Page 10 of The Duchess Games

Before she could consider it more closely, a gasp sounded from inside an open door. Heads turned as one, glasses stilled, still touching lips. “Bollocks,” Callum said under his breath. “I assumed they’d still be in the main parlor.”

The guests had begun a tour of the house, admiring paintings and marble floors and silk wallpaper. Not to mention a very damp duke and a woman soaked through and with hair that no doubt had not been improved by the attention. It clung like seaweed to the side of her neck. “We should have taken the kitchen door,” Cat whispered.

“I would not insult your dignity,” Callum said, without an ounce of irony.

“Dignity is overrated.” There were at least six women and three men within direct eyesight who had noticed their closeness, the air of a shared moment, and might now cheerfully strangle her before dinner.

Behind them, Viola darted towards the stairs, slippers in hand. She looked like a beautiful selkie in search of her sealskin. Cat was fairly certain she looked like Jenny Greenteeth, haunting the waterways in search of children to steal. She would have known it even without the shocked glares currently being hurled in her direction.

“I’d rather face ten snapping turtles,” Callum muttered.

“You’re not the one they are going to bite.”

He looked down at her. “They aren’t going to bite you either,” he said, dark and low. “I can promise you that.”

Chapter Four

“Well, I am quite sure you made an impression,” Viola chortled an hour later as she finished pinning up her hair. “Mother always said it was better to be odd than forgettable.”

“I’m not sure this is what she meant.”

“It’s exactly what she meant, and you know it.”

Fair point. Their mother would have loved hearing every ridiculous second of the story, once she’d been assured of the safety of the turtle, of course. Cat did not mention the way Callum had made her feel, standing in his shirtsleeves. Looking at her so directly. At thirty, she was accustomed to not being looked at all or else expected to swoon with gratitude for a mere glance. But Callum had not only looked at her, he had made her feel seen.

In just a few minutes, and with a peevish turtle between them. Even if she wasn’t confident that he liked what he saw.

He was clearly very, very dangerous.

She resolved to stop thinking about him. He might one day be her brother-in-law. Worse, if she followed through with her plans, he would hate her.

When she followed through with her plans.

She had no choice. Not if she wanted to keep a roof, however crooked and leaky, over their heads. Not if she wanted to keep the cottage with its secret slipway to the beach and its surprisingly large cellar. She had her siblings to look after, not to mention a menagerie of creatures great and small. And a village teetering on the brink of disaster.

Never mind the threat of being deported to Australia.

Or hanged.

Her brother already went out with the fishing boats more often than she liked. Between the storms, the rival smugglers, and the French, it was dangerous work. He already looked so much like their father. And fishing wasn’t what called to him. He’d rather be a blacksmith and though Arthur, the village smith, had showed him what he could, neither could afford a proper apprenticeship. Yet.

She’d find a way.

Somehow.

And a duke could survive anything. A spinster in Little Crumpet with very few coins to her name was another matter altogether. If she stumbled, there was no one to catch her. Or her family. Everyone in the village were in similar straits.

The duke wouldn’t know a strait if it bit him on his very perfect nose.

With the reminder doing little to mitigate the sour burning in her belly, Cat turned back to her sister with a forced smile. This was supposed to be a holiday for Viola. A chance at a different life, even if she herself did not see the appeal. To be fair, she saw the appeal of a full belly and never having to clean a chamber pot again, but she did not see the appeal of living in London and choking on coal smoke. Not when you could live by the sea with its pink sunsets and wild storms.

“I suppose my dramatic entrance hardly signifies,” she said lightly. “As I am not competing. Hopefully, I haven’t damaged your chances though.”

“As if I would ever marry a man who was not kind to you,” Viola said, pulling a curl from her chignon to lay over her shoulder. It made her look as delicate as a cameo. A tiny pearl lay between her collarbones. She’d found it herself one night over a supper of oysters and clams in fish broth. Matthew had carefully pushed a needle through it over the course of the next day and Cat had found a gold ribbon in her mother’s memory box. They’d put it together as a present for Viola’s twentieth birthday and she’d barely taken it off since.

“Anyway,” she added, turning away from the looking glass. “You saved me. Thank you, Cat.”

Cat waved it away. “What are big sisters for?”