Page 80 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
Margaret’s face blanched. “How could you possibly...”
“I’m a duke,” James said simply. “I have resources. I also have an offer.”
Her lips parted, confusion flickering. “An offer?”
James withdrew a folded bank draft from his breast pocket and set it neatly on the table between them. “Twenty-five thousand pounds. Enough to clear every debt and provide you with a modest income besides.”
Margaret stared at the slip of paper as if it were a loaded pistol. “Why would you...”
“Because Catherine shouldn’t have to pay for her father’s sins,” James said quietly. “Because no one should have to marry for any reason other than love. And because I want you gone.”
“James,” Catherine murmured, shock and awe warring in her chest, but he squeezed her hand; a gentle warning, a silenttrust me.
“You have two choices, Lady Westmont,” he said, each word precise, deliberate. “Take this money and leave. Never contact Catherine again unless she initiates it. Or refuse it, and I’ll pay the debts directly to the creditors myself—leaving you with nothing.”
“You can’t...”
“I can,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but absolute. “And I will. Either way, Catherine is free. The only question is whether you leave with something or with nothing.”
Margaret’s eyes flashed. “This is blackmail.”
“This is liberation,” the Duchess said, her voice silken but edged like steel. “Something you clearly know nothing about.”
Margaret turned toward her, aghast. “You approve of this?”
“I approve of my son protecting the woman he loves from a mother who sees her as chattel,” the Duchess replied coolly.
“How dare you?”
“Oh,dohold your tongue, Margaret,” Vivienne said wearily, rubbing her temple as if the entire affair had become tiresome. “You’ve lost. Take the money and go.”
Margaret looked from face to face; her sister, her daughter, the duke who had outmaneuvered her, the duchess who saw straight through her. Her composure wavered, the mask slipping to reveal something raw and ugly underneath: desperation.
“You’ll regret this,” she said to Catherine, voice shaking with bitterness. “When the glamour fades, when you realise what you’ve given up...”
“What I’ve given up?” Catherine let out a breath that was almost a laugh, bitter and bright. “I’ve given upnothing. I’ve gained everything. Love. Respect. A partner who sees me as a person, not a commodity.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “Love fades.”
“Did it?” Vivienne asked softly, her tone cutting through the tension like a needle through silk. “Did love fade, Margaret? Or did you never have it to begin with?”
Margaret flinched as if struck. “Not all of us got to choose, Vivienne. Not all of us were pretty enough or charming enough to make men fall at our feet.”
Vivienne’s expression gentled, though her words did not. “That’s not what happened and you know it.”
"Isn't it? You married Harold for love. I married Westmont for duty. You were happy. I was..." She stopped, seeming to realize she'd said too much.
"You were what?" Vivienne asked softly.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter."
"Margaret..."
"Take the money," Catherine said quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. "Mother, take the money. Go back to Yorkshire. Be free of the debts, of Sir Reginald, of all of it."
"And of you?"
"We both know you've never really wanted me. I was a duty, an obligation, a disappointment when I wasn't a son. Take the money and we can both stop pretending."
