Chapter 2

Chapter Two

" O h, Cathy, I feel so lost!" Emmy cried, looking around the room. "How do you do it? There are so many people here. However could I hope to speak to anyone, much less find a husband?"

Catherine laughed, understanding her friend's worry. She had more or less felt the same at her debut but had adjusted quickly.

"It is not as bad as it seems, Emmy."

"It is," Emmy insisted, looking around the room once again. "This is almost all of England."

"It is not." Catherine shook her head. "You just have to enjoy yourself. It's not something you force."

"Oh, Cathy, how can I be as relaxed as you?" Emmy asked, pouting. Then, seeing some cake slices on the table, she squealed. "Let's get some."

Looking at the cheerful mien of her sweet friend, Catherine thought about how best to tell her of the necessary wardrobe and etiquette changes that she would have to make to increase her chances in the marriage mart.

While Emmy was a cheerful and sweet person, what so many people did not know was that she had a sensitive nature and did not take criticism well. So it would be quite a challenge to inform her of the changes she needed to make without hurting her feelings.

Catherine knew that the Duke, despite his numerous flaws, loved his little sister deeply, and this was evident by the sacrifices he had made to make sure she lived in utmost comfort in every sense.

Unfortunately, there was only so much a bachelor could do for a young girl like Emmy.

While Emmy tried to appear content so as not to worry her older brother, she was secretly battling a sense of inadequacy. In one of her rare vulnerable moments, she revealed to Catherine that she believed that her mother must have left because she was not good enough, and thus she donned an overly cheerful personality just to keep her brother happy, so he would never leave her like her parents did.

Catherine thought it was quite terrible for a vibrant young lady like Emmy to have such a deep fear of abandonment. But then fate was quite cruel that way.

"Miss Burlow," Lord Livingston's familiar voice called, causing her to look up.

She had been so distracted that she had not heard or seen him approach.

"I believe this is our dance," he said, extending his hand, palm open, a charming smile on his face.

Catherine looked around to see that other couples were stepping onto the dance floor for the second dance of the night.

"Of course, My Lord," she replied with a smile of her own, accepting his proffered hand.

He led her to the dance floor.

They faced each other, and then she curtseyed while he executed a deep bow. She placed her fingers lightly on his shoulder, his hand settled on her waist, and then he led her into the first steps of the dance.

Lord Livingston was a graceful dancer, and following his lead, they simply glided across the dance floor. It seemed that the man did everything in his life with a single-minded devotion that was almost scary.

As the dance progressed, Catherine's mind drifted back to the dilemma of refining Emmy's manners and teaching her decorum in preparation for the marriage mart. Emmy was truly sweet and deserved to secure a good match. If only Catherine could get her to agree without?—

"Something on your mind?" her dance partner murmured against her ear.

"What?" she blurted out, startled.

"You are in my arms, but you might as well be a million miles away, with how far your mind has wandered," Lord Livingston said in an amused tone.

"I am sorry, My Lord," she offered.

"Might I ask what was on your mind?"

"It is nothing, My Lord," she answered.

There was an awkward pause, and she could feel that she had just shut down a window of conversation that might have helped them form a deeper bond, but she didn't know how to fix it.

"Have I told you that you look absolutely ravishing this evening?" he asked in an attempt to fill the awkward silence, but the glint in his eyes indicated that he meant his words.

Catherine waited for the warm pleasure that usually followed compliments, but it didn't come.

"I am flattered, My Lord," she said flatly.

It was obvious that Lord Livingston picked up on it because, after a pause, he said, "You outshine every lady in this room. I am happy to be granted the privilege of dancing with such a goddess."

"You flatter me, My Lord," she answered in that deadpan tone that she could not get rid of.

Apparently deciding that making conversation with her was a lost cause, Lord Livingston remained silent throughout the remainder of the dance.

When the last strains of the music died down, they bowed and curtseyed to each other. She wanted to escape from the suffocating silence between them.

"Miss Burlow, might I get you some lemonade or some sherry, perhaps?"

"My apologies, My Lord, but might I be excused? I need to get some fresh air."

With that, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the ballroom as fast as she could without running.

The air in the ballroom was stifling, but she fled mostly to save herself from further embarrassment. She had always known she was terrible in social settings, and she was an even worse conversationalist. But the recent conversation with Lord Livingston surely took the prize.

For as long as she could remember, she had always been terrible at making small talk, but any mention of her books and she became animated and talkative. She was a bluestocking through and through, and sometimes it got exhausting trying to pretend otherwise.

Once she was on the balcony, she gripped the rails firmly, breathing deeply to calm herself and silently urging herself to endure the rest of the night.

"You really do know how to get a man's blood singing, don't you, darling?" Richard asked, smiling knowingly at his companion.

With the way her eyes darkened and the way she kept looking at his lips, he could bet his entire estate that he was a few seconds away from experiencing a very satisfying tryst.

But then trysts in dark corners had to be the best way to pass time at these tiresome affairs. He should know, he had attended dozens of them over the years, so he believed he deserved a distraction if he was not to die of boredom.

So when the recently widowed Lady Tremaine, who had been shooting him seductive glances all night from beneath her long dark lashes, had whispered in his ear during their dance that he should meet her at the balcony in a few minutes, he had waited for the required ten minutes before following her. Who was he to turn down such a delectable offer? Only a fool would do that, and he most certainly was not a fool.

Over the years, he had earned a reputation as a rake among polite society. It was not intentional, but the young matrons liked bad rakes because they made bedsport even more glorious. Some of them had fetishes that made him aghast sometimes. It was not uncommon to hear some of his bed partners boasting about having bedded "different titles." He didn't mind that he was just another title to them, he only cared about the pleasure—and he always left before things turned sour.

It seemed his new title attracted more female admirers, especially his preferred bedpartners—young widows and actresses. Women who understood the pursuit of pleasure and never expected more.

Unfortunately, Society matrons had doubled down their efforts to snag his hand in marriage. It was quite ironic that it took his father's death to turn him into the most eligible bachelor in the whole of London, since the late Duke hardly did anything that could potentially benefit his prodigal son.

This was one other reason why a tryst would benefit him, granting him both pleasure and a respite from the clutches of the marriage-minded mamas for at least the night.

Now that he was pressed against the soft body of the delectable Lady Tremaine, he surrendered himself to the magic their bodies could create. His lady pulled his head down, and he began kissing her senseless. He could swear he was succeeding because the lady was moaning, squirming, and holding him even tighter.

But then she suddenly pushed him away.

"What…?" he sputtered, startled.

"Shh," she hissed, placing a single finger on her lips, motioning for him to keep quiet. "Someone is coming," she whispered.

Sure enough, when Richard strained his ears, he heard footsteps coming in their direction. But they were both hidden by a curtain in the corner.

Richard turned to reassure his partner of their seclusion, but she was already hurrying back inside. Lady Tremaine was a novice in love affairs. His more experienced partners would have relished that threat of exposure in a way that the recent widow clearly did not.

He silently cursed the intruder for interrupting them.

Richard stepped fully behind the curtain as the footsteps got closer.

A feminine figure stepped onto the balcony, and a sliver of light from the ballroom showed that it was his sister's aggravating friend, Catherine Burlow.

What was the chit doing on this secluded balcony? Didn't her mother warn her that she could get ruined that way? He guessed she had been on the marriage mart long enough to know the rules, so he was sure that she had her reasons for being alone on the balcony.

He turned to leave through the door behind him, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the taller frame of a man stepping onto the balcony.

It was the viscount she had been dancing with earlier. They might have arranged for a tryst, but the surprised look on her face and her startled gasp disabused him of that notion.

She was his sister's friend, and he was honor-bound to protect her from ruin. He sighed as he remained in his spot, waiting.

God save him from reckless women.

Slowly, Catherine relaxed as the warm night breeze caressed her skin, her world righted on its axis once again.

For as long as she could remember, fresh air had always calmed her. She mentally prepared herself to plunge back into the chaos of the ballroom, but it was a glaring reality that she had to face. She needed these affairs if she were to secure a respectable match. For both her and her sister's sakes.

A hand touching her shoulder made her jump in fear, and she turned around sharply. The sight of the Viscount stifled the scream bubbling up her throat.

"I am sorry for startling you, Miss Burlow," he said ruefully.

Well, he should be. Considering the number of young ladies that had been ruined on balconies, she had a good reason to be scared. She wouldn't have taken the risk if she had not almost gone into hysterics inside that ballroom.

"What are you doing here, My Lord?" she asked stiffly.

At some hidden recesses of her mind, she acknowledged that she sounded cold. But she couldn't be happy when the Viscount interrupted her quiet time. Eligible suitor or not, he had no reason to follow her.

"I was worried you were unwell, Miss Burlow. I only followed you to check if you are well," he admitted in a concerned tone.

"I truly doubt that, My Lord. Unwell ladies hardly ask to get some fresh air. They are more likely to swoon into the arms of the gallant gentlemen who were unfortunate to be their dance partners," she scoffed, her words dripping with sarcasm.

At that, the Viscount threw his head back and laughed so loudly that she was afraid he would draw attention.

"First, Miss Burlow," he said once his laughter died down, an earnest look on his face, "it wouldn't consider it an unfortunate event should you swoon into my arms. I would be the happiest man in the world if I could have you in my arms. Second, You are right. I didn't come to this balcony because I thought you were unwell. I came here because I really wanted to have a quiet moment with you, away from the chaos of the ballroom."

Catherine cleared her throat daintily. "You do realize, My Lord, that if we are seen together on this balcony, I will be irrevocably ruined, and you will be forced to marry me?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Take that, Lord Livingston .

Most gentlemen of her acquaintance would bolt out of that balcony like their pantaloons were on fire at the mere mention of the institution of marriage.

So she was quite shocked when his lips curled into a smile and he took her hands in his.

"My dearest Miss Burlow, you seem to think that I would run under the threat of ruination," he chided softly. "You do not understand how much I love the idea of getting married to you. I like you, Catherine Burlow, and I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you as my Viscountess," he said passionately.

Catherine froze for a few seconds. This whole episode was like a dream come true. In some part of her mind, she knew she was supposed to be ecstatic—she was being given the opportunity of becoming a viscountess on a silver platter. But she could not move, paralyzed by a strange feeling of emptiness and something that felt suspiciously like fear.

She slowly pulled her hand away, feeling guilty when his hopeful expression turned to one of hurt.

"You know, Miss Burlow, I wonder why you accepted all my offers of a dance and made me believe you had a tendre for me. Do you even see me as a man at all? Or do you just enjoy the act of leading unsuspecting men on?"

"Benjamin," she said weakly, "I-I really like you. I would love to get married to you. It is just that…"

"It is just what?" he asked in a resigned tone. "Now that I think about it, I have been the only one chasing your affections, the only one trying to get to know you better. You always seemed to be distracted. Silly me, I just thought you were overwhelmed by the crowds. I am surprised you know my Christian name, since this is the first time you ever used it, knowing I had given you leave to use it the day we first met."

"I… I…" she stammered but gave up when the hurt look in his eyes grew.

"I am a man of principle, Miss Burlow, and I would never chase after an unwilling lady. Good night," he said.

He executed a deep bow, then turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the balcony.

Catherine sagged against the wall of the balcony, her throat clogged with guilt. Remembering the hurt look on the Viscount's face made her chest tighten. Had she really done that? She had never pegged Lord Livingston as the emotional type. Hell, the man behaved as if his life ran smoothly like a well-oiled machine. He didn't look like the type that dealt with messy things like emotions.

It was quite unfortunate that the first time he showed the vulnerable side of himself to her, she had hurt him quite terribly. She bowed her head in defeat. She guessed she had blown her chance of securing an advantageous match this Season. Lord Livingston had been her best option, and she had pushed him away.

"I guess that explains the reason you are still single after so many Seasons."

She looked up to see a pair of well-polished hessian boots, then up and up till she locked eyes with the arrogant Duke of St. George.

Goodness, was she to be cornered by yet another intruder? Couldn't a lady enjoy a moment of peace and quiet? It seemed the answer to that was obvious… Of course not.