Chapter 10

"You look beautiful, Cathy," Oliver whispered, gazing down at his sister as they stood at the bottom of the aisle. His eyes were soft.

Catherine smiled at her brother nervously before her eyes swept over the church. There was only a smattering of people in attendance—the wedding had been arranged in such haste that she supposed most people hadn't been able to make it. And she was grateful for it. It made walking down that long aisle towards the Duke of Newden much easier to accomplish.

Her stomach lurched. He was standing at the altar, looking very tall and commanding in a black jacket and white britches. His dark hair was swept off his face. He was talking quietly with another tall man who she recognized as the Duke of Dunford. He hadn't seen her yet.

"I feel like a trussed-up chicken," Catherine hissed, wriggling uncomfortably. "My stays are so tight that I can barely breathe."

Oliver suppressed a laugh. "I do not suppose they will remain laced for so very long," he quipped in a low voice. "Considering the Duke's, ahem, tendencies, they will be off before the day is over, Cathy."

Catherine blushed fiercely. Her nerves were like a pit of writhing snakes in her stomach. Oliver didn't know that her marriage was going to be one of convenience. He didn't know that there wasn't going to be a traditional wedding night and that she was going to wake up a maiden tomorrow, the same as ever.

I will make sure of it. If the Duke tries anything, I shall reject him firmly. But I am sure he will not—he wants a marriage of convenience as much as I do.

"Are you ready?" Beatrice was at her side, handing Catherine her bouquet. "We should start."

Catherine nodded, taking a deep breath. She was so nervous that she couldn't even give her best friend a reassuring smile.

The organ started, blaring into the silence, echoing around the church. Everyone in the church turned and stared as they started slowly walking down the aisle. Every small, mincing step felt like a mile.

What am I doing? How could I have agreed to marry a complete stranger? How can I make sure that he will abide by our terms?

Her eyes flicked to her brother. He was the reason that she was doing this against her will and better judgment, and he wasn't even aware of it. Would Oliver be appalled if he knew the sacrifice she was making for him?

A cold sweat broke out over her entire body, even though it was hot in the church. There were huge arrangements of flowers in vases everywhere, filling the church with a heady perfume. Catherine's head was almost going to burst. The scent was overwhelming.

She was almost there. Suddenly, she became conscious of the Duke gazing at her. His eyes were fixed on her. They were blazing as they swept over her, taking in every small detail, from the orange blossom woven through her dark hair to the creamy lace and silk gown that had cost a small fortune to the expensive cream slippers on her feet.

I am selling myself. I am just the same as a horse that has been bought at an auction. How could I have done this when I always swore I would never marry?

She blushed again. The naked admiration and desire in his eyes as he beheld her hit her like a slap across the face. Instinctively, she felt her body react to it. Her skin prickled. It was alarming. She tried to ignore it, but it was hard. So hard.

She was so disconcerted that she stumbled slightly on the step. The Duke rushed forward.

"I will take it from here, old chap," he said in a low voice to Oliver. "You can step aside."

Oliver nodded, letting the Duke take her arm, and stepped back. Catherine felt her heart skip a beat at the contact. For a moment, the Duke just gazed down at her, his blue green eyes narrowed.

"You are exquisite," he whispered in a husky voice. "A vision. I feel as if your image is seared in my brain."

Catherine's jaw dropped. Two spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. Her heart was racing.

"You do not need to say that," she whispered stiffly. "I do not require it."

His mouth was at her ear, and she could feel his warm breath.

"It is the truth," he whispered back, his breath ruffling a small curl. "I never lie about such things." He straightened, grinning. "I suppose I should be grateful that you did not skip down the aisle wearing boy's trousers and a cap on your head."

Catherine stifled a laugh. "I should have done it," she teased. "Just to scandalize the ton. They would have whispered about it for months, Your Grace."

He looked amused. "If anyone could do such a thing and get away with it, it would be you," he whispered, his eyes lingering on her face. "I have never met someone like you before."

Her heart skipped another beat. Already, she was succumbing to his charms, and they hadn't even exchanged their vows yet.

Focus, Catherine. This is for your brother's sake only.

"Your Grace." The vicar stepped forward. "Shall we begin?"

The Duke nodded. "Yes. Let us begin, Reverend. I am certain that our guests do not wish to be seated here forever." He turned back to Catherine, his eyes lingering on her face as he whispered to her, "Besides, I have business with you, young lady, which can only be accomplished once you have that ring on her finger."

Catherine blushed fiercely. Mortified, she looked away. Her heart was beating frantically now.

Why was he doing this? He knew it was a marriage of convenience. Those were the terms. So, why was he looking at her and speaking as if he wished to rip her wedding gown off her the minute they were married?

I must keep my distance. I must not indulge this. If I do so, it will be at my peril.

Catherine's mind was awhirl by the time they reached Newden Estate which was located in Kent on the outskirts of London. The wedding ceremony and breakfast were over, and now, it was just the two of them.

The staff was assembled at the front of the house, in a line, awaiting their arrival. As Catherine stepped out of the carriage and was formally introduced, she felt a wave of nerves overwhelm her. Would he keep his promise and insist they keep this a marriage of convenience?

After changing for dinner, she drifted to the balcony where a private table had been set up for the evening meal. But as she sat down, the housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, walked in, curtseying to her.

"Pardon me, Your Grace," the housekeeper said, "but His Grace will not be dining with you this evening. He sends his apologies."

Catherine's jaw dropped. She nodded at the housekeeper, who curtseyed again before walking away.

Catherine sighed heavily, gazing into the grounds. She knew she should be relieved he was keeping his distance as he had promised he would, but she couldn't deny the small knot of disappointment that formed in her chest, refusing to go away.

Thomas lingered at the secret window, his hand on the thick velvet curtain, watching Catherine as she picked at her food. Even the way she ate was sensual.

His eyes lingered on her face. Those full lips, those high cheekbones, those big green eyes full of intelligence and fire. By Jove's beard, she was beautiful. He ached to drag her up to the bedchambers now and be done with it.

The day had dragged on. The wedding breakfast had seemed to last forever. They had barely had a chance to exchange two words. His grandmother had commandeered Catherine, giving her the third degree, as it was the first time she had met his new wife. He could tell the Dowager Duchess was impressed with her by the small nod of approval she had given him.

And now, his new wife was having dinner by herself on the small balcony overlooking the grounds. He had made an excuse that he had business to attend, but really, it was just so he could stand here and watch her, desire thickening his blood.

He watched her nibble on a piece of chicken, biting it delicately, pulling at the flesh with her teeth. He shuddered, imagining that delectable mouth nibbling on his flesh, biting and nipping him, grazing along his skin.

His eyes dipped lower to the bodice of her gown where the swell of her creamy breasts strained against the fabric. He imagined his hand slipping into the bodice, taking one breast in his hand, caressing it until the delicate peak turned as hard as a pebble, watching her face transform with desire…

He was so hard now that it was painful. All day he had been in a state of semi-arousal, gritting his teeth, trying to take his mind off it, ever since the moment he had seen her walking down the aisle.

She had taken his breath away. The vision of her, in her creamy wedding gown with orange blossom in her hair, would be hard to shake off. He had been overcome with a desire so strong that he wanted to march up to her, sweep her up in his arms, and whisk her away right then and there.

Enough was enough. He had tortured himself for far too long, even though watching her was exquisite. He pulled aside the curtain and marched into the room, feeling like he was on a trigger point.

Catherine jumped. She looked at him, her fork suspended in the air.

"Where have you been?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"I am sorry," he said quickly, his heart thumping hard as he gazed down at her. "But I wanted to give you time to adjust to this." He took a deep breath. "How are you liking Newden Estate?"

"I like it well enough," she replied, gazing up at him steadily. "That was very respectful of you. How considerate you are."

He noticed she had a small dollop of sauce on her chin. Slowly, he reached down, cleaning it off with his finger. She jumped again, looking alarmed.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked.

"You spilled some sauce," he whispered, reaching down and taking her hands, slowly pulling her to her feet so that they were mere inches apart. "I was just helping you."

She blushed fiercely, and his loins stirred again.

"You sounded surprised I should be respectful of you," he whispered, noticing a small vein throbbing in her temple. "Were you expecting something else?"

She bit her lip in that delightful way that he had already noticed was a habit of hers.

"Well, you do have a certain reputation," she whispered, her green eyes flickering. "You are not always respectful towards women, Your Grace."

"I am your husband now," he breathed. "You should call me Thomas." He smiled slowly. "‘Your Grace' is a bit formal between husband and wife, do you not agree?"

"Of course. Shall I call you by your Christian name, then?"

"Yes. And you are wrong," he said, taking another step closer, so he could see that the tips of her long eyelashes were fair, as if they had been dipped in a pot of gold. "I am always respectful of women… unless, of course, they do not wish me to act in a respectful manner towards them."

She frowned slightly. "I do not understand."

He smiled devilishly. "Shall we retire to our chambers, and I can show you what I mean? It is probably far easier than speaking about it."

They were so close now that he could have leaned down and taken her lips in a searing kiss. Still, he lingered, torturing himself, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her perfume, watching goosebumps spread across her skin as he spoke to her.

She wasn't indifferent to him. Very far from it. There were many telltale signs, from the sudden dilation of her pupils to her sharp intake of breath. She was gazing up at him, her emerald-green eyes luminous, looking as if she were falling into a trance.

He took her hand. "Come along, Catherine."

But suddenly, she balked, pulling away her hand as if she were scalded. He frowned.

"What is it?" He reached out for her hand again, but she took a step back, staring at him, her eyes wide. "What is wrong?"

She shook her head. "We agreed that this would be a marriage of convenience. Remember?"

His frown deepened. "Yes, I remember." He hesitated. "But that does not mean we cannot dally now and again…"

"I do not dally," she stated in a fierce voice. "It is for the best if we do not… share a bed. It will make things far less complicated between us. Unless you wish for an heir."

"No, I do not wish for an heir," he responded and gulped hard.

His heart hit the ground. The disappointment tasted sour in his mouth. He knew she was right. But his body didn't liking this at all.

"Very well then. I shall leave you to it."

He composed himself, and before she could reply, he rushed out of the room.

Thomas swore beneath his breath. What was he going to do?