Catherine his hand with the careful formality of a butler. She laid her gloved fingers in his palm, her skin burning at the contact.
“Well done,” The Dowager Duchess remarked as she cast an appraising eye over Catherine’s new gown. She nodded approvingly at the icy blue silk. “At last, London shall have its spectacle tonight.” She tilted her chin toward the glowing entrance of the ballroom, jewels winking at her throat. “I shall go in first and prepare the way. You two will follow when I call, properly announced, as you ought to be. Do try not to scowl, Duncan. And dear Catherine, keep your chin high. Thetonwill be watching.”
She tapped her cane smartly and moved toward the doors. People drew back to admire her as she strode regally forward.
Duncan’s hand still enclosed Catherine’s, and she warmed at the thought of staying close to him all night.
How could this be the same man, the same mouth that had stolen hers, that had coaxed a tremor from deep within her? Now his lips were pressed in a flat, polite line, his touch careful,almost detached. He held her as though she were porcelain, unbearably distant.
“I could walk unaided,” she muttered as they trailed after the Dowager Duchess.
“I am aware,” he returned evenly. “Is that what you want? Do you wish for me to let you go?”
Catherine shook her head. “I wish for you to hold me closer.”
His eyes flicked toward her, and his face spread into a slow grin. “Do you mean this?”
Perhaps she would have answered him properly and said more than a simple yes had they lingered near the carriage. But since they had elected to follow the Dowager, it was impossible to continue speaking.
The crowd quieted as the Dowager marched directly into the ballroom. The footman announced her, giving her name and title all the pomp and circumstance it required.
Then, he looked at Catherine and Duncan.
The man cleared his throat loudly before bellowing, “Ladies and gentlemen. Our guests of honor. The Duke and Duchess of Raynsford!”
Catherine knew that she and her husband were meant to be the center of attention, but she was unprepared for the reaction of the multitude. Every head turned. The hum of conversation dissolved and was broken only by the rustle of silk and the clink of glasses.
