Page 76 of The Duchess Trap
“You can,” he said gently, “because he’ll wake to a full recovery, and to Mrs. Simms hovering like a hawk.”
Catherine’s lips curved in a faint, tired smile. “You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
It took her a moment to pull herself away from the child’s bedside. When she did, her legs wobbled beneath her, and Duncan’s hand shot out to steady her before he even thought about it. Her palm found his chest, light but steady, and for a moment, she just looked at him, her lips parted as if she might say something.
Then she withdrew her hand quickly, as though remembering herself. “Yes. You’re right. Home.”
He nodded once and stepped aside, giving her space to gather her composure. Mrs. Simms followed them to the door, murmuring gratitude through tears.
“Your Grace,” she said, eyes shining, “we owe you more than words.”
Duncan inclined his head. “See to the boy. I’ll send supplies and coin for whatever’s needed.”
When they stepped outside, the world was washed clean. The rain had passed, leaving puddles glinting gold beneath the pale morning sun. The air smelled of wet earth and smoke from the bakeries already stirring in the distance.
Catherine blinked at the light as though it were too bright to bear. Her face was pale, her lips soft and colorless from fatigue. She looked fragile again, but not weak. There was something unyielding in her posture, the quiet pride of a woman who had stared down death and refused to surrender.
The carriage waited at the end of the lane. Duncan helped her up first, his hand steady against her back. She hesitated as she sat, her skirts pooling around her, her gaze still on Brightwater’s whitewashed walls.
“He’ll live,” Duncan said, reading her thought.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I’ve never been more afraid than I was last night.”
He shut the carriage door behind them and took his seat opposite her. The horses lurched forward, hooves striking the wet cobblestones.
For a while, neither spoke. The motion of the carriage lulled the silence between them into something almost tender. Catherine’s head dropped against the cushion, her eyes half-lidded.
“You should rest,” he said quietly.
She gave a faint, weary smile. “You’re very certain of what I should do.”
“Someone must be.” His tone was mild, yet as he looked at her, something unguarded slipped through.
The faint lines of strain around her eyes, the curve of her mouth fighting weariness…they pulled at him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
She studied him for a long moment, lashes heavy with fatigue. “I am relieved it was this side of you who showed up last night.”
The words caught him off guard.
“Which side is that?”
“The one that bothers to care,” she murmured.
A beat of silence.
“You make it sound extraordinary,” he managed.
“Perhaps it is,” she said softly, her voice thinning as sleep pulled at her. “When you are around, I have come to find that you can be quite the caring individual.”
He felt his mouth tug upward into a semblance of a small smile. “I know I have not spent enough time at home…with you, as of late. But I hope my presence tonight didn’t disappoint you.”
“Not at all,” she murmured, her lashes fluttering.
Her head lolled to the side, her lashes lowering fully. Within moments, her breathing evened.
He watched her sleep.
