Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

C atherine held on tightly to the hope that time away from each other might help ease the strong attraction between them that threatened to consume them and everything in its path.

The desire she felt for the Duke should be illegal, and it seemed he agreed with that assessment because the times that her resolve faltered and she visited Emmeline under the guise of seeing her best friend, he was either away on some business, or he was in residence and he instructed the butler to tell her he was absent.

But she somehow knew when he was in residence because when she stepped down from the carriage, she felt a tingle crawl up the nape of her neck, telling her somebody was watching her. And sure enough, when she looked up, she was sure she saw a shadow move behind one of the topmost windows.

It might just be fanciful thinking, but she was convinced that the Duke was avoiding her. She really couldn't blame him, seeing how this mad desire was gradually turning her into something she was not.

She had written to him about their flirting classes, and he had decided to reply via letters. Long explanatory letters written in his flowing, masculine handwriting. She read them more times than she would admit, and those readings were not done for the sake of internalizing the contents that gave explanations on the flirting techniques needed to ensnare a husband.

As the Chamberlains' ball approached, she expected to feel some level of excitement about the opportunity to practice the wiles she had gleaned from her correspondence with the Duke.

Instead, she was filled with mild disappointment. Her spirits rose, however, when she received another package a few days before the ball with a card that simply said it was from the Duke.

The dress was a wonder, a gown of the most vibrant red. The skirt was made of several yards of tulle, and the bodice was adorned with lace. It seemed to hug her bosom so perfectly that there was no need for alterations. Red might be a daring color on an unmarried lady, but she was no longer a debutante, so she was allowed to bend some rules.

When she arrived at the ball and handed her coat to the butler, she was rewarded for that choice by the attendees' murmurs of appreciation.

She walked into the crowd, holding her head up high like the Duke had told her, and while she naturally avoided attracting attention, she was going to revel in the appreciation like the queen she was to attract the suitors she sought.

Even while she confidently navigated the crowd, she became aware that she was looking for a particular person in the sea of faces surrounding her. A face that always sported a grin. In no time, she locked eyes with him from the edge of the ballroom.

She nodded in acknowledgment.

Look at me , her heart whispered. I am going to make you proud .

He nodded back to show his approval without once taking his eyes off her.

She was distracted by Emmy putting her hand on her arm, which was a welcome change from the unladylike running and disheveled hair. It seemed their lessons in etiquette and decorum were finally bearing fruit.

"Cathy!" Emmy greeted excitedly. "You look positively ravishing tonight. Your gown is absolutely wonderful!"

"I am truly flattered," Catherine replied, smiling. "Thank you for your kind words."

"I didn't say that to be kind," Emmy said in a slightly chastising tone. "I was just stating a fact. I dare say you have the attention of all the eligible bachelors in this room. And I dare say that you would have your dance card full in no time."

"We will have to see about that," Catherine replied. Deciding to steer the subject away from her, she asked, "What about you? Any dance partners yet?"

In answer, Emmy raised the wrist to which a dance card was fastened by a ribbon. Apparently, three of her dances had already been claimed.

"It seems our classes have indeed made a difference. I have had more eligible bachelors approach me today than I had since the beginning of the Season, and the night is still young. You truly work wonders, my friend," she gushed.

"I hardly had to do anything," Catherine replied humbly. "You are a beautiful, charming, intelligent woman, Emmy, and you certainly did not require my help to attract suitors. All I did was make some changes to your clothes and refine your manners. I didn't turn you into a desirable debutante—you did all that by yourself. By simply being your unique self."

Emmy's eyes filled with tears of appreciation, and Catherine took her hands in her own. It was quite unfortunate that a beautiful lady like Emmy had been deprived of validation, first by her mother, who was supposed to teach her to be a proper lady.

They were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. They broke apart to see Lord Livingston standing beside them.

"Miss Burlow," he asked, "will you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Catherine looked around to see that the musicians were already playing a classic tune, and several couples were stepping onto the dance floor

"It will be my honor, My Lord," she replied, curtseying to him

She took his hand, and he led her to the dance floor. When they took their positions, he proceeded to twirl them gracefully across the dance floor.

"Forgive me if I haven't commented on it, but you look absolutely ravishing tonight, Miss Burlow."

"Thank you for your kind words, My Lord, I am flattered," she said, a blush blooming in her cheeks.

Lord Livingston nodded in acknowledgment. "I realize it was truly bad form of me to react the way I did this last time we spoke. A gentleman should have the virtue to accept rejection from a lady with grace. It was quite impolite of me to harass you the way I did, and for that, I apologize," he said, a remorseful expression on his handsome face.

For a while, Catherine was at a loss for words. It was not often that a gentleman admitted his fault to a lady. Instead, most of them would do anything but apologize to protect their fragile egos. This singular act showed that the Viscount was a gentleman through and through, and he would be a gem to have as a husband.

"My Lord, all is forgiven." She watched him breathe a sigh of relief. "But I have wronged you, too. I must apologize as well."

At that, he furrowed his brow in confusion. "How so, Miss Burlow? Everyone knows it is a lady's prerogative to accept or reject a suitor. You hardly committed a crime simply because you rejected me."

"That is the crux of the problem, My Lord. I never intended to reject your suit. I was just overwhelmed by your confession and reacted strangely. I apologize if I made you believe the opposite. You, My Lord, are an exquisite gentleman, and I would be most honored to have you court me. If you are still interested, of course," she added, flashing him a charming smile.

Lord Livingston beamed at her. "Excellent, I will call on you tomorrow to seek your father's permission to court you. I earnestly hope my suit will be accepted," he said.

Of course, his suit would be warmly accepted by her parents, who had despaired of her ever getting an offer from an eligible bachelor. He would be lucky if her parents did not try to talk him into applying for a special license to have them marry as quickly as possible, just in case he decided to change his mind.

On average, Catherine knew she could do worse in her choice of suitor. Lord Livingston was not only responsible, but he was also honest, well-to-do, and possessed one of the oldest titles in England. The man was perfect from the top of his hair to the soles of his specially crafted hessian boots.

So why couldn't she summon any excitement about their impending courtship? Instead, she was unconsciously looking for someone else… another man while her suitor guided her across the dance floor. She was unhealthily obsessed with a certain dark-haired duke who had made it abundantly clear that he was never going to marry.

What was it about the man's elusiveness that made him more alluring? A man with the Duke's dangerous characteristics was supposed to send her running for the hills. Instead, she found herself drawn to him by some unseen force. But that attraction threatened disastrous consequences, so for her sake and that of her family, she had to resist it.

Besides, it wasn't fair to the nice, perfect Lord Livingston to have his intended infatuated with another man. If that ever made its way to the ears of the gossips, it would be humiliating for a man of his caliber.

So she resolved to focus her attention on Lord Livingston. Hopefully, with enough devotion, she might develop even a fraction of those warm feelings for him.

Richard knew it was a mistake to attend this ball knowing that Catherine, the bane of his existence, would be in attendance. He had come to this ball convincing himself that he needed to escort Emmy and that he needed to see Catherine's progress in her hunt for a suitor, seeing as she was his student. But even he knew that those excuses were just that, excuses. His sister could have made it to the ball with her maid as a chaperone, and Catherine, being the clever lady she was, was going to do brilliantly on her own, and on that account, he was absolutely right.

When she had appeared at the entrance dressed in the vibrant red gown he bought for her, Richard had been sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was not the only one who had noticed her sheer beauty and magnetism, though, because he could swear the room almost fell silent as most of the male population focused their attention on her.

Some primal part of him longed to declare, "She is mine!"

Except she wasn't.

He had studiously avoided her, not trusting himself since that sensual episode in her family's library. When she had suggested they continue their flirting classes, he had opted for corresponding via letters because he knew that spending time with the tempting minx behind closed doors would be a lesson in ignorance, and he was not ready to run the risk of tempting the beast that lingered under the surface.

He had stayed away in the hopes that the time away might extinguish his attraction towards her, but so far, it did not seem to have solved the problem

The moment the Viscount Livingston had placed his hand on her waist, his vision turned red with jealousy as he wondered if the man was not holding her too close than was necessary for the dance. And why was she smiling so widely at him? Why was he so bloody happy that he was smiling like a fool?

Richard had been moments away from marching to the dance floor and snatching her away.

Unfortunately, that would destroy what they had worked so hard for. He had wanted her to secure a suitor, and now she was dancing with one. As her tutor, he should be proud, so why did he feel enraged instead?

With conscious effort, Richard unclenched the fist he didn't know he had been clenching.

"If you stare at them any longer, I am positive they will burst into flames," Simon quipped beside him.

Richard turned to direct his glare on him, and Simon raised his hands in mock surrender while still chuckling.

Emmeline watched them carefully. "What is it, Brother? Do you not approve of her dress? While I know red to be a bold color on an unmarried lady, I still think it does wonders for her physique—it suits her perfectly. She looks absolutely ravishing, in my opinion," she said in her friend's defense.

Richard wanted to tell her that he certainly did not disapprove of the gown, seeing as he was the one who gifted it to Catherine. He did not intend to explain because then, he would need to provide reasons why he had sent a dress to an unmarried lady who was in no way betrothed to him, and that was a conversation he hoped to avoid.

As fate could have it, just at that moment, a lanky young man who seemed to just be finding his feet in Society approached Emmy for a dance. Richard was relieved that Emmy had been kind enough to accept, sparing the young man the embarrassment of rejection.

Going by the way the young fellow was fidgeting and his lack of composure, he must have recently joined Society and was not yet jaded like the other members of the ton.

Watching Emmy and the young Earl of Hutton take their positions for the dance, Richard marveled at their innocence, and some hidden part of him hoped desperately that they could hold on to that childlike innocence. But he knew enough about life and the capricious nature of fate to know that such a phenomenon was unlikely to happen. A year or so of mingling with the fashionable crowd was enough to make an angel cynical and jaded, and it was safe to say that these younger ones could never escape it.

He was just grateful that his sister was attracting suitors and admirers. It seemed her lessons with Catherine had yielded some results because he suspected that they spent most of the time allocated for their lessons gossiping and laughing. He would know, since he heard Catherine's throaty laughter all the way from his study whenever she visited.

"You look even gloomier now than the last time I saw you. Don't tell me you haven't laid your woman problem to rest?" Simon asked, jolting him out of his gloomy thoughts.

When Richard did not answer. Simon continued.

"The woman you are in love with must be a paragon to have successfully tied you in knots the way she has. What do you intend to do about that, hmm?"

"I am not in love with anybody," Richard snapped.

"Alright, if you say so, Your Grace," Simon said in an exaggeratedly remorseful tone.

Richard opened his mouth to apologize, but his friend cut him off.

"So… did you visit the beautiful Cynthia like we discussed? I am certain she would have given you a good seeing-to—if you know what I mean," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, a lascivious grin on his face.

"Not that it is any of your business, but yes, I did visit Cynthia," Richard replied, exasperated. He rose from his chair. "I would like to take a walk in the garden. Please excuse me."

He made his way to the foyer, where he took his coat from the footman. Bundling himself in the coat, he walked towards the gardens, contemplating the discussion he had just had with Simon.

Yes, he had visited Cynthia, but that very visit had concluded with him ending his relationship with the beautiful actress.

He had arrived at the apartment he had rented for her, and she had welcomed him warmly, wearing nearly transparent undergarments that ordinarily would have set the mood for a night of a delightful romp between the sheets. But curiously, as he watched her that day, he felt no stirring in his gut. Not even when she had stripped naked, climbed onto his lap, and worked her seductive wiles on him. He felt no desire at all. Instead, he felt dirty and tawdry. At one point, he had to pull the beautiful woman off him, ignoring the wounded look on her face.

He had apologized and then given her money and an emerald necklace for her troubles, and she had accepted it, expressing her understanding and respect for his decision.

Richard had been grateful for the quiet dissolution because in his experience, ending relationships with mistresses was usually messy, and he was grateful that Cynthia had been accepting and mature about the separation.

By the time he arrived at his home that night, he had finally acknowledged the truth—Catherine had ruined him for any other woman, and it was troubling. Very troubling, indeed.