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“That does not surprise me.”

It should not.

Catherine bit back a sharp retort. She was barely managing to remain remotely civil. A very vindictive part of her wanted to show him precisely how wild she could be. Catherine wanted to scream and rage at him. She wanted to give the tonsomething to talk about.

But she would not. She was better than that. Worse, she knew that she would have feltguiltyif she had humiliated her husband before all those people. She could not bear to hurt him as he had her. Catherine’s poor, weak heart still loved him despite everything.

“May I return to the estate?” she asked. “Your Grace?”

“As you wish,” he replied. “I shall tell the tonthat you have fallen ill. I shall remain here.”

“Very well.”

“Have a good night, my lady,” William said.

When he bowed, she saw that even her husband’s bows were different. They were stiff and formal, as if he was bidding farewell to a distant acquaintance. “The same to you, Your Grace,” Catherine said, curtseying. “I hope that you enjoy the remainder of the ball. It promises to be a memorable event, indeed.”

She did not wait for him to reply. Instead, Catherine balled her hands into the skirts of her gown and stormed across the ballroom. She slipped away from the crowd, her blood pumping through her veins so quickly that she began to feel a little faint. At last, the sounds of the tonfaded into nothingness. She pressed her back against the wall and took great, heaving gulps of air.

How could he do this to her? She stifled a cry of despair, which threatened to rise from her throat. Catherine squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force her breaths steady. Instead, she gasped for air, making small and feeble sounds.

He had betrayed her, or she had betrayed him. Catherine could not decide which, but she knew that everythinghurt. She had never felt such pain in her life. Catherine sobbed, her body shaking with the force of her despair. How could he have done this? How couldshehave done this?

“My lady?”

She jumped at the unexpected voice. Her head snapped to the side, landing on a gentleman partially obscured by the shadows.

“Are you well?” he asked, taking a step towards her. “Is there anything that I might do to help you?”

“No,” she replied, her voice shaking. “No thank you, my lord.”

Catherine swept away from the wall, quickening her pace. Her ears strained, concern that he might follow mounting within her. She heard nothing until she reached the entryway, where the butler smartly snapped to attention. “Your Grace!” he exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

“I am unwell,” she said shakily. “I wish for a coach at once to return me to my husband’s estate.”

“Of course,” he replied, bowing. “I shall prepare one at once.”

Catherine nodded and stepped through the doors. The night air was bracing and damp, and it seemed to sink all the way down into her bones. It was steadying. She rubbed her eyes and nose and waited for the coach to arrive.

She was certain that it did not take long at all for a coach to be brought to the front of the house for her, but Catherine nonetheless felt as though it took an eternity. Her head was unfocused, and her thoughts scattered. Every time that she thought about William, the tears threatened to flow anew.

“My lady!” A footman hastened to open the door to the coach for her. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

She waved him off as he offered his arm. “No, I am fine,” she said, her words emerging in a mangled string. “Please, take me back to my estate.”

“Of course. Where is it?”

“I shall give him directions, Your Grace,” the butler said, approaching them.

Catherine cast him a watery smile before lowering herself onto the cushions. The door to the coach closed behind her, and her composure, which had already been fraying and thinning, snapped entirely. She screamed and cried into the cushions. Her body was hot with her rage and despair. Tears scalded the sides of her face.

She was in a marriage of convenience again, and it felt like her world was ending. Catherine cried until her throat was raw and her eyes were sore. William did not love her, and Catherine—who had never thought that she would love a man—felt the first heartbreak of her life. Worse, she would still be expected to be a proper lady. She would be expected to attend events with her husband, the duke, and pretend that there was nothing awry.

It was the worst thing that she could have ever imagined—a prison of her own making.

CHAPTER29

William set the coffee aside and rearranged the papers on his desk. The ball had been a success, even if his duchess had left early. Some of the tonhad noticed and inquired as to Catherine’s well-being, but they had readily accepted his explanations that she had experienced a sudden migraine.