Chapter 15

"Are you all right?" The Duke lowered his voice, glancing at Catherine as they walked together down the hallway towards their chambers. "You were awfully quiet in the drawing room after dinner. Are you truly feeling unwell?"

Catherine glanced at him warily. She hadn't wanted to walk with him to their chambers, but he had insisted. The Duke of Dunford had left a half hour ago, and Beatrice was already ensconced in a guest chamber in a separate wing of the house.

"I am fine," Catherine said, snapping just a little. She took a deep breath. "Honestly, I am just tired. That is all."

"I like what you have done with your gown," he admitted, his eyes flicking towards her bodice. "And your hair."

Catherine blushed. She had forgotten she had ordered her maid to remove the lace on the bodice of the gown. It had been a spontaneous decision, and it had taken Jean only five minutes to unstitch the lace. The gown just hadn't looked right to her anymore. Was it too prim and stuffy?

It was the same with Catherine's hair. She had seen a similar style on a lady she had admired at a ball some time ago but had thought it too dramatic for herself. Tonight, however, she had decided to try it. It was always good to change things from time to time, wasn't it?

"Thank you," she said, forcing a smile on her face, feeling a stab of pleasure at his compliment that she tried to suppress.

"Catherine…" The Duke suddenly reached out and took her hand in his own. "I am sorry for teasing you about those ladies over dinner." He smiled ruefully. "I got a bit carried away. You looked so affronted by the thought of me chatting with them that I just could not resist…"

Catherine stiffened, her heart racing, and she pulled her hand away. "What are you talking about? I was not affronted!" She scoffed. "That is rather presumptuous of you to think so."

He stared at her. "Oh, you do not have to be like that," he said, with a half-smile. "I could tell you were jealous…"

"Jealous?" She stopped walking, her gaze fixed on him. "I was not jealous! Why would I be jealous? That would mean I feel something for you… which I most assuredly do not."

"You feel nothing?" He took a step closer to her, gazing down at her, studying her face. "Nothing at all?"

A shiver ran down her spine. She took another step back.

"You feel something for me?" Her heart was beating hard. "Is that what you are telling me?"

His eyes flickered. "Of course, I do," he said in a low voice. "You are so beautiful. A man would be a fool not to see your beauty and respond to it." He hesitated. "I want you, Catherine. So much…"

Catherine felt an answering throb within her. Desperately, she tried to repress it, remembering the way he had gazed at the lady who had dropped the handkerchief that day. He was a rake who felt desire for many women. It wasn't anything special, and she couldn't afford to get swept away by it.

"That is a pity," she returned, trying to keep her voice even. "Because you know the terms of our agreement. You agreed to them. We both did."

"Could we not suspend our agreement… for just one night?" He stared at her closely.

Catherine gaped at him. "You wish to suspend the agreement for one night? And after that, you will never suggest we do such a thing again?"

He nodded mutely. "Yes."

She barked out a derisive laugh. "What kind of a fool do you take me for?" She glared at him witheringly. "I will do no such thing. The agreement stands. We both know the reasons we married."

Her heart was racing hard now. Being in such close proximity to him was doing strange things to her resolve. She could feel the gooseflesh that had broken out over her entire body. But just because her body was a traitor didn't mean anything. She could control it through sheer will and determination. She must.

She walked away, her head held high in the air. But just when she thought he had accepted what she said, she felt herself being spun around, colliding with his chest. She felt the hardness of it as well as the beating of his heart.

"I know you feel it as well," he growled, his breathing heavy, gazing at her intently. "Why do you deny it?"

"I feel nothing," she whispered, desperately pushing against his chest. The need to escape was overwhelming. "Nothing."

They stared at each other, locked in a magnetic gaze. Catherine could barely breathe.

Abruptly, he released her, and she staggered a little.

"My grandmother arrives first thing in the morning," he said in a clipped tone, looking pained. "We should both get some sleep. She will expect to be greeted in a formal manner by both of us."

Catherine's heart skipped a beat. "Of course. I will make sure that I am downstairs in time to greet her."

He nodded curtly, gazing at her for another second, before turning and marching away down the hallway. She heard the click of his door opening and then closing.

Catherine took a deep breath before walking slowly down the hallway. At her chamber door, she hesitated, gazing at his door for a moment, then she slipped into her room.

The maid started to undress her. Catherine stood as passively as a doll, staring at the wall. The wall between them. He was on the other side of it. Was he thinking about her as well?

Quickly, she pushed the thought out of her mind. It was late. His grandmother was arriving in the morning, and the Dowager Duchess was formidable, despite her advanced age. Catherine needed all the sleep she could get.

"I want my usual chambers," the Dowager Duchess declared, tapping her walking stick on the marble floor as she marched into the foyer, gazing around sharply before her gaze settled on her grandson. "They are already prepared, are they not, Thomas?"

Catherine swept into a deep curtsey, even though she was the Duchess of Newden now. She just couldn't help it. The old lady had such an air of authority about her which she couldn't help responding to.

The air was filled with high barking and chatter as the Dowager Duchess' retinue followed her into the house. It was a menagerie. Catherine counted five small dogs and three maids, who looked flustered, running after the dogs and trying to control them. One of the maids held a bird cage from which emerged faintly distressed tweeting.

The Dowager Duchess, however, looked serene, as if nothing could ever faze her.

"Abigail, control that pug," she barked, shooting a fair-haired maid a withering look and pointing at a dog with her walking stick. "You know that Fifi is liable to relieve herself on the floor if given even half the chance. I do not want to slip in a puddle and break my other hip."

"Grandmother." The Duke kissed her on both cheeks. "How lovely to see you." He smiled. "Do not worry. Your usual chambers are ready for you."

"Wonderful," the Dowager Duchess clipped, smiling slightly and patting him on the cheek. "It is good to see you as well, Thomas." Her eyes slid to Catherine. "And you, as well, Duchess." She pursed her lips. "You do not need curtsey to me, child. Have you forgotten you are the Duchess of Newden now?"

Catherine felt her cheeks redden slightly. "Of course not." She hesitated. "It was a mark of respect to you, Duchess. You are the original, are you not?"

The Dowager Duchess looked at her for a moment, raising her eyebrows, before letting out a bark of laughter. She turned back to her grandson.

"I like her," she declared, her lips twitching. "She has spirit and charm. Just as you told me."

Catherine smiled, feeling inordinately pleased both by the Dowager Duchess's stamp of approval and the fact that the Duke had told his grandmother that she was spirited. Then she pulled herself together.

It does not matter what he thinks about me. It would be far better if he took no notice of me at all.

Quickly, she glanced at him. They had barely exchanged two words over breakfast. The atmosphere between them had turned decidedly chilly. She knew Beatrice had felt it as well, for her friend had taken her leave quickly, heading back to London with the sour-faced Miss Vickers.

"Take the dogs away," the Dowager Duchess cried suddenly, rapping her walking stick on the marble floor and glaring at the maids. "Take them to the grounds. I need a hot cup of tea. Honestly, a lady could die of thirst in this place, Thomas!"

Mercifully, the yelping receded as the maids gathered the dogs and headed outside.

Catherine, the Duke, and his grandmother proceeded to the parlor where morning tea was waiting.

Catherine had heard the Duke instructing the housekeeper himself on what his grandmother would want when she arrived. Apparently, the Dowager Duchess liked her tea extra strong and only had cucumber sandwiches with her morning tea, cut into small triangles. Under no circumstances was cake to be served.

Catherine's eyes flicked to her husband, watching him take the old lady's arm and help her settle into a chair. His face was creased with tenderness.

He loves her. He really does.

"Oh, do stop fussing, Thomas," the Dowager Duchess huffed, shooing him away with a bejeweled hand. "I am quite capable of seating myself!"

Once she was settled, and tea was served, she sat back, gazing around the room with an eagle eye.

"You have not been keeping up with things, my boy," she declared eventually. "The parlor maids are lazy. There is a layer of dust on that cabinet, and the painting above it is askew. You must tell the housekeeper."

The Duke looked amused. "I will be sure to rebuke the maids soundly, Grandmother."

"Make sure that you do," she huffed. She took another sip of tea and put the cup aside. "When I was in charge, that would never have happened. The maids would not have dared. They knew they would be sent packing if a chair was even an inch out of place."

Catherine suppressed a laugh. She could just imagine how terrified the maids were when the Dowager Duchess was in charge here. They had probably slept with one eye open, fearful the lady was about to barge in on them, demanding they polish the silver at one in the morning.

"Now," the Dowager Duchess said when she had completed her inventory of the room to her satisfaction and turned back to them. "How are things going?"

"Good," the Duke replied, smiling at his grandmother. "Very good. The weather has been spectacular. I saw Dunford yesterday. He sends his best wishes to you…"

The Dowager Duchess arched an eyebrow. "Dunford? Your fellow Etonian? What is he doing in the district? That boy was always a gadabout." She shook her head impatiently, leaning on her walking stick, gazing at him intently. "I do not care to hear about Dunford. What is he to me?"

The Duke shrugged, looking a bit puzzled. "Well, he is one of my oldest friends, Grandmother…"

She sighed, glaring at him. "No, no, Thomas. Tell me what I need to know. There is a reason I journeyed all the way from London in an impossibly bumpy carriage, and I am sure I am black and blue from it now."

The Duke looked bewildered. Catherine gazed at the old lady. What was she talking about?

The Dowager Duchess rolled her eyes, as if her question was obvious.

"Do you have news for me?" She looked from the Duke to Catherine expectantly. Her eyes narrowed with impatience. "Is there evidence yet that an heir might be on the way?"