Chapter 13

"Are you going somewhere?" Thomas asked, watching the two ladies pull on their gloves as he walked into the foyer. Catherine's friend, Lady Beatrice, had just arrived for a house call, but he didn't know they were heading out. "Are you going far?"

Catherine smiled tightly. She had been extra frosty with him since the evening when he had dared to touch her while she played the pianoforte. His fingers were still sore from the encounter. The minx had slammed the hood of the instrument on them. It was a wonder his fingers weren't broken.

"We are heading into the local village," Catherine replied, avoiding his eyes. "I thought it might be fun to explore."

"Crompton?" Thomas raised his eyebrows. "There is not much there. Some tearooms. A church. A tavern. That is about all."

"We shall manage," Catherine said in a falsely sweet tone. She turned to Beatrice. "Come along, Bea. The carriage is waiting."

"I might see you there," Thomas called, smiling just as sweetly. "As it happens, I am planning a visit to the village myself."

Catherine stopped abruptly, turning to him. "You are? But I thought you said it held no amusement…"

"There is always amusement to be found if you are a gentleman," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "I am meeting my old friend at the tavern for a pint or two. He was the groomsman at our wedding. You remember the Duke of Dunford, do you not?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes flickering slightly. She pursed her lips. "You shall be at the tavern for the entire day?"

He shrugged. "It really rather depends on how heavily we get into our cups," he replied slowly. "Why? Do you expect me back at a certain time?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head. "It is of no concern to me what you do with your day or when you return home." She hesitated. "Do as you will."

"Oh, I will." He gave her a dazzling smile. "Don't you worry."

They glared at each other for a moment before she turned away, ushering her friend through the front door. She didn't look back.

Thomas sighed heavily as he walked down the hallway towards his study. The tension between them was getting unbearable. She was so determined to fight the strong attraction between them that it was getting tedious. He really did need an escape from the house.

He sat down at his desk, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. The visit to the local tavern with Kenneth had come at the best possible time. He didn't usually frequent it, but he was desperate. It was either that or a long ride over the hills, but there wasn't any ale in the hills. None that he knew about, anyway.

I am dying of frustration. That is the problem. Being in close proximity to a very beautiful woman like Catherine without being allowed to touch her must be the definition of hell on earth.

He grimaced, running a hand over his face. He felt like he was on a trigger point—as if he were about to explode at any second. So much for thinking he could manage his desire for her easily.

But it must be managed. They had agreed to a marriage of convenience, and she refused to be with him, no matter how hard he tried. He was just going to have to find a way to live with it.

"Oh, how quaint it is," Beatrice enthused as they stepped down from the carriage, gazing around the village. "It looks like something out of a storybook!"

Catherine laughed at the wide-eyed joy on her friend's face. It took so little to make Bea happy. Her friend truly was a diamond.

She gazed around, taking in the village of Crompton. She could see why Beatrice was entranced. It had cobblestone roads, sandstone houses with thatched roofs, and bright flowers blooming in window boxes everywhere. The little church on the hill was made of bluestone with a tall steeple, surrounded by gravestones, some of which were no doubt centuries old. It really did look like something out of a storybook.

They meandered down the main street, peering into shop windows, but there wasn't much to see. Eventually, they ended up at the Crompton Tearooms which were positioned at the end of the street. The shop bell tinkled merrily as they stepped inside.

When they were seated at a table near the window and had ordered refreshments, Catherine sighed heavily, reaching across the table for her friend's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"It is so good to see you, Bea," she moaned, giving her friend's hand another tight squeeze. "I have missed you dreadfully."

Beatrice laughed. "Oh, Cathy, you are so dramatic! It has not been that long since we last saw each other at your wedding. Remember?"

"It feels like an eternity," Catherine declared, sighing deeply, her eyes darting around the room before settling on her friend again. "An absolute lifetime."

"How is it going, dearest?" Beatrice asked, looking at her. "Are you getting accustomed to being the Duchess of Newden now?"

Catherine sighed heavily. "I hardly know what to think," she admitted, trying to smile. "The estate is very grand and large to be sure. But trying to avoid my new husband is still hard." She rolled her eyes. "I must admit, I am dying to return to London. At least I have friends in the city, and there is always amusement."

"You are still resolved to avoid him then?" Beatrice gazed at her sympathetically. "It must be a marriage of convenience and nothing else?"

"Of course," Catherine declared, rolling her eyes again. "I am even more resolved than ever." She shuddered. "He tries to flirt with me all the time, but I am alert to it and deflect it. He is such a rake, Bea."

At that moment, their refreshments arrived. A plump woman with snowy hair and a beaming smile set a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of scones on the table, alongside two jars filled with clotted cream and strawberry jam.

Beatrice picked up a scone, topped it with jam and cream, and took a large bite. "Glorious," she moaned with a full mouth, rolling her eyes with delight. "Why do scones always taste better in the country?"

"Probably the fresh cream," Catherine replied in an absent-minded way, gazing out the window, watching the prim middle-aged lady who had accompanied Beatrice loitering outside, looking bored. "Your companion looks as if she would rather be in London."

Beatrice sighed. "Miss Vickers can be a bore," she said, "but Mama always insists she follow me like a shadow. The poor thing. It cannot be easy being a lady's companion, living in reduced circumstances."

Catherine nodded, feeling a pang of pity for the lady. No wonder Miss Vickers always had a sour puss on her—it mustn't be an easy life living in penury, forced to make a living as a lady's companion when once she had been a lady herself.

It could have been me. If the Duke had not proposed to me, and Oliver had lost everything, I would have been forced to live such a life.

She tried to shake off the dire thought. All had turned out well. Oliver's debts were in the process of being paid off. The Duke had assured her of that over breakfast this morning.

"So you were able to put off the Duke on your wedding night, then?" Beatrice asked suddenly before taking a sip of tea, her cheeks flaming. "He did not insist you share the bedchamber?"

"We did not share the bedchamber," Catherine declared, picking up a scone. "He tried, of course, but I stopped it. At least he was a gentleman and did not force the issue."

"But what about children, Cathy?" Beatrice's eyes were round. "You will never have them. How can you bear it?"

Catherine shrugged. "You know I am not particularly maternal, Bea," she said. "He does not want them either. So there is no disagreement on the subject."

"I see," Bea said, frowning slightly. "Well, it sounds as if you have designed your life exactly as you want it… even if it does sound a trifle lonely."

Catherine felt a flash of irritation. "How so? I will not be lonely. I have my brother and circle of friends." She put the scone back on the plate. "That is all that one needs in this life. So, in fact, it is really like I have never married at all and kept my promise to myself."

Beatrice looked sad. "But what about romantic love, Cathy? Do you truly never wish to experience it?" She shook her head incredulously. "I know that you have a strong opinion about it because of what happened between your parents, but that was only one instance. Could you not give your marriage a chance?"

Catherine barked out a laugh. "Romantic love is for fools," she declared, raising her chin. "I have not changed my mind on the subject, and I never will."

"So there will never be even another kiss between you and your husband?" Beatrice raised her eyebrows. "The way he looks at you, Cathy! He is a man burning with longing. Even I can see that clearly."

Catherine flushed. "I am certain he looks at every lady he fancies that way. That is his nature. It means nothing, and it will fade with time."

Beatrice didn't look convinced. "So you never wish to kiss him again?"

Catherine nodded, her heart pounding hard. "No, I never want him to kiss me again. Once was quite enough, thank you."

Her eyes shifted, gazing out the window again, avoiding her friend's eyes.

Beatrice didn't need to know that in her weaker moments, Catherine yearned for it. Like when she had seen him in all his bare-chested glory, emerging from the lake like an Adonis. Like when he had slid his hands down her arms, caressing her hands as she had played the pianoforte.

No, her friend didn't need to know that at all. Because another kiss was never going to happen, never mind anything else…

Catherine started, her heart pounding hard. A carriage had just pulled up outside the tavern across the street. She recognized that carriage—it belonged to the Duke. They had ridden in it when they had first come to Newden Estate on their wedding day.

The Duke stepped out, followed by his friend, the Duke of Dunford. They lingered on the street, talking and laughing, clapping each other on the back. It was obvious that they were good friends—the closeness between them was tangible.

She watched, her eyes widening, as two ladies, one with red hair and the other with golden hair, twirling their parasols over their shoulders, strolled towards them. The Duke of Dunford watched them before raising his hat and engaging them in conversation.

The women were beautiful and elegantly dressed. Their faces were animated as they chatted with the gentlemen, and they laughed, their eyes shining. With a stab of clarity, Catherine knew the ladies were flirting with her husband and his friend.

Suddenly, a lace handkerchief belonging to the fair-haired lady fluttered to the ground. As quick as a flash, Thomas bent down to pick it up, offering it back to her. His eyes were pinned to the lady's face intently as she blushingly accepted it.

Quickly, Catherine turned back to her friend. She felt slightly ill. Perhaps the clotted cream wasn't quite that fresh after all.

"Let us leave," she said abruptly. "I think I am tired. And there is nothing else to see in this village, anyway."