Page 82 of The Duchess Trap
“Duncan,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything. For helping me with Henry. For staying.”
He shook his head. “You’ve thanked me once already. And it was the least I could do.”
“The least?” She set her glass down. “You saved his life.”
He stared at her, and she could see something akin to affection darting through his eyes. “No, Catherine. You did.”
She wanted to argue, but the tone of his voice stopped her. Instead, she studied the way he moved. She marked the languidness of his motions and wondered what could have kept him up after and motivated him after enduring such hardship last night.
Just as she was about to give voice to her concerns and question his whereabouts outright, he said, “I went to see your father this morning.”
Her fork froze halfway to her lips. “My father?”
He nodded. “I needed his cooperation. I’m making a case against Felton that requires his testimony.”
“A case against Lord Felton?” Her heart began to thrum uneasily. “And you mean to involve my father in all of this?”
“It’s necessary,” Duncan replied. “He was one of Felton’s worst victims. His statement will make the evidence unassailable.”
She hesitated, dread and admiration colliding. “I understand the logic. But you don’t know what Felton did to him. He wasn’t only swindled; he was threatened. Manipulated. I think my father feared him.”
“As do many men,” Duncan said, his voice cooling. “That’s how men like Felton thrive. Through fear.”
Catherine’s throat felt dry. “But confronting him—my father…I worry it might have been too harsh for him. You could have left it alone.”
His eyes met hers, dark and unreadable. “No. I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what addiction does,” he said quietly. “How it consumes a man. How it poisons everything it touches.”
Something in his tone made her still. “Addiction?” she echoed softly.
He looked into the fire, his expression distant now.
He sighed. Once. Twice.
“My father,” he said after a long silence. “Laudanum. He started taking it for pain after an injury. But he didn’t stop. He was preyed upon by Lord Felton as well.” His voice trailed off, thememory clearly one he seldom touched. “He squandered our fortune, allowed Felton into our circle, let him twist the estate into ruin. When he died, it was debts and disgrace he left behind. I spent years rebuilding what he destroyed.”
Catherine felt something tighten deep in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. It taught me to recognize weakness and what it costs those around it. I saw that same look in your father’s eyes. The same surrender.”
She drew a slow breath, her voice trembling. “You saw pain, too. You must have.”
His gaze met hers again, softer now. “Perhaps.”
The firelight flickered, catching the blue in his eyes.
He leaned forward slightly, his tone quieter now. “You faced that kind of ruin, too. The same hunger, the same despair. And yet you never let it take you. You rebuild what was broken every single day. You gave those children hope. You gavemesomething, too.”
Her lips parted. “What’s that?”
He hesitated. Then, simply, “Compassion.”
