Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

A fter enduring a tortuous week of pining, Catherine had come to the conclusion that the heart was a fickle organ. The Duke had practically told her that he had no plans to marry just a few minutes after completely ravaging her senses in ways that she had not previously known was possible. She should be angry with the man and be cursing him to Hades.

Yes, some part of her ached at the thought that he did not value her enough to think of pursuing her. Otherwise, she was a giant ball of longing, unable to let go of the unattainable entity that was Richard.

She had filled the last week with several activities, like sitting in on Hugh's Latin classes and lecturing Emmy on etiquette as they walked down the banks of the Serpentine because visiting their townhouse was sure to be unbearable torture.

Despite how fast-paced her days were, she spent her nights tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, plagued by thoughts and dreams of one brown-haired duke in particular. Some nights, she hated him for initiating her into the world of desire and abandoning her to be ravaged by the fires of that desire with no relief in sight. Other nights, she longed to have the comfort of his body around hers, and her fickle heart refused to accept the reality that it was impossible.

The longing in her chest had worsened when she stepped into Lady Tremaine's ball and sighted his dark, dashing form in the ballroom. As usual, he was his impeccable self, his hair managing to look slightly disheveled and tidy as well. She swore his hair had a character just like its owner, that glimpse of wildness beneath the proper attire.

The dark look in his eyes threatened to burn her alive, even with the distance that separated them, and she shivered involuntarily with desire. She hurriedly averted her gaze. If she was to survive this evening, she had to manage the no-small feat of pretending the Duke was not present, which was as close to impossible as can be, as she could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck.

For a man who claimed he never wanted to have anything to do with her, he was surely showing more interest than any other suitor standing in this room. But then it was a widely accepted fact that men were contrary creatures.

"Miss Burlow."

Catherine looked up to see Lord Livingston approaching her with a bright smile on his dashing face. She felt a twinge of guilt, looking at his cheerful face.

She had a handsome, rich, and respectable suitor in the dashing Viscount. She should be overjoyed, since she was aware that several ladies of the ton would do practically anything to be the recipient of his attention. Why oh why could she not summon any modicum of excitement when she saw him? Instead, her body vibrated simply because a certain duke occupied the same room as her, even though he stood several feet away.

It was unfair to the Viscount, but unfortunately, he was her ideal suitor. She just had to try her hardest to nurture affection for him. If she did not—or could not—she was doomed. Maybe if she kissed the man, she might free herself from the dangerous desire Richard stirred within her? Any man could stir her desires, couldn't they?

"Miss Burlow, permit me to say that you look absolutely ravishing." The Viscount leaned in with a conspiratorial smile on his face. "I am quite privileged to be the one courting you."

In reply to that, she managed a tight smile. She was not sure he would still think that way should he become privy to the direction of her thoughts.

She wondered what he would think if he knew that his intended was considering kissing him to test the theory that she could feel wanton desire towards him. Knowing Lord Livingston's personality, he was most likely to turn down such an offer in the hope of preserving her innocence for their wedding night.

She wondered what he would think if he learned that she was no longer innocent. That even while she stood with him, smiling like a proper young lady, she was reliving the feel of the Duke's hands on her body just a week ago.

The man was definitely too good for her. Unfortunately, he was her only choice. She could grow to love him, she was sure.

"I missed you at the park yesterday morning. I hope you are well?" he asked, concerned.

Catherine and Lord Livingston had taken to taking morning strolls around the Serpentine with her chaperone, her maid following just a few steps behind. During those walks, she had come to know the compassionate man that was hidden beneath his proper attire.

He regaled her with tales from his travels and some of the antics of his younger sisters, assuring her that she would love their company when she moved to his home. Catherine did not disagree, his sisters seemed to be delightful based on his stories. Even if they were not, she had enough experience dealing with children who threw tantrums—she was sure she could handle them. She was not blind to the fact that love made people see their loved ones with rose-colored lenses, but she was sure she would have a good marriage with Lord Livingston.

From their conversations, she had come to the conclusion that he would be a terrific father to their children, Even though he told her he was not looking for romantic love, primarily because he believed love was a myth at best, he possessed the capacity for selfless, affectionate love towards his children. His relationship with his sisters was evidence of that.

If Catherine was to choose a father for her children, she could not choose a better one than Lord Livingston. The question was, did she want him to be her husband?

"I was unwell that morning. I am sorry for leaving you stranded. I should have sent a note to notify you. My apologies, My Lord."

"No need for apologies. I must say the quiet time worked out for me. Allowed me time to resolve some issues. A quiet walk does wonders, I gather," he said, chuckling.

It was obvious he was trying to relieve her of the guilt of abandoning him. She had truly been unwell. Having writhed on her bed all night, she had drifted off to a fitful sleep in the early hours of the morning and slept past the time for their meeting.

"I hear the strings of a waltz. What do you say, Miss Burlow? Grant me this dance?" he asked, offering her his hand.

She accepted his hand, smiling widely at him.

As they took their places on the dance floor, he put his hand on her waist, smiled down at her with adoration, and then proceeded to twirl her around in the opening steps of the dance.

Catherine was quite sure she was being selfish in hoarding the man's attention and affection while she was attracted to someone else. Even while she stood in Lord Livingston's arms, she could feel the heat of Richard's gaze on the nape of her neck, and sure enough, when she turned in his direction, the man was watching them with the dark fires of jealousy in his eyes. At first, she had to suppress a shiver of desire, but that feeling quickly transformed into anger.

What right did he have to be jealous when he was the one who rejected her, deeming her unworthy to be his Duchess?

She could never tell what prompted her to do it, but she was suddenly filled with the urge to stoke the fires of his jealousy even further. Turning back to Lord Livingston, she smiled widely at him. Lowering her head, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, affecting the sultry look that Richard had taught her.

"I don't think I have mentioned it, My Lord, but you are quite a graceful dancer. Whenever I dance with you, we float across the dance floor. I am confident you can lead us to success every time," she said in a breathy whisper that Richard assured her made gentlemen lose their heads.

She was gratified when Lord Livingston faltered slightly, and his cheeks darkened with a splash of color.

He cleared his throat. "I thank you for the compliment, Miss Burlow, but," he said, dropping his voice, "if we are to finish this dance with no incident at all, I think that would be the only compliment I can take for now."

Now it was Catherine's turn to blush. She never knew that the Viscount had a mischievous side to him. Maybe because she saw him as a friend, she tended to forget that he was a man too. A virile gentleman at that.

Coughing slightly to hide her flustered state, she gave him a bright smile. "I am sure that I don't know what you're speaking of," she returned, affecting an innocent smile.

The knowing smirk on Lord Livingston's face told her he did not agree with her, but he was too much of a gentleman to voice that.

She had started this whole situation by making innuendos, and what red-blooded man would not play along when he was interested in the lady in question? Catherine would do well to remember that in her future interactions with the Viscount.

"I think the dance is coming to an end," she said when she noticed that he was staring intently at her. She recognized that look—he desired her.

Sure enough, when the Viscount looked up, the gentlemen were bowing to their partners and leading them off the dance floor.

He turned back to her. "I believe you are right, Miss Burlow."

He executed a perfect bow, and she curtseyed in return and then took his arm as he led her off the dance floor.

Catherine could still feel Richard's gaze from across the room, and sure enough, she could see that his expression had turned thunderous. The way he clenched his fist told her that he was on the verge of losing his self-control. That look should have scared her. Instead, her body was flooded with delicious heat. Unconsciously, she waved her fan in an attempt to cool down a little.

"You seem flushed, Miss Burlow."

She looked up to see Lord Livingston looking at her with concern.

"I'll get you a drink. A lemonade or sherry, perhaps?"

"Lemonade will be fantastic, My Lord," she replied, smiling sweetly at him.

With a bow, he strolled away to the refreshments table.

Catherine seriously doubted the lemonade would cool her down, not when she was in close quarters with the source of the heat.

It seemed she was doomed to battle with the heat Richard stirred inside her with no relief in sight.

"Cat," a whisper came from the ferns along the wall.

She turned around, and sure enough, Emmy was hiding behind a fern, only her face showing off the side of the shrub. With a hand, she beckoned to her.

Looking around to ensure that no one was paying attention to them, Catherine followed her behind the fern. When she reached her, Emmy took her hand, dragging her towards the hallway.

"This better be important, Emmy. Where are we going?" Catherine asked in an urgent whisper.

"I will tell you, but we must find a private place first," Emmy answered without pausing her quick steps.

"You are aware that this is dangerous, Emmy? Unmarried women do not wander down lonely paths when they attend balls. I thought I taught you that?"

A defeated sigh escaped Emmy's lips, but she did not stop. "There is a perfect reason for this, trust me."

Catherine did trust her. While Emmy could be impetuous at times, Catherine trusted her judgment most of the time. She decided to hold her tongue till they arrived someplace private.

As they walked, they heard voices coming from a room ahead of them. Emmy dragged her, and they ducked into a coat closet. When the sounds of voices and walking feet faded in the distance, Catherine turned to Emmy in the semi-darkness.

"I think I have waited enough. What is this about, and why this need for privacy?" she asked curiously.

She watched as Emmy bowed her head and took a deep breath as if bracing for something. That behavior raised Catherine's hackles, and her curiosity gradually turned into wariness.

"Cat, you do remember how much I have always wanted to have a mother, seeing as I have been estranged from mine my whole life! I know Richie has been wonderful, stepping in and providing me with the protection and care I needed. I thank you also for your efforts in trying to fill in the knowledge of the more feminine nature that I would have ordinarily acquired from my mother if she had been present. I am grateful, I really am, but a part of me has always longed for my mother," Emmy said, sounding like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

At this point, Catherine had an inkling of where this conversation was heading, but she was not quite sure she liked it.

"Darling, I hate to say this to you, but you are stalling. What is wrong?" she pressed.

Taking a bracing breath, Emmy admitted, "I sent a letter to my mother, and she is here now to see me."

To say Catherine was shocked would be the understatement of the century. Of all the things she had expected Emmy to say, this was definitely not it. She had always known that Emmy had longed to reconcile with her mother. She understood why she felt she needed the presence of her birth mother in her life.

She also knew that Richard did not share that enthusiasm, and she was sure it had to do with the fact that he grew up watching his mother display the ugly aspects of her character. That was enough to scar a child deeply, and the man he had grown into did not seem interested in ignoring that trauma because of some far-fetched repentance.

"I never knew you were corresponding with your mother," Catherine said calmly, trying not to allow the panic she felt to leech into her voice. "Have you considered that your brother will be absolutely furious if he finds out?"

"Yes, I know," Emmy replied in a remorseful tone. But then she jutted her chin in defiance. "She is my mother, too. Why should I be denied the opportunity to meet her because of some misunderstanding they had years before I was born? I know Richard would not support it. That is why I need you."

Taking Catherine's hands in her own, she looked up at her with a pleading look. "I need you to help me, Cat. All you have to do is tell him I was with you when he asks about me later. An alibi of sorts. Besides, I want to introduce you to my mother. I have spoken to her about you several times in my letters, and she expressed a desire to meet you as well. Please?"

Catherine could feel the longing in her dear friend's voice, and she could feel her resolve faltering. She knew that if Richard found out, there would be hell to pay. They just had to ensure that he never did find out while ensuring her friend did not lose the one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make peace with her mother.

"Alright, you win." She could feel Emmy vibrating with joy. "But we have to be careful. Richard must never find out."

"I agree," Emmy said. Taking her hand, she led her through the back door that led to the gardens.

Catherine itched to ask her how she had a detailed knowledge of the architecture of the place. But then she guessed if her friend had been planning this meeting for long, she must have done her due diligence to get it done with utmost secrecy. Because Emmy could be thorough when she needed to be.

Soon they were weaving through the dark hedges of the garden till they stepped into a clearing where a stone bench sat at the center.

A woman stood with her back to them. The moonlight reflected the pale color of her hair. Even from her profile, she cut a graceful figure.

"Mother?" Emmy called quietly.

The woman turned, and Catherine confirmed her hypothesis that the woman was indeed the estranged Dowager Duchess. She saw now that Emmy was a spitting image of the woman, down to her blonde hair.

The Dowager Duchess's eyes glittered with unshed tears. She held out her arms, nodding to Emmy with a watery smile.

Emmy rushed into her embrace, hugging her tightly.

"Emmeline," the Dowager Duchess said in a teary voice when they finally broke apart. "You have grown into a beautiful woman. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I should never have left you. I should never have abandoned you or your brother. I was so devastated when I heard about your papa's death. I had always wanted to return to ask for his forgiveness, but I guess I am a coward of the highest order. I developed cold feet each time," she croaked, sniffling into a handkerchief while Emmy patted her back in consolation.

Catherine was not sure she felt pity for the woman, seeing as she had abandoned her children for years. It seemed quite suspicious that the Dowager Duchess had returned at such a time. Why did she have a sneaking suspicion that her return had something to do with Richard inheriting the dukedom?

The timing was just far too convenient. But that might just be her cynical side.

After some bouts of sobs, the Dowager Duchess seemed to acknowledge Catherine's presence. Giving her a smile, she said, "You must be Catherine. Emmy wouldn't stop writing about you in her letters." Coming closer, she took Catherine's hands in her own. "Thank you for being a good friend to her."

Catherine nodded, at a loss for words. The Dowager Duchess's hands were slightly damp, and she fought the urge to pull her hand away.

"Thank you so much for guiding my beautiful Emmy." Releasing her hands, the Dowager Duchess turned back to Emmy, pulling her into another tight embrace. "I guess it is my punishment to miss so much of her life."

"I don't think you have been punished enough!" a masculine voice thundered.

They all turned and watched with absolute dismay as Richard marched towards them, volatile anger radiating from him in waves, his face like thunder. He dragged Emmy away from the Dowager Duchess.

"You think you can desert your family for years on end while you squander your life on the Continent and then come back, claiming to be some repentant prodigal mother?" he said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

"Listen," he hissed, his voice rising in anger. "I am only going to say this once . I never want to see you anywhere near me or Emmy. We do not have a mother, so your coming back after all these years is pointless. You are dead to me, do you understand? Dead!"

The Dowager Duchess burst into tears, and even Catherine had to admit that Richard had been ruthless in his rebuke.

"Your Grace…" she started.

She was taken aback by the blazing look in his eyes when he turned towards her.

"And you , I have always known that you are impetuous and sometimes behave in a manner that borders on indecent. I regret that I had once thought that you would be a good influence on Emmy. But you dared to connive with this woman," he growled, pointing at the Dowager Duchess. "To corrupt Emmy and lead her astray. I never should have trusted you with her. I would warn you now to keep your distance from my family as well."

With that scathing response, he stomped away, dragging Emmy along, leaving Catherine standing there in a state of shock.

Emmy kept turning back, shooting her remorseful looks, but Catherine was still reeling from the sharp pain in her chest, where Richard's words had cut deep.