Page 105 of The Duchess Trap
“Just bruised,” she said, forcing a small smile. “And grateful.”
Helen studied her face. “You look exhausted.”
“So do you,” Catherine teased gently, but her laugh faltered when she caught the worry in her friend’s eyes.
Helen’s gaze shifted to the children. “You’ve done wonders here,” she said softly. “They look calmer than I expected.”
“They’re brave,” Catherine said, glancing toward the group by the hearth.
Helen made a small sound of agreement, but her eyes flicked briefly toward the far end of the room.
Catherine didn’t need to follow to know what she was looking at. She could feel her husband there, standing near the window, his low voice carrying faintly as he spoke to a steward.
Even without turning, she could sense the distance in him, the tension that hadn’t eased in days. He had returned from his appointment one hour precisely after he’d dashed away from the house. Since that time, he had stood in the same position, speaking in low tones to one servant or the other, giving directives that she could not overhear.
“He hasn’t said a word to you since I came in,” Helen murmured.
Catherine’s throat tightened. “He’s been… occupied.”
“Occupied?” Helen’s brow lifted. “That’s one word for it.”
“Helen,” she warned softly.
“I’m not judging,” her friend said. “But he looks as though he’s standing on the edge of something sharp.”
Catherine’s gaze dropped to her hands. “He’s been distant, ever since that night. I thought it was exhaustion at first, or perhaps guilt that he couldn’t prevent the fire. But now…” She hesitated. “He hardly looks at me. When he does, it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.”
Helen’s voice gentled. “Have you spoken to him about it?”
“He avoids me,” Catherine said quietly. “Every morning, he disappears into his study before breakfast. Every evening, he stays out late under the pretense of meetings or correspondence.When I knock, he says he’s occupied. I feel as though I’ve lost him, and I don’t even know why.”
Helen took her hand. “Men like him frighten easily when they begin to feel too much. They call it reason, or duty, or business, but it’s fear, Catherine.”
Catherine swallowed. “And what if I have frightened him away entirely?”
“Then he’s a fool,” Helen said simply. “But you’re not.”
Catherine exhaled slowly. “I keep thinking I did something wrong. That perhaps I asked too much of him, or?—”
“No,” Helen said firmly. “You gave him everything. That kind of goodness unsettles men who’ve lived too long without it. But he’ll come round if you talk to him.”
Catherine shook her head. “He won’t let me close. It’s as if he’s building walls faster than I can climb them.”
“Then knock them down,” Helen said with quiet conviction. “He loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
Catherine’s heart ached at the words. “He hasn’t said it.”
“Does he need to?” Helen smiled faintly. “Sometimes the silence says it first.”
They both glanced toward him. Duncan was still at the window, expression unreadable, his posture as stiff as his voice. But when the steward left and Catherine looked back a moment later, she caught him watching her, just for an instant, before he turned away.
That fleeting look sent a shiver through her. It was there, beneath the distance — the same heat, the same tenderness that had once undone her. She could feel it even now, beneath all his composure.
“He’s afraid,” she whispered.
Helen squeezed her hand. “Then make him see that you’re not.”
Catherine nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the man who had saved her life and was now saving himself from her.
