Page 29 of A Duchess Disciplined (Dukes of Dominance #1)

CHAPTER 28

C atherine emerged from her injury uninjured. She had spent just two days in bed, recovering from her injury. But as Catherine entered the ballroom, her hand at the crook of William’s arm, she wondered if her fall had somehow wounded him. Her husband seemed to have grown a heart of ice since that fateful day. He had not come to see her as she recovered, and Catherine had assumed that was only a temporary detachment.

She had been incorrect in that assumption. When she sought him out, William was conspicuously always busy or absent. He did not join her at meals. Once she had met him at the door, preparing to leave for the ball, she had heard the audible catch of his breath and had thought that he might have thawed just a little.

He had not. Even at the ball, he stood stiffly beside her. She might as well have been accompanied by a marble statue. Catherine cleared her throat. “Are you going to give me a lecture?” she asked, trying for a light tone.

“No,” he replied. “I assume that you know how to behave.”

“I see.”

William began walking to the dance floor, where a new song was beginning. Lords and ladies, laughing and smiling, hurried to find partners and begin a waltz.

“We will dance,” William said.

“Demanding,” she murmured.

He cast her a vicious look. “I do not imagine that you have any reason to complain about dancing at a ball,” William said. “Do not be a child, my lady.”

“ I am not the one who is behaving like a child,” she said tersely. “What about your own behavior? You have avoided me as if I had the plague ever since I fell. I was unhurt. Are you upset by my continued survival?”

He clenched his jaw and all but pulled her into the circle of dancers. William put his hand on her waist and took her hand with the other. He kept her close, but Catherine suspected that was because of the dance rather than any real desire to be beside her. Her chest ached, and her body seemed to come alive with the memory of better times, when he had touched her like he wanted to be close to her.

The first notes of the song began, and although William’s eyes remained fixed on hers, there was nothing friendly in his expression. Music swirled around them, its lively notes at odds with the frigidity that crept between the two of them.

“Why are you upset with me?” Catherine asked, as they went through the first steps of the dance. “I have done nothing wrong.”

William grimaced. “We do not need to speak about this.”

“I think we do,” she argued. “I am being your perfect duchess tonight, as per our agreement. I think I am owed an explanation as to why my husband is treating me like a stranger.”

“Keep your voice lowered!” he hissed.

They kept dancing, and out of the corner of her eye, Catherine spied ladies with bright smiles and glowing cheeks. Some spoke softly to their partners as they performed the waltz. Their colorful skirts whirled about them. It was like a dagger to her heart. Had she and William not been close to happy? Why had falling from a tree, just a little accident, ruined everything?

“You knew what I was when you agreed to marry me,” she said, heat creeping to her face. “You persuaded me to offer myself to you in my sister’s stead, so it is unfair of you to now find fault in me for being precisely who I always was.”

“I do not find fault in you,” William said. “Rather, it is obvious that the fault lies with me.”

That caught her off guard. She stared uncomprehendingly at him, as he twirled her around. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean that I took leave of my senses,” he said. “I forgot that this was merely a marriage of convenience, and I foolishly convinced myself that it could be something more than it was.”

A gasp tore from Catherine’s lips. Her body shivered, as if she had been cast into an ice-filled lake. “What?”

She scarcely dared to breathe. He could not mean it. Their marriage had been pleasant. Enjoyable! She had liked him, more than liked him! He could not possibly mean that it was all just—just a mistake ! Catherine felt, rather than saw, all the blood drain from her face.

“I am sorry that I have given you the wrong impression, but a marriage of convenience is all that this arrangement will ever be. You should abandon any thoughts you harbored about this marriage being anything else, while it is still early,” William said. “That is what is best for the both of us.”

Desperation rose inside her. Catherine’s throat felt heavy and thick, and she was struck by the sudden, unfamiliar urge to beg him to take back the words. She would have given anything for him to laugh and insist that he was only playing a cruel jest upon her.

“You cannot mean that,” Catherine said. “You are not amusing, William.”

“Your Grace,” he corrected.

Catherine fell silent, her mind racing as they went through the dance. He said nothing either, and when she searched his face for even the smallest scrap of kindness, she found only a cold, impenetrable mask. He was serious. What was she to do?

Catherine shook her head. “No.”

“This is not your decision to make,” William replied.

The song ended. He dropped his hands and bowed formally. Unmoored, Catherine looked at him for a long moment. She was beginning to understand. He was serious. He did mean it.

“All because I fell from a tree?” she asked, forcing back the accursed tears that threatened to overflow. “I have already promised not to do that again. I will not even climb.”

“This is not about the tree,” William said. “This is about a realization that I have recently had.”

Her breath hitched. “Because I fell from the tree.”

William seized her arm and pulled her away from the other couples, as the next dance began. Catherine let him pull her along without even raising a complaint. He halted by the wall and leaned so near to her that his breath swept over her right cheek. “Do not cry,” he said. “That is unseemly.”

“You have only yourself to blame,” she said, her lips quivering. “Why would you say something so awful to me? Have I not tried to be everything that you wanted me to be?”

William nodded. “You have tried,” he said. “The fault is not with you but with me. It is best that we do not love one another.”

The words were like a blow to her heart. Even if he had struck her, Catherine did not think that she would have been so wounded. He wanted this to be a marriage of convenience only. William wanted to tear down everything that they had become.

“William—”

“Your Grace,” he interrupted, “or my lord. William is far too informal for a marriage of convenience.”

“What of your sisters, Your Grace?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You have not been joining us for meals, and your sisters have noticed your absences. I promised them that you would still continue to eat with them, and you have made me a liar.”

“No,” he argued. “You made a foolish choice and expect me to pay for your errors.”

“I see.”

Catherine roughly wiped her eyes, staining her gloves with her own tears. She sniffled. Something else curled inside her, something that was harsh and jagged and nothing at all like the waves of despair that rose within her, threatening to consume her.

“Well,” Catherine said, straightening her spine. “I see that you will not be dissuaded from your selfishness.”

William smiled thinly. “It is far more selfish to ask for more than I have offered you.”

“I understand,” she said. “Thank you for telling me, Your Grace . Am I correct in assuming that I have your leave to return to the estate? I trust that my appearance tonight has been sufficient enough to satisfy you.”

“You appearance tonight has been entirely appropriate until now.”

“Excellent,” Catherine replied. “I am suddenly feeling quite ill, and I wish to retire.”

“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 ton something to talk about.

But she would not. She was better than that. Worse, she knew that she would have felt guilty if 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 ton that 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 ton faded 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 everything hurt . 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 could she have 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.