“What?” The Duchess’s smile held a hint of mischief. “I was young once. I know precisely how these things go.”
Catherine flushed scarlet, but the Duchess merely reached out and patted her cheek with unexpected gentleness. “You did very well this evening, my dear. Very well indeed.”
The carriage ride was exquisite torment. James sat opposite her, as propriety demanded, yet the confined space seemed to crackle with unspoken things. Each jolt of the wheels, each brush of the lamps against the windows, only sharpened the tension strung taut between them.
“Thank you,” Catherine said at last, her voice soft. “For tonight.”
“It was my mother’s idea.”
“Still—it matters. Their approval matters.”
“You have more than approval,” James answered, his gaze unwavering. “You have their admiration.”
“I did nothing remarkable.”
“You were yourself. That is remarkable enough.”
Their eyes held across the carriage, the inches between them feeling at once intolerable distance and dangerous closeness.
“The Cowpers’ ball is tomorrow,” James said, his tone low.
“Yes. Miss Worthing seemed quite intent on promising some drama.”
“Let her,” James said flatly. “I am finished with letting others dictate our story.”
“Our story?” she echoed, heart quickening at the claim.
“Yes. Ours. Whatever comes, Catherine—it shall be by our choice, not theirs.”
The carriage drew up before her aunt’s townhouse. James descended first and offered his hand. His touch lingered at her waist longer than custom allowed as he helped her alight.
“Catherine,” he said, his voice low enough to make her pulse leap.
“Yes?”
“Two more days. Grant me two more days of this proper courtship—and then…”
“Then?” she whispered, her breath misting in the chill night air.
“Then I shall do something spectacular.”
Her lips curved despite herself. “Spectacularly good, or spectacularly disastrous?”
“That,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her hand before he let it go, “depends entirely upon your answer.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he was back in the carriage, leaving her standing on her doorstep with her heart racing and her mind spinning.
Two more days.
Chapter 13
The Cowpers' ball was, as always, a glittering affair. Their ballroom was famous for its mirrors, which reflected the candlelight into infinity, making the space seem endless and everyone in it more beautiful.
Catherine arrived with her aunt, wearing a new gown of midnight blue silk that had cost more than she cared to think about. But Vivienne had insisted, saying that if Miss Worthing was planning something, Catherine needed to look unassailable.
“Remember,” Vivienne murmured as they entered the ballroom, her hand light but steady upon Catherine’s arm, “whatever happens, hold your head high. You are the daughter of an earl. You are courted by a duke. You have nothing to fear and nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know,” Catherine whispered.
