Page 5 of A Duchess Disciplined (Dukes of Dominance #1)

CHAPTER 4

C atherine was a wild woman, but she was not a foolish one. She knew that she ought not to vex His Grace too terribly. How was she to resist, though, when he smirked at her like he did? When he was so absurdly self-assured? When he made her knees so weak?

I cannot wait to break you. It will be a wonderful pastime, indeed.

They were wretched words, and yet something deep inside her came alive with them. Her body shivered with anticipation, longing even, for him. This situation was his fault. Silently, Catherine cursed himself and her own body for reacting so amorously to him. She clung to his jacket, and laughter rumbled in his chest. The sound struck her like lightning, shaking Catherine to her very core.

“Quiet, at last,” he said. “As I wanted.”

She would never be his quiet, proper wife. Catherine pulled herself to him, her chest flush against his. The fine material of his jacket brushed against the tops of her breasts, where they rose above her bodice. Then, she pressed her lips to his. She scarcely thought about anything except him and the blood roaring in her ears.

Catherine had read of kisses before, but she had never experienced one. Her first thought was that it was strange, the feeling of her soft lips pressed against his. Her second thought was that she ached to kiss him longer and more deeply.

His Grace tasted of coffee and sugar, and when she tilted her head, the slight dusting of hair along his jaw scratched pleasantly along her lips. While her body was ablaze with want of him, she forced herself to break the kiss. It had only lasted a heartbeat, but to Catherine, it seemed as though it lasted an eternity.

“Is that the proper behavior you desire of me?” she asked.

His expression darkened, and his right hand found her hair, just beneath the brim of her sunhat. He crashed his lips against hers, muffling her startled gasp.

The Duke of Sarsen kissed her so deeply that Catherine thought he might very well devour her. An awkward, startled moan escaped from her lips. His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling and sending a throbbing sensation crawling across her scalp. Catherine moaned again, unable to describe the feelings coursing through her body. Her chest ached for air, but she?—

He broke the kiss, and she stared at him with wide eyes. Her chest heaved. Suddenly, Catherine’s stays felt too tight against her straining breasts. If her knees had felt weak before, now her entire body trembled. A deep ache pulsed between her legs, and when she squeezed her thighs together in a vain attempt to ease the sensation, His Grace’s eyes darted downward.

She felt instinctively that the man knew what he had done to her. He knew about all the wonderful and terrible feelings pulsing through her. His Grace released her, and Catherine stood frozen for an instant. When he touched her wrists, she retreated as if he had burned her.

“Your hair looks like a bird’s nest,” he said. “I suggest that you make yourself presentable.”

“You should not have touched my hair,” Catherine said. “My lady’s maid spends a significant amount of her morning ensuring that it is presentable.”

Catherine reached for her hat. It felt as though it was misplaced. She clenched her jaw and hastily tucked her curls back beneath it. If her brother or sisters saw her in this state, they would have questions, and Catherine would not be able to answer them.

“You have only yourself to blame, my lady,” His Grace said. “If you had not kissed me, I would never have felt the need to touch your hair.”

“If you had not behaved in such an ungentlemanly manner, I would not have kissed you,” Catherine said flatly. “You provoked me.”

“ You provoked me . It is quite careless of you to blame your folly on others, my lady.”

“And it is ignoble of you to deny your own flaws, Your Grace.”

“Do not test me, my lady. I shall not release you so easily next time,” he said, smiling tightly. “I trust that you can finish your walk about the gardens without flinging yourself at another man in such an unbecoming manner? Or is that yet another lesson you need?”

Catherine gasped. “How dare you question my virtue?”

“Given your behavior, I think questioning your virtue is more than appropriate.”

He turned away, stepping neatly past Elizabeth, Catherine’s gawking lady’s maid. Catherine fought the urge to fling something at the man’s retreating back. She put her hands to her face, aware of how hot her skin was to the touch.

“Are you…well, my lady?” Elizabeth asked hesitantly. “Shall I fetch His Grace?”

For a wild moment, Catherine thought that Elizabeth referred to the Duke of Sarsen, and a mix of horror and want swept through her. Her racing heart calmed as she realized that it was surely her own brother, the Duke of Sarsen, whom Elizabeth meant.

“Say nothing ,” Catherine hissed, the moment she was certain His Grace could not hear.

Elizabeth looked at her with wide blue eyes. “Are—are you certain, my lady? Surely, your brother?—”

“He does not need to know!” Catherine snapped. “I will tell my brother when—and if—I feel that it is necessary. I do not wish for you to say anything on my behalf. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And you would never betray my trust, would you?” Catherine said.

Elizabeth bit her lip and furrowed her brow. The lady’s maid wore an expression that Catherine knew well. Elizabeth did not want to keep her silence. “No, my lady,” the young woman murmured at last. “If it is your wish that I say nothing, I will not.”

Catherine nodded sharply. “Good.”

She would never tell Elias about what had transpired between the Duke of Sarsen and herself, especially given that she did not entirely understand the encounter herself. His Grace was a monster—callous and cruel. Cold, except for that kiss?—

She had never before felt so alive . It was as if a new world had opened to her, one where everything was wonderful and frightening. Her body hummed with anticipation. Catherine was not a child. She knew why her body felt like it did, and on occasions, she had thought about all those amorous activities that were usually confined to the marriage bed, for ladies at least.

Never before had she wanted to ardently partake in those activities. Why did she so strongly wish for them when faced with this man? She had always imagined that these feelings would be inspired only by a man whom she truly loved, and she could imagine no man less worthy of her love than His Grace.

“I need time to think,” Catherine said. “I believe that I will return to my bedchamber for a while. I do not wish to be disturbed, so you may have the rest of your evening to do what pleases you.”

“As you wish, my lady. Thank you.”

Catherine stormed from the gardens, her fury warring with her own desire. She clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She could not marry that man. Dorothy could not either.

Her heart was beating so rapidly that its echo reverberated inside her own skull. There must be some way to escape His Grace with dignity. That was why she had resolved to vex him. If he broke the engagement, her reputation might suffer, but his disgrace would be far greater. What would she do if her plan failed , though? The Duke of Sarsen did not seem like the kind of man who would accept losses easily. For every barb she cast his way, he gave her one in kind!

If he would not relent, what other options were there? She would not allow her sister to marry that man, but she could not bear to wed him either. There must be some solution that she had not thought of. She entered the house, consumed in thoughts of His Grace, as she set a brisk pace towards her bedchamber.

“But Dory?—”

Catherine halted abruptly, just past the parlor. Bridget’s soft, plaintive voice drifted through the walls. Catherine’s heart ached at the distress present in her younger sister’s voice. It did not take a considerable amount of thought to surmise what had caused her sister to feel such grief.

“—she cannot truly mean to marry him, can she?” Bridget asked. “Cat?”

“I believe she does mean it,” Dorothy said.

Catherine pressed herself against the wall and took a steadying breath. She ought to join her sisters, rather than listening to them hidden from view, but Dorothy’s gentle voice gave her pause. That was the voice Dorothy used when comforting them, the voice she had always used.

“She does not even know him!” Bridget exclaimed. “None of us do! What if he is a horrid man? A monster like—like in Perrault’s Bluebeard !”

Dorothy laughed softly. “He is no monster. I am quite sure that His Grace has no chamber of dead wives to be discovered. He has never even wed.”

“I did not mean literally,” Bridget replied. “But what if he does have some dark secret? We would not know until Catherine was already the Duchess of Sarsen. What, then?”

“Then, we would rescue her,” Dorothy said. “Elias would never allow any of us to remain in an unhappy marriage. It is true that we must consider our reputations among the ton, but our brother would never choose his reputation over our happiness.”

“Is that not what he is doing in allowing Catherine to marry the Duke of Sarsen?” Bridget exclaimed, her voice taking a higher pitch. “Is that not sacrificing her happiness and freedom, so we might appease the vicious tongues of the ton?”

“Catherine is of age,” Dorothy said. “She may make her own choices.”

Catherine closed her eyes and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. It was her choice. Dorothy had agreed to marry His Grace, and Catherine could have remained silent. She had chosen to speak and offer herself instead. She had chosen to take His Grace’s proposed solution. There was no one she could blame save herself.

“Besides,” Dorothy continued. “We do not know that she will marry him yet. Perhaps, the Baron of Westwood will say that the contract is forged, or maybe the solicitor will insist that it is not legally binding, and therefore, need not be honored.”

“I know.”

“Then, we need not worry about Bridget’s marriage until it happens. We have some time,” Dorothy said.

“I know,” Bridget replied. “But what if she does marry him? What can we do, then?”

“We will think of something,” Dorothy said. ‘We always do. As long as we are family, we will always have one another. Even if we do not live together, that will be true.”

Catherine bit the inside of her cheek. Dorothy always knew what to say to lift others’ spirits. She was quite unlike Catherine, who was adept at sharp retorts but always floundered when she tried to comfort others. She could not replace Dorothy, so if one of them must wed the Duke of Sarsen, Catherine knew it must be her.

“And someday,” Dorothy continued, “you will wed and begin a family of your own. That is your dream, is it not?”

“Yes,” Bridget said.

“I will be happy for you,” Dorothy replied. “If you and Catherine are happily wed, it will mean that everything Elias and I did worked. All we have wanted for the two of you is to see you both happily wed and safe in the arms of loving husbands.”

“But Catherine may not be happy,” Bridget said. “I always imagined that she would find a love match. Did you not see the disappointment in her face after the Season ended? Of course, Catherine tried to hide it, but if I noticed it, you must have.”

Catherine winced. She had thought that her disappointment was hidden well, but it seemed that Catherine was not quite the accomplished actress she might have assumed. Her failure of a Season was not unexpected, yet she had still found herself deeply dissatisfied with her poor prospects.

She had attended several balls and soirees, and she had received only a handful of callers—far fewer than a lady of her position ought to gain. Maybe the duke’s arrival was meant to be her penance for her failure to be a lady. Her punishment for being unable to remain true to herself and fulfill the ton’s expectations.

“I know. Perhaps, she might,” Dorothy said. “It is easy to linger on the worst that may occur from this situation, but it is equally likely that the arrangement will end well. Catherine and His Grace are not well-acquainted yet. It may be that they realize they love one another.”

Catherine shook her head. That would never happen, but she did not have the heart to tell her sisters that she would never have even an inkling of affection for the Duke of Sarsen. The muscles in her stomach clenched tightly. His Grace certainly inspired feelings within her, but those were not affection.

They were not love, and they never would be. Catherine pushed herself away from the wall and wandered slowly up the stairs. She trailed her hand over the banister. In the two years after their parents’ deaths, they had spent most of their days on the country estate. She might be leaving soon.

“All will be well,” Dorothy continued. “I promise, Bridget. Our family is strong. We have survived far worse situations. We will survive this one, also.”

“I know,” Bridget said. “You are right. You are always right.”

Her sisters’ voices sounded louder. Catherine turned her head and saw them emerge from the parlor. Her breath caught in her throat. A wave of fondness overcame her as she gazed at them.

“How was the walk in the gardens?” Dorothy asked, her voice betraying nothing of the tumultuous conversation she had just shared with Bridget.

She longed to tell her sisters about what had happened, Dorothy especially, but Catherine could not. Even if her sisters were willing to forgive her impropriety, which they would, Catherine did not wish to increase their burdens.

“It was pleasant enough,” Catherine said. “His Grace is an unusual man. I have much to think about after our conversation.”

It was the most neutral answer that she could give without lying about how the walk had been.

“I imagine so,” Dorothy said. “He is certainly a man who inspires conversation.”

Catherine was that.

“It is something that you might have in common,” Dorothy added.

“Perhaps.”

Catherine looked further up the corridor and smiled. “I am a little tired after my walk. I think I will spend some time in my room.”

Dorothy frowned, her eyes bright with concern. “Of course, Catherine.”

“Shall I bring you a book to read?” Bridget asked. “I have just finished reading Mansfield Park . I think you might enjoy it.’

“Maybe another time,” Catherine replied. “Thank you, though.”

Catherine had still not entirely managed to vanquish the conflicting feelings inspired by His Grace, and love was the last subject she wished to read about.