What to Do with a Duke (28 page)

Cat was out the door before the woman could finish her sentence.

Oh, Lord, how was she going to survive the Boltwood sisters?

She started walking toward the Spinster House. As the proverb said, time was a great healer. Each day without Marcus was a day closer to forgetting him.

No, she'd never forget him, but in time he'd fade to a pleasant memory. Getting her courses would help, too. She was often emotional around the time they arrived. And
surely
the Boltwood sisters would stop teasing her when the weeks went by and Marcus stayed in London.

“Cat!”

She looked up to see her sister Mary waving and walking toward her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as Mary came up. Mary and Theo had been back from their honeymoon for over a week, but Theo's house was on the castle grounds, so Mary didn't come into the village that often. “You look very happy. Marriage must agree with you.”

The pain in her chest was nausea, not jealousy.

“It does.” Mary gave a little skip. “I came to see Mama. Oh, Cat, I think I have the most wonderful news, but I need to have Mama confirm my suspicions.”

“Really?” Mary looked as if she would burst if she didn't unburden herself immediately. “What is it?”

Mary blushed. “I shouldn't tell you. I forgot. You aren't married.”

She would
not
push her sister into that very tempting thorn-bush they were just passing. “I don't see what being married has to say to anything.”

“Of course you don't. You're still a virgin.”

She should just continue on to the Spinster House in her virginal ignorance, except she wasn't still a virgin, and she was very much afraid she might not be able to hide that fact much longer. “I'm not an idiot, however.”

Mary could never keep a thing to herself for long. “No, of course you aren't.” She gave another little skip and grabbed Cat's arm. “I think I may be increasing!”

Cat's stomach plummeted. “But it's too early, isn't it? You've been married just a few weeks.”

Mary nodded. “Yes, I thought it was too soon, too, but Mama warned me it was possible to conceive quickly, especially when one is young.”

“Mama said she's quite certain you were started on her wedding night.”

“So when I noticed all the signs, I thought perhaps the same thing had happened to me.”

“Er, what signs?”

Mary was too excited to remember she was talking to a supposed virgin. “Well, the first thing, of course, is missing your monthly courses. Mine are almost a week late.”

“Ah.” Surely a week was not so very late?

“And then there's the tiredness, the sore breasts, the nausea, the sensitivity to smells, that sort of thing.” Mary skipped again and clapped her hands. “Oh, won't it be wonderful if I really am enceinte?”

“Yes.”
Oh, God; oh, God; oh, God.
“It would be wonderful.”
I'm going to vomit.
“Give Mama my best.”

Cat started to walk faster. She needed to get to the Spinster House before she disgraced herself.

“Aren't you coming with me to the vicarage?”

“No.” Cat swallowed and managed a smile. “You'll want to talk to Mama alone, won't you?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. She'll be so happy.” Mary waved and headed across the green.

Cat swallowed again and almost ran past the lending library and up the walk to the Spinster House. She'd never make it inside, but she could manage—just—to make it to the garden where she had some privacy to empty her stomach over an unsuspecting, overgrown, nondescript bush.

She had a letter she needed to write to the Duke of Hart.

 

 

Marcus danced in Lord Easthaven's ballroom with Lady, er . . . what was the girl's name? Beatrice? Belinda? Something that began with a “b.”

Maybe.

Better be cautious and not refer to her by name at all. Not that the girl would correct him. She was such a toadeater, she'd likely change her name to whatever he called her.

“Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.” She stared up at him with a revoltingly worshipful gaze.

He'd asked her to stand up with him because of her hair. It was reddish gold like Catherine's. When he'd seen her from behind, he'd thought for a moment she
was
Catherine, and he'd been so blasted happy, his bloody heart had jumped.

Well, his heart and another organ.

And then he'd seen her face. She was one of the Earl of Ambleton's daughters. Pretty enough, but she wasn't Catherine.

“It's a beautiful night,” he said. Ha! Only if you liked damp and drizzle.

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.”

Good God, did the woman have a single original thought in her head? Catherine would have laughed at him and told him—

He could not think about Catherine.

“Are you planning to remove to the country for the summer?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.”

He had thought he might be required to go to Loves Bridge, but apparently there was no need of that. It had been three weeks, and he hadn't heard from Catherine. She must know by now that she was not increasing.

He should be happy. Overjoyed. Delighted. Ecstatic.

He felt distinctly blue-deviled.

He'd checked the post every day. Every bloody day he'd waited with dread for Finch to present him with his correspondence, and every day he'd felt disappointed instead of elated when he'd flipped through the pile of cards and letters to find there was none from Catherine.

It was just the uncertainty. That was all. Now that he knew his . . . mistake hadn't had consequences, he could feel relief.

Eventually.

It would take time, but he'd started the process. Today he'd made a point of being away from home so he wouldn't spend every moment waiting for the letter that wasn't coming. He needed to keep busy. After a few weeks—or months—this blasted longing would fade.

“Your Grace?”

He looked back down at the girl. Damnation. She must have said something other than “oh, yes.”

“I'm sorry. My attention wandered.”

She blushed—prettily, he supposed. “I was merely wondering if you were going to the country, too.”

“Ah. No.” He could go to one of his other estates, of course. He probably should go. But he had no desire to be anywhere but in Loves Bridge, so he would stay in London. There was more to distract him here.

Except none of it was working. Riding in Hyde Park, attending the theater, strolling through the museums—wherever he went, Catherine was there in his thoughts. He wanted to show her all of London and see her reaction. He would even escort her to a literary salon or two if she wanted. He wasn't part of that set, but no one would turn away the Duke of Hart—

But he wasn't going to see Catherine again.

Lady Whatever-her-name-was smiled at him. He smiled back.

That had been the wrong thing to do. Her eyes lit up.

“Then you'll come? Papa will be so delighted.”

“Er, come?”

“To our country estate.” The girl actually frowned. That was progress. “I just invited you.”

“Ah, yes.” While he would never be a success on the stage, he had perfected a few acting skills. He didn't usually bother to employ them, relying instead on a pointed set-down, but he was more at fault here than his companion. “I would enjoy—” He paused and then let his shoulders droop slightly while he shook his head. “I'm so sorry. I've just remembered. I must stay in Town.”

The girl's frown deepened to a scowl. “Why?”

Perhaps she did merit a set-down. “Private business.” He allowed his lips to curl slightly into an expression that was half smile, half sneer. “I'm certain you understand.”

Apparently she didn't. She opened her mouth to protest again, but fortunately the dance ended.

“I'll just return you to your chaperone, shall I?” He put her hand on his arm and started to tow her across the room toward Lady Ambleton.

“I thought we might stroll in the gardens.” The girl dug in her heels, slowing their progress. “It's such a lovely evening, Your Grace.”

Now he remembered. Her father was said to have made some poor investments and was looking to refill the family coffers. Well, it wasn't going to be with
his
coins.

“It's raining.”

She batted her eyes at him. “We can take shelter under a tree.” She leaned forward slightly, and he suddenly realized the neck of her dress was quite low. He had an excellent view of her breasts.

He might just as well be viewing a pair of apples. No, plums.
Small
plums.

“I'm sure you'll keep me dry, Your Grace.”

“Well, you're wrong there.”
Idiot!
Hadn't he learned anything from his mistake with Miss Rathbone? He could not let his attention wander. This wasn't Loves Bridge; it was London. Women were hiding behind every bush and potted plant, hoping to trap him into marriage. “You will want to return to your mother before the next set so you can find a more amenable partner.”

“Don't you mean amiable?” she said a bit waspishly, finally allowing him to guide her toward Lady Ambleton.

“That, too.”

Once he freed himself from Lady Annoying, he retreated to the refreshment room, which is where Alex and Nate found him.

“Enjoy your dance with Lady Barbara?” Alex asked while helping himself to a lobster patty.

At least he now knew the girl's name. “No.”

“I didn't think so.” Alex popped the entire patty into his mouth.

That would keep him quiet for a while. Unfortunately Nate's mouth wasn't full.

“Why did you come, Marcus? You've been glowering at everyone all night. More than one person has remarked on it to me.” Nate frowned. “Some have even noticed that your ill temper dates from your return to London. They've asked me what happened in Loves Bridge.”

“I hope you haven't said anything.” Good God, he would not have Catherine's name bandied about.

“Of course I haven't. What would there be to say?” Nate frowned. “Nothing did happen in Loves Bridge, did it?” His frown deepened. “That's what you told me.”

“Right. Nothing happened.” Blast. Now he'd got Nate worried. That was the last thing he needed—Nate going on and on about the bloody curse. He'd likely snap the poor man's head off. And for no reason. Nothing at all had happened in Loves Bridge, as evidenced by the fact Catherine hadn't written him.

Nate grinned. “Good. I'll confess I was worried for a while, especially after you spent that time with Miss Hutting in the bushes and then disappeared after her sister's wedding. But when you were willing to return to London, I realized my concern was groundless. And of course
she's
not interested in marriage. She must be well settled into the Spinster House by now.”

“Yes, I'm sure she is.” He did not want to discuss Catherine. “I say, isn't that Viscount Motton over by the window? I thought you said you needed a word with him.”

“I do. Where is he? Oh, yes, I see. If you'll excuse me?”

“Gladly,” Marcus muttered as Nate headed across the room.

“You're a lovesick dunderhead, you know.”

“W-what?” He snapped his head around. Alex had finished his lobster patty and was now helping himself to a glass of champagne.

“You heard me. You may have fooled Nate—he was busy playing the organ during the wedding and then the pianoforte afterward—but I saw how you looked at Miss Hutting. And I know the signs of infatuation.” He took a large swallow of champagne. “Too well.”

Oh, God. Alex never talked about the woman who'd jilted him, but Marcus knew he wasn't completely over the experience yet. “I'm sorry about Lady Charlotte.”

Alex waved his concern away. “Go back to Loves Bridge and marry Miss Hutting, will you?”

If only it were that simple. “I can't. You know about the curse.”

“I thought if you married for love, you'd break it.”

“Yes. But if it's not love I feel for Catherine, I'll likely die within the year.” He definitely lusted for Catherine. But did he love her? How the hell was he to tell those emotions apart?

“What does it matter? As far as I can tell you're as close to dead now as you can be without being planted in the churchyard.”

God, that was damnably true.

Alex's look was direct, yet not unsympathetic. “Would you rather have a few months of wedded bliss with Miss Hutting or a lifetime of misery knowing you weren't brave enough to risk everything for what you wanted?”

Put that way. . . .

“I think I'll go back to Hart House.”

Alex frowned. “Alone?”

“Yes.” Marcus laughed. “For God's sake, don't worry—and don't get Nate worrying. I just think it's best if I take my disagreeable self home”—he smiled—“and think about what you said. Tell Nate I'm tired, will you? And I'll see you both tomorrow.”

Marcus left the refreshment room without attracting Nate's attention, dodged a number of other acquaintances, and slipped out of Lord Easthaven's town house. The streets were quiet, and the rain had thinned to a drizzle.

Did
he love Catherine?

He certainly wanted her. She haunted his dreams and caused him to wake painfully hard.