Chapter 6

"Your Grace." Catherine almost toppled over as she curtseyed. When she rose, she knew her face was flushed. "This is a surprise."

The Duke gazed at her, an amused expression on his face, his blue-green eyes filled with desire.

She had almost managed to convince herself that he wasn't going to call and she would never see him again. And now, here he was as devilishly attractive as the first time she had encountered him.

Oliver looked surprised. "You are acquainted with His Grace, Sister?"

Catherine's flush deepened. "Yes… I am."

She stopped short, biting her lip. She couldn't say how she was acquainted with the Duke—she hadn't even breathed a word to her brother about their strange, charged encounter in the gambling hell. And it was hardly the time or place to say it now with Patrick and Beatrice looking on.

Patrick looked as mystified as her brother. He frowned. He prided himself on keeping abreast of everyone she was acquainted with. He was even more protective of her than her own brother. And clearly, he was well aware of the Duke's questionable reputation with the ladies.

"I have had the pleasure of your sister's acquaintance," the Duke responded, raising his eyebrows, almost smirking at Catherine. "It was a very pleasant encounter, indeed."

Catherine's face felt like a hot, boiling ball of fire. She smiled weakly. Beatrice looked simultaneously amused and horrified. There was an awkward silence.

"Well, that is interesting." Oliver coughed into his hand, looking bewildered. "Where exactly did you meet?"

There was another fraught silence. Catherine's mind went blank. Desperately, she stared at the Duke, who looked amused. Was he about to tell the truth?

Mercifully, at that moment, Beatrice cleared her throat. "I believe it was at the Spencers' midsummer ball, was it not?"

"Indeed, it was." The Duke smiled. "How could I forget?"

"A fortuitous night, indeed," Catherine said dryly, thanking her lucky stars for her quick-thinking friend.

Oliver coughed into his hand again. "Oh, well, jolly good." He turned to the Duke. "Would you care to join us for tea, Your Grace?"

The Duke nodded.

They all sat down. Catherine could tell that Oliver was mystified by the call. Clearly, he and the Duke of Newden were acquainted but not on calling terms. Oliver would be wondering why on Earth the gentleman was here. Perhaps she should have given him a warning that the Duke might call today, but it had seemed presumptuous. Like tempting fate.

He is not here to ravish you, nor declare his undying love. If he still wishes to marry you, it is for convenience alone. He told you that plainly last night.

Suddenly, she noticed that Patrick was glaring at the Duke, the look in his eyes so venomous that it was rather embarrassing. Sometimes her friend went a trifle overboard trying to shield her from unsavory gentlemen.

Oliver cleared his throat again, turning to the Duke. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company today, Your Grace? Is there something happening at White's that I should be aware of?"

White's was the gentlemen's club that Oliver frequented which the Duke was a member of as well. That was probably how they were acquainted.

"No," the Duke replied, shaking his head. "I am not here as an emissary for the club, Whitley. I am certain they can manage their own publicity." He smiled slowly, looking straight at Catherine. "I am here to ask for your sister's hand in marriage."

Catherine almost dropped her teacup. She hadn't expected he would announce the intention so bluntly with other people present. It was a trifle disconcerting.

Patrick almost spat out his own tea, coughing. Beatrice's eyes were wide with alarm, darting around the room.

Oliver was so stunned that he simply gaped at the Duke. "Pardon?" He smiled uncertainly. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"You did," the Duke replied in a confident voice, crossing his legs and settling back in the chair. His eyes never left Catherine for an instant.

Oliver let out an awkward bark of laughter. "I am sorry, old chap, but it is unlikely that my sister will accept you." His eyes flicked to Catherine. "And I cannot force her hand. I would never do that."

Catherine's heart was beating uncomfortably. Of course, Oliver knew her views on marriage and how she wanted to stay independent for as long as possible.

They had discussed it often, and her brother had always been stoutly loyal, telling her he would never force her into marriage against her will. He knew how fiercely she was opposed to the institution but not the real reason why.

She had never told him about how she had found their father with his mistress when she was a girl, shattering all her illusions about marriage. Oliver and their father had been close, and she had never wished to ruin their bond, nor sully it after his death by telling her brother that their father had routinely betrayed their mother and was in fact a serial adulterer and libertine.

Suddenly, she became conscious that everyone was looking at her, waiting for a response. The Duke was still lounging in the chair, an amused look on his face, full of brazen confidence. Patrick looked so affronted that it was almost painful. Beatrice was pale. Oliver was blinking rapidly, clearly trying to keep pace with the speed of the proposal.

Catherine gulped, fidgeting uncomfortably in the chair before taking a deep breath and sitting up straight. She looked directly at her brother, trying to ignore the Duke's simmering amusement… as well as his blatant allure. It was too distracting.

"You are very gallant, Oliver," she replied, tilting her chin higher. "But you need not assume that I am unreceptive to His Grace's offer." She took another deep, shuddering breath. "In fact, I am pleased to say that I am highly receptive to it. I am very flattered, and I aim to accept it… with your permission, of course."

If Oliver had looked shocked by the Duke's sudden proposal, it was as nothing compared to how stunned he looked now. His jaw dropped. It was almost comical.

There was a fraught silence. Patrick looked thunderous, his head swiveling from her to the Duke and back again. Catherine ignored him, staring directly at her brother, raising her chin higher.

It was unfortunate that the Duke had spoken so plainly in front of everyone. She wished he had been more discreet, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The cat was out of the bag, beyond any hope of containment.

"You are both jesting with me," Oliver said slowly. "This is so sudden. There has been no courtship, nor intention of courtship. I do not understand…"

The Duke suddenly got to his feet, looking down at him. "Might I suggest that we discuss this privately, Whitley?"

Oliver gaped at him then turned back to his sister, looking so confused that she felt sorry for him. But again, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Catherine nodded her head, indicating that he should do what the Duke suggested.

Oliver seemed to snap out of his trance. He nodded, taking a deep breath and getting to his feet. Catherine almost slumped with relief.

"Well, I will be a monkey's uncle," he muttered, shaking his head incredulously. He turned to the Duke. "As you wish, Your Grace. We shall adjourn to my study to discuss the matter further."

It was so silent as they left the room that Catherine was certain she would hear a pin drop. She felt sick and giddy and terribly mortified… but she was also beset by a strange elation, unlike anything that she had ever felt before.

We are saved. Oliver will not lose either of the houses and will not end up a titled, homeless pauper. It is as if I have turned back the hands of time, and everything is as it once was.

But she knew that she was deluding herself. Everything wasn't as it once was. She had given her consent to marry a stranger… a gentleman with a notorious reputation with women.

A man just like her father.

All will be well. It is a marriage of convenience. He will never break my heart like Papa broke Mama's heart, turning her into a cold, broken shell of herself. That will never happen to me.

"Are you quite mad?" Patrick's cold voice shattered her reverie. "What the deuce do you think you are doing, Cathy?"

Beatrice bit her lip. "Patrick, you are overstepping…"

Patrick turned, glaring at his sister, who shrunk a little beneath his disapproval. Catherine felt a stab of anger—not for herself but on Beatrice's behalf. Even though she liked Patrick enormously, he could be a bit of an overbearing boor on occasion towards his gentle sister. It was a side he rarely showed, but when he did, it made Catherine's blood boil.

"There is no need to direct your disapproval at Bea, Patrick," she declared, glaring back at him. "I am the one who has accepted the Duke's proposal. Beatrice has nothing to do with it."

He shook his head in disgust. "But why, Cathy? The man is a filthy rake! I was not even aware that you were acquainted with him, never mind that you were on the threshold of betrothal with him."

Catherine tried to shrug in a nonchalant way. "It is my business," she replied in an imperious voice. "It is an advantageous match. The Duke is very wealthy… and I shall have a higher rank. That is a good enough reason for marriage in our world."

Even as she uttered the words, she despised herself for saying them, just a little. She sounded like a common fortune hunter. She saw Patrick wince slightly.

"You disappoint me," he said, shaking his head again. "I thought more of you. You have always declared that you would never marry, and to change your mind so abruptly, and accept an offer on a whim from someone so disreputable, is troubling…"

"He is a duke, Patrick," she shot back, bristling. "He is not a navvy working in the docks!"

They kept glaring at each other. Catherine was beginning to feel upset. She knew that Patrick was shocked, and his words were born out of concern and protectiveness. She hated when they were at odds with each other. It rarely happened.

"You are making a mistake," he insisted in a curt voice. "You will live to rue this day, Cathy…"

Suddenly, Beatrice got to her feet, staring hard at her brother. "I respect Catherine's decision," she said crisply. "And we should leave, Brother. Our dear friend will wish to discuss the wedding with her fiancé and brother in private."

Patrick looked affronted. "No, we should stay, Beatrice. Cathy will need our support…"

"Brother," Beatrice hissed. "We are not family."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Catherine stared at Beatrice admiringly. Despite how upset she was with Patrick's blatant disapproval, she was proud of Beatrice for standing up to him. And awfully relieved that her dearest friend was taking some control of this situation and insisting they leave before Catherine or Patrick said something they might regret.

Patrick's lips thinned with anger, but he did as his sister bid, getting to his feet.

Catherine stood up, as well. "I will see you out," she offered in a faint voice.

"No need," Patrick snapped, striding towards the door. "Come along, Beatrice. You are the one who is insisting we go after all."

Catherine bit her lip.

Beatrice squeezed her arm reassuringly, whispering in her ear, "Come and see me when you are able. We will discuss everything. Good luck."

Catherine nodded, smiling at her friend. She turned to Patrick to bid him farewell, but to her dismay, he was already gone.