Chapter 28

"You were right," Kenneth said in a dejected voice. "The sisters were not interested in doing anything other than mild flirtation with me."

Thomas let out a bark of laughter. "Ah, well, at least you tried, my friend," he consoled, clapping him on the back. "Which one did you prefer? Georgiana or Eliza?"

Kenneth blinked. "Ah… I was not sure which was which," he admitted, looking sheepish. "They did say, of course, but they look so alike that I kept getting their names mixed up in my head…"

Thomas burst out laughing. "You really are a card, Dunford! Were you just hoping one of them would show a preference for you and take it from there?"

"Something like that," Kenneth replied, grinning. "But they were both very proper young ladies. Neither of them was willing to take things any further." He shrugged. "You win some, you lose some."

"What have you lost?"

Both gentlemen spun around. Catherine was standing there, smiling at them, her green eyes sparkling like cut emeralds. Thomas felt the instinctive pull towards her as always. It was stronger tonight than ever before. She really did look utterly divine in that gown. It was as if she were glowing, filled with a sensual light that was simply irresistible.

"Oh, just a card game," Kenneth said quickly, his cheeks reddening. "Nothing of importance." He cleared his throat. "You are looking lovely this evening, Duchess."

"Thank you, Duke." She laughed, bobbing a mock curtsey. "I am afraid that most people think me a wanton hussy." Her eyes sparkled. "But alas, as much as I try, I cannot care about it."

Thomas and Kenneth both laughed.

Thomas felt another stirring in his loins. Embarrassed, he coughed into his hand.

"Good for you." Kenneth grinned at her. "Do not ever let them put you down, I say. You have spirit, Duchess." His grin widened. "Although it is sure to become dull the longer you stay with my friend here. He is such a stick in the mud."

"Oh, I agree," she said in a mock grave voice, turning around to look at Thomas. "I swear my husband is turning into an old, crotchety man before my very eyes."

"Steady on," Thomas interjected with a half-smile. "I have only just turned thirty. I do not have one foot in the grave quite yet."

"Ah, but some people start aging before their time," Kenneth pointed out, nodding his head sagely. "I believe that you may be one of those folk, Newden. I can already see a small bald patch on that head of yours when you duck."

Catherine burst out laughing. "Oh, I have seen that patch, too! But you really should not have told him. It is like ripping the veil of illusion away from the eyes of a child."

"I have no bald patch," Thomas huffed, shaking his head, pretending to be outraged. "You are both blatant liars! My hair is as full as it has ever been."

"You keep telling yourself that," Kenneth drawled before letting out a dramatic sigh. "The truth is always hard to swallow." He turned to Catherine. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Madam?"

"I would be delighted, Sir," Catherine replied, holding out her hand to him. He took it.

"Please, call me by my Christian name," he offered, smiling brightly at her. He turned to Thomas, grinning. "Let us leave the old man to his musings. I am certain he will be falling asleep where he stands within minutes."

Catherine laughed. "And please, call me by my Christian name, too. We should not be so formal since you are my husband's close friend."

Thomas lightly punched his friend's arm as they sailed away to the dance floor. He couldn't keep his eyes off Catherine as she walked, almost shimmying, like a prism of light amid the darkness.

He kept watching his friend and his wife as they bowed and curtseyed to each other, taking the first steps of the dance. That strange feeling was overtaking him again—the feeling that had gripped him when he had seen Lord Afferton holding his wife's elbow.

Oh, dear Lord. I am beset by jealousy again. What on earth is the matter with me?

He tried to suppress the feeling, but it refused to budge, sitting in the middle of his chest like a rock. And it was all the more ridiculous because he knew that Kenneth would never make a play for Catherine, even though he clearly found her beautiful. His old friend was loyal like that.

Thomas kept watching them. But what about Catherine? Did she find his friend attractive? And if she were serious about never letting him touch her, could she live without a man's touch for the rest of her life? Or would she succumb and take a lover one day?

Thomas cursed under his breath. The thought was unbearable. It filled him with utter rage. He knew that was ridiculous, too. But he kept suffering under the worthless emotion, struggling to contain it, watching them dance, wondering if this agony would ever end.

Catherine passed Kenneth in the dance, smiling at him. He was a nice man and a handsome one. But she didn't feel any of that yearning angst she had felt when she had danced with her husband. It was pleasant, but that was the extent of it.

"You know, you will end up breaking my friend's heart if you are not careful," Kenneth cautioned, lowering his voice. "I mean it."

Catherine gaped at him. "That is not possible."

"Is it not?" He gazed at her steadily. "I know that my old friend acts as if he does not have a care in the world and disdains love, but still waters run deep, you know."

Catherine scoffed, but her heart was thumping uncomfortably now.

"He wants a marriage of convenience," she stated, staring at him. "He is not interested in a love marriage any more than I am, Kenneth. We agreed to the terms of our marriage."

"Yes, so I have heard," Kenneth remarked, smiling slightly as he passed her in the dance. "My friend has told me. Quite a few times in fact." He paused, gazing at her intently. "I believe that he protests a shade too much. I see the way he looks at you. And I hear the way he talks about you."

Catherine jutted her chin. "He likes ladies, that is no secret. You have probably seen him look the same way at any number of them." She pursed her lips. "Such as Lady Isabella."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong," Kenneth said in a droll voice. "Usually, he would be looking at that lady in the way you describe, but he is not." He paused. "The only lady he is seeing at the moment is you, Catherine."

"It will pass," Catherine argued quickly, her heart giving a painful thump. "It means nothing…"

"It most definitely is not nothing," Kenneth insisted, gazing at her pointedly. He hesitated. "My friend finds it hard to express his feelings. He has good reasons for this."

"What are they?" Catherine missed her step, trying to hear his reply. She felt a bit ill. "He will not talk to me about such things. Can you tell me?"

She held her breath as she watched him. Unfortunately, at that moment, they separated in the dance, moving away from each other.

Catherine felt as if she were about to burst with impatience. When they finally met up again, she gazed at him imploringly.

"I wish that I could," Kenneth said, shaking his head, "but it is not my story to tell. I am afraid that he is the only one who can tell you."

Catherine bit her lip. She felt like shaking the gentleman until he told her what she wanted to know. But the Duke of Dunford had an implacable look on his face now. She had pushed her husband's friend as far as he would go on the subject.

The dance ended. She gazed around. With a jolt, she realized that her husband was standing on the sidelines of the dance floor with a thunderous look on his face.

What was that all about?

"What is the matter with you, Thomas?"

Thomas spun around. He had been lost in his reverie, watching Catherine and Kenneth dancing, the jealousy biting him like a cobra. His grandmother was standing there, leaning on her walking stick and staring at him.

"What are you talking about, Grandmother?" His voice was filled with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing is the matter with me at all."

The Dowager Duchess chuckled sardonically. "You always were a terrible liar, my boy." She cleared her throat. "Have you and your wife resolved your problems now?"

Thomas was silent.

"Ah, I see that you have not," she sighed heavily. "For the love of our Lord, Thomas, when will you realize that she is nothing like your mother?"

Thomas bristled. "Grandmother?—"

The Dowager Duchess raised a hand in the air. "No, let me finish. If I do not speak, this will keep festering, and I will be turning one hundred before I see great-grandchildren."

She sighed heavily, shifting her weight on the walking stick and fixing him with a steely look. "I repeat—she is nothing like your mother. I knew your mother well, Thomas. I knew she was flighty years before she abandoned you and your father. I had my suspicions that she was going to do it."

Thomas's face darkened. He swore beneath his breath.

"But your wife is a different character entirely," the Dowager Duchess continued. "I have talked with her enough and have observed her keenly. She has spirit and fire in her belly. She will always be a handful." She paused. "But she is also loyal. And she will lay her heart at your feet if you only let her do it."

Thomas shook his head vigorously. "No…"

"Yes." The Dowager Duchess's eyes narrowed. "You must listen to me. I have not got to this age without learning a thing or two about people. Your wife is a wonderful person, Thomas. She will never abandon you. You must stop pushing her away."

Thomas felt sick. He ran a hand through his hair again, gazing around, desperate for an escape. He didn't want to talk about any of this—not his fickle mother, nor his new wife, nor the abandonment that had left a gaping hole in his life and destroyed his father.

"Give her a chance," the Dowager Duchess urged in a quiet, insistent voice. "Stop running away from it. You will be running your whole life… and for what? You will end up lonely and embittered. A shell of a man. And you will have lost your chance to start anew."

Thomas glared at her. "You are only saying all this because you want great-grandchildren."

The Dowager Duchess chuckled. "I must admit that I have a vested interest in seeing you a happy man, my boy," she said, giving him a half smile. "But my main reason is for you. I want to see you happy. I want you to finally heal. Think about what I have said, Thomas."

She turned, hobbling away, pushing through the crowd which parted like the Red Sea before her. Thomas watched her for a moment, before turning back to Catherine. The dance had ended, and she had walked away, taking a glass of champagne and sipping it with a pensive look on her face. Kenneth had vanished.

Thomas took a deep breath. At that moment, Catherine turned, looking straight at him. He felt as if he had been punched in the gut.

He couldn't fight it any longer. And what was more, he didn't want to fight it. He was laying down his weapons at her feet. He had no idea if she would accept the surrender. But as his grandmother had just reminded him, he would never know if he didn't try.