Page 17 of The Duchess Games

She just wasn’t Cat.

He might not have had many opportunities to speak to Caitriona since that brief summer before his father died, but he recalled every interaction. Vividly. The way the sun burned red in her dark hair, her easy smile. The fact that she always had mud on her boots or dog fur on her hem. Simple things that should not draw him to her but did. Every single time. Duchess material or not.

Not that she would notice. He made very sure of that. Too many eyes tracked his every movement, his every expression when he went into public. It was safer to hide it all behind the icy ducal façade of a Tremaine.

She was reason enough to stay and see this farce through. How else was he to spend any time with her?

Perhaps Summer was right, after all. This could be a blessing in disguise.

“May as well cross Miss Lewis off the list too, then,” Summer said. “She’s only just turned twenty.”

He shuddered.

Caitriona was a woman, not a girl. She had curves and confidence. She looked a man in the eye. And she’d never once giggled to placate him. Not that he would mind if she did—and not that he would ever say so.

Summer patted his arm, misreading his expression. “I know it’s gruesome, but I really do think it might be good for you. I just want you to be happy, Callum.”

He blinked, bewildered. “I am happy. Well, I was. Before today.”

“Happier then.”

“I’m hardly the sort to dance a jig either way, Summer.”

“I suppose. And it’s not the material point, is it?”

“What is, then?”

“Caitriona Sparrow,” Summer informed him smugly.

Callum froze. “Don’t.”

She scowled at him. “You don’t. I’m not blind, you idiot. Not now and not when we were younger.”

“Summer.”

“I like her.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“And I know you like her too.”

He nearly snorted. Like was such an insipid word. One liked tea with lemon. Gothic novels. Warm blankets in winter. What he felt for Caitriona was both desperate and steadying. Unyielding. And it went deeper, so much deeper. Craving. Worship. Need.

One didn’t like breathing. It was simply a necessity.

Summer dropped the subject, but he knew it was only a momentary reprieve. She was as relentless as their mother, in her own way. “Well, at the very least this will be so much more fun than the usual sneak attacks by matchmaking mamas and desperate papas.”

“Fun for you.”

“Well, naturally. But I mean to fix this for you, Callum. Leave it to me, little brother. I have a feeling about this.”

“I swear the devil himself just shuddered.”

“The devil is nothing,” Summer scoffed, a hard gleam in her eye. “I mean to take on Maman. And I mean to win.”

“You always do,” Blackpool interrupted with a smirk, suddenly leaning in the doorway. He smiled his crooked smile in Summer’s direction.

She scowled, as expected. “What are you doing here?”