Page 46 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

“ A re you all right?”

Catherine tried to look cheerful and reassuring without emerging from behind a large tree in a pot. It seemed impractical to put such a large plant in anything other than the ground, but she was, at the moment, exceedingly grateful for the excesses of the aristocracy.

“Of course,” she told Ariadne brightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ariadne’s brow furrowed. “Do…you want me to answer that question?”

Catherine didn’t have a good answer for that. Both options seemed inadvisable.

Her hesitation seemed to indicate that her younger sister ought to enumerate her causes for concern.

“You didn’t come back to my rooms after supper last night—you didn’t even come to the parlor.”

Catherine winced. “I am sorry, darling; I hope you don’t feel I abandoned you.”

Ari waved away this apology.

“No, it’s fine. I talked to Lady Reid, who, as it happens, had quite a storied youth. It’s just that you do rather tend to hover?—”

“I don’t hover!”

“You do, but it’s part of your charm,” Ari said gently. “But then, this morning, you seemed rather cagey at breakfast.”

“I was not cagey! ” Catherine protested.

“You were.” Ariadne spoke to her even more softly now, like Catherine was a wild animal liable to startle. “And now, Kitty—well, you’re hiding in a plant.”

“I’m not—” Catherine stopped herself. Her protests were not having much of an effect.

So, even though she very much did not want to, she stepped out from behind the tree.

“See?” she said brightly.

“Convincing,” Ariadne told her.

Catherine chose to ignore this, instead casting a furtive glance to check on the location of…

Everyone. She was looking for the general sense of the party. Not for anyone in particular.

Catherine had decided, somewhere between many hours after midnight and the first light of dawn—all of which she had spent staring at her ceiling—that she would simply…pretend nothing had happened the day prior.

It wasn’t the most courageous approach, admittedly, nor the most honest. But sometimes, one had to just make do with the hand one was dealt.

And this trip was about Ariadne. It wasn’t about Catherine. It certainly wasn’t about certain argumentative men about whom she was not thinking.

Not even if they had made her feel things she’d never felt before.

Not even if they had caused her to press her hands to her swollen lips dozens of times over the long hours of the night.

Not even if a part of her—a small part, a very, very, very small part—wondered what it would be like to kiss him again.

Instead, she shoved all of those thoughts away. Ariadne. This party was about Ariadne.

Thus, with a significant force of effort, she smiled at her sister.

“Even so, sweetheart, I apologize for leaving you so abruptly. I must have just been tired from the journey; I found myself taking right to my room.”

Ariadne did not seem to believe a word of this, so Catherine plunged on. Perhaps if she just kept going, eventually her little sister—whom Catherine had practically raised, mind!—would stop looking at her like she was a blatant liar.

“But let’s think about today, shall we? Should we make a turn about the room? See who we meet?”

This seemed to, if not convince Ariadne, at least distract her. It did not seem to be wholly a positive distraction, but Catherine would take what she could.

As it happened, they didn’t need to go far before a distraction presented itself in the form of the Earl of Compton.

“Lady Ariadne,” he said, sidling into their path wearing a smile that was far too practiced to be genuine. “Are you taking a stroll?”

Ariadne, who had been mid-step, paused and glanced down at her feet. “Ah, yes?”

Catherine kept her expression vague as she watched Ariadne struggle against a wince. The Earl of Compton, to his credit, also ignored this momentary awkwardness.

“Splendid,” he said smoothly. “Might I accompany you?” The pause before he glanced in Catherine’s direction was notable. “And your lovely sister, of course.”

Ariadne looked very much as though she wished a convenient fainting spell would hit her.

“Of course,” she said, almost managing to sound happy about it.

The earl fell into step beside them, standing, in Catherine’s opinion, just a touch closer to Ariadne than he ought.

“How kind of you, my lady,” he said politely.

They strolled a bit, the earl deftly maneuvering things so that Catherine wasn’t obviously excluded, unless one was looking for the signs, but was very clearly not included , either.

When Ariadne briefly caught her sister’s eye, a flicker of a frown crossing her expression at this, Catherine shook her head slightly. It was a dual signal: no need to make a fuss over it and no, this is not the man for you .

“I take it you are enjoying the party,” the earl began with the air of a man preparing to pontificate at length.

“I myself, I must admit, am not one for parties. Terribly frivolous things, most of the time. But I simply could not disregard an invitation from the likes of the Duke of Wilds, and indeed, I find myself more than pleased that I followed such an impulse, as it has allowed me to spend time with ladies as lovely as yourself…”

On and on he went.

No, Catherine thought, this was no match for Ariadne. It wasn’t just the man’s age, though the earl seemed to be in the latter half of his thirties—a bit too old, in her opinion, for nineteen-year-old Ariadne.

But if his polished, suave air hadn’t convinced Catherine that he was no partner for her sister, then his little speech would have done the job.

The man hadn’t even bothered to ask Ariadne if she was enjoying her time here; he’d simply decided that she was and continued accordingly. It was managerial and high-handed.

Catherine’s sweet, often shy sister needed someone who would meet her as she was. Not necessarily someone as demure as Ariadne was herself, though Catherine would not immediately discount a quiet, reserved man.

But Ariadne needed someone authentic. Not a mask posing as a man.

“The gardens are quite lovely,” Ariadne ventured when she managed to get in a word edgewise.

“I myself have beautiful gardens, too, if you like gardens,” the Earl of Crompton said. “I employ only the best gardeners…”

When Catherine’s attention wandered this time, it was not because she found the earl to be too self-important and too flirtatious—although she did, as he was now talking about plucking flowers with the energy of a person who thought himself getting away with oh so subtle innuendo.

No, what captured her attention completely was a pair of intense blue eyes, a shock of dark hair, and a frame that looked as though it was liable to burst into motion at any moment.

God above, how was the Duke of Seaton still glaring at her ?

If Catherine had not conveniently erased last night’s misadventure from her mind, she would not have been terribly proud of it. It had not precisely been her finest hour.

Which was why she had the good sense to not draw attention to it by doing something like—oh, just as an example plucked right out of the air—glowering like a villain from a melodrama while, all around her, people strolled and chatted and played idle games of cards.

Stop that this instant , she tried to convey with her eyes.

When that didn’t work, she tried to ignore him.

When that didn’t work, she decided to resume listening to the earl’s monologuing, which was now about the many impressive horses that he owned, as well as their lineages going back far more generations than one should ever track in a horse.

“Of course,” he said sternly, as if Ariadne had interpreted him incorrectly—though how he could tell, Catherine didn’t know, as her sister hadn’t spoken in at least four full minutes, “I haven’t much time for leisure, as I have many, many lucrative business opportunities that demand my attention.”

Good Lord, this was not a helpful distraction.

Catherine could feel the pricking of the duke’s gaze upon her. Except today was even worse than the night before, as yesterday, she’d felt it as a needling annoyance.

Now, she felt it like a caress. Like his lips against hers.

The man was apparently some kind of witch, because the sensation didn’t stop there, either. Instead, Catherine felt the warmth of his eyes on her move down her neck, and further, causing her to be oddly aware of her breasts in the confines of her corset.

She couldn’t help it any longer; she darted a glance over her shoulder.

He was still watching her.

Like a predator watching its prey , Catherine thought, a nervous giggle threatening to bubble up inside her.

It was absurd. She didn’t giggle .

Even more absurd, however, was the clench in her belly when her eyes met his, when she saw the burning in his gaze that was not just hatred?—

“Right!” she said briskly, interrupting the earl’s speech about all the eminent figures with whom he socialized.

It was rude to interrupt, but Catherine and Ariadne might very well have been standing there all day if she hadn’t.

“Well, my lord, this has been most diverting, but I am afraid the sun has become rather too much for me this morning.”

This was…a moderate excuse at best. The sun was shining, a rare blessing from the gods of weather in an English autumn, but it wasn’t particularly hot. Several of the ladies had light shawls drawn about their shoulders.

Even so, Catherine pasted on her most winning smile.

“Please excuse us, my lord,” she went on. “My sister and I will take to the shade.”

And then she all but dragged Ariadne away.

They made it to a sequestered corner of the veranda, where a cooling breeze snaked around the side of the house.

They were nearly alone, and their only company was an elderly aunt of one of the young ladies present.

The aunt was meant to be chaperoning her niece, who appeared to be amassing a small fortune at whist, but instead was napping.