Page 26 of A Duchess Disciplined (Dukes of Dominance #1)

CHAPTER 25

T he garden smelled of flowers, of roses, primroses, and foxgloves. Those sweet scents filled his senses, along with the bell-like chirps of birds and his sisters’ hushed whispers, as they tried not to frighten the cardinals. And Catherine still held her gentle hand at the crook of his elbow. His mind drifted to all the work that there was to do. Being a duke was no small feat, for the work never ended. There was always some small crisis demanding to be fixed.

But, despite all the nagging doubts and concerns that he ought to return to his work, he found difficulty in forcing himself to care about what he ought to be doing. How could any man possibly return to his dark and silent study when faced with such a bucolic garden and a beautiful wife?

“I am glad that you find me to be a satisfactory duchess,” Catherine said. “I will admit that I feared you would find me lacking in some manner.”

William sighed. They reached the end of the path, and he lowered himself onto the stone bench. Catherine seated herself beside him and turned her body towards his, so their knees touched. “I cannot fault you for that,” he said. “I did fear that you might be lacking in some manner.”

“I had given you many reasons to be afraid,” Catherine said, furrowing her brow. “Sometimes, I suspect I did it on purpose. I may have even delighted in vexing you, for I felt like you were trying to change me. You seemed impossible to please.”

“Do I still?”

“Less so,” Catherine said. “Perhaps, I have taught you a lesson or two.”

He laughed. “Maybe.” He took her hand in his and traced his thumb over her knuckles. “Yes, I think you have. You seem rather proud of the fact.”

“It is not every woman who can teach her husband a thing or two,” Catherine said. “Who knows what else you may learn during the course of our marriage?”

“As much as you, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“I am glad that you chose to be my bride,” William said. “I find myself wanting to learn more about you. Each day is like a mystery to be solved.”

“And am I to assume that you enjoy mysteries?”

“Immensely. But I think most men do.”

Catherine hummed. “Tell me about this garden. I can tell that it has been here for a long time.”

“Indeed. Two-hundred years, at least,” William replied. “It was a favorite haunt of my mother’s.”

A lump rose in his throat as the memories flickered before him. He remembered climbing the tree by the lake and leaping into the water as an adolescent, something which his mother had always reacted to with utter horror. And there had been nights when they had come into the garden and watched the stars together. For all his fears that Hester or Hannah might hurt themselves, William had his own memories of running through the garden and of a handful of childhood injuries.

“Once,” he said, “I fell on the path and hurt my knee. There was a great deal of blood, and I thought my father might faint at the sight of it. His face became as pale as death, and it was rather—well—even though I was hurt, I found it rather humorous. My mother had no reservations at all, and he was stumbling about, looking as though he had seen a ghost.”

“Were you badly hurt?” Catherine asked.

“No, not terribly,” William replied. “It was just entertaining that my mother was so calm and composed, while my father was so distraught over such a small injury. That was not often the case. My mother was an anxious woman, who worried overly, and in that moment, it was as if they had swapped their personalities.”

Catherine hummed. “I had the odd childhood injury myself.”

“That does not remotely surprise me,” William said. “I would wager that you had more than your share, as wild as you are.”

“Not as many as Elias,” she said in good humor. “When he was an adolescent, he was a terribly gawky thing. He did not always seem to have control of his limbs.”

William furrowed his brow, slowly nodding. “I do seem to have a vague recollection of that.”

“Were you equally as awkward?” Catherine asked.

“I do not think so,” William said, “but perhaps, I am inclined to remember myself more fondly than is accurate.”

“Not you !” Catherine exclaimed, her voice heavy with mock surprise.

“There is no need to say it like that!” William retorted, laughing. “I swear you make me sound like the most wretched of men sometimes.”

“I do not mean to.”

“I know you do not truly mean it,” William assured her.

“Mmm. Did you ever climb trees in your youth?” Catherine asked, her eyes sweeping to the oak tree. “That one looks like it would be good for that.”

“I did,” he replied. “Many times.”

“Have you done so recently?” she asked slyly.

“No,” he replied, “because I am a respectable man.”

She laughed. “I do not believe that. You have done many things to me that prove you are not respectable,” Catherine whispered. “Shall I list them for you?”

“That is wholly unnecessary.”

Catherine rose and dusted her skirts. Mischief gleamed in her eyes, and that sent a fissure of worry tracing along the path of his spine. “Catherine,” he said warningly.

“I may be myself in private,” she replied. “That was our agreement, and a respectable man would not go back on his word.”

William inhaled deeply and shook his head. He had to admit that she could argue well when she felt so inclined. If she was a man, she very well might make a fine solicitor. “Remember that the children are watching,” William said. “I do not want you to do anything which they might seek to replicate at their peril.”

“You just said that you climbed trees frequently in your youth, and you appear to be whole and hale,” Catherine said smugly. “Why do you assume that something catastrophic would happen if we also chose to climb a tree? Women’s bones are no weaker than men’s are.”

“As far as you know,” William said. “Are you a surgeon?”

“Are you ?”

Hester and Hannah had left their place by the hedges and instead wandered to the lake. They began their own circuit around the path, just as Catherine and William had before them. William glanced at his sisters over his shoulder. While he and Catherine had set a slow, meandering pace walking around the lake, Hannah and Hester did not walk constantly. Every few feet, they would halt and pause to gaze at a bird or a butterfly or some blooming flower.

“I am going to climb the tree,” Catherine declared, her face set in determination.

“In that gown?” William asked, casting a doubtful glance at her attire.

“Of course. I can hardly climb the tree without clothes,” she said, “and you have already graciously offered to purchase new gowns for me. If this one is damaged beyond repair, it will be easily replaced.”

Catherine grinned and jauntily skipped over the path. As she approached the tree, William’s heartbeat quickened. He knew that Catherine was right. There was no particular reason to worry about her, but he found that he did. He considered demanding that she not climb and asserting his rights as her husband, but with a sigh, William forced himself to remain silent.

He stood slowly and joined her at the tree. Catherine considered the large oak, balling up the skirts of her gown in her hands. It was terribly unseemly, and William found that his loins stirred at the sight of her slender, white thighs that were exposed. He ached to take her by the waist with one hand and to trace his fingers along the inside of her thighs with his other hand. William’s breath hitched.

Catherine had managed to hitch her skirts up and held them with one hand. With the other, she grasped a low-hanging branch.

“Careful,” William said, his chest tightening.

“I will be,” she replied, amused. “You need not worry about me.”

He did , though. How could he not when Catherine was so stubborn?

She placed a slipper-clad foot against the bark of the tree and carefully heaved herself up. Catherine pressed herself tightly against the trunk of the tree, managing to use the oak to keep her skirts pulled up. She reached out and, in a quick, fluid motion, pulled herself up and onto the lowest branch of the tree. Seated primly there, Catherine grinned at him.

“See?” she asked. “No harm done.”

William smiled grimly. “What about my poor heart?”

“It seems as though it is still beating,” Catherine replied. “You cannot be wounded too terribly.”

William leaned against the tree and tipped his head up, his gaze sweeping over her. Catherine had not quite fixed her skirts, and they gathered awkwardly about her thighs. Chips of bark and leaf-litter dotted the hem of her skirts, and William spied a green stain by her thigh. The gown was not ruined beyond repair, but he suspected that the laundress might be terribly displeased.

“Fine,” he said. “It was only a minor injury, and I am pleased to see that you are not wounded at all.”

She grinned brightly. “I thought I might have forgotten how to climb, but it seems that my fears were for naught.”

“Indeed.”

She shifted further along the branch and glanced about her. After a heartbeat, she carefully edged herself up. William’s pulse jumped once again. “Careful,” he growled.

“I am being careful,” she said.

She wrapped her arms over the next branch and pulled herself up. The two branches had been rather close together, and the climb had not been especially dangerous. Still, he feared that she might make some error and fall. William was nearby. He told himself that he would catch her. It would not be difficult.

Catherine sat on the branch, and William let out a puff of air. “You are conspiring to kill me,” he said.

“You caught me,” Catherine replied, laughing. “I wish to be a wealthy and successful widow.”

“That is good to know,” William said. “I think I want an annulment.”

“After you went through so much effort to marry me?” she asked. “I think not, my lord. That would reflect terribly on you and ruin your reputation, which I know you care very strongly about.”

“Regrettably, you are right,” William said. “I do care too much.”

Hester and Hannah joined them beneath the tree.

“Oh!” Hester exclaimed. “Look at you! Can I try climbing?”

“No,” William replied. “Certainly not.”

“What will it hurt?” Catherine asked, hooking her leg around the branch and idly kicking the air. “I climbed trees often in my youth, as did you.”

“No,” William said, crossing his arms. “Do not argue with me about this.”

“Why would you want to climb?” Hannah asked. “You would ruin your pretty, white gown.”

“It can be washed,” Hester replied, gazing longingly upwards. “Besides, Catherine has done it.”

“Catherine is older than you,” William pointed out. “She is less likely to be harmed by a fall.”

“Indeed,” Catherine replied. “But look—let me climb down, Hester. It is unfair for me to be up here, while you are on the ground.”

William sighed in relief, partly because Catherine would no longer be in the tree and partly because he suspected her compliance would appease Hester. Catherine gathered her skirts, and William turned to face his sisters. “I do not want to see either of you climbing trees,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

Catherine yelled, and William whirled around. Everything happened so quickly that he scarcely understood what had happened. One moment, Catherine was climbing down from the tree. In the next, she was lying on the ground and held a hand to the back of her head.

“Catherine!” he shouted.

She groaned lowly, tears brimming in her eyes. Ice plunged into William’s veins as he beheld his bride wounded on the ground.