Cathy had never been in such a situation before. After all, the wholetonwas calling her Miss Priggish behind her back. Being in the same room as a half-naked man without a chaperone, where her hand ended up holding a duke’s... Oh, it was unthinkable!
Her silver-backed hairbrush hit the vanity with a crack, metal on wood, but it sounded more like a pistol firing in her quiet room. She stared at her reflection as she tried to breathe more evenly. There was no lady’s maid to twist her hair into the latest fashions, nobody to give her water to soothe her nerves. The Quintens had long since been forced to forego such luxuries.
While she and her sisters would sometimes complain about the lack of a maid, that morning, it felt like a blessing. Had someone come to wake her, the scandal would have been difficult to contain. Wrestling with her own heavy hair at least left her alone with her shame.
“Stop,” Cathy scolded herself as she watched her pale face in the mirror. “Control yourself, Cathy. The Duke of Baxter is no longer here. He is back to whatever depravity he usually indulges in, doing everything before his wedding to his poor bride-to-be.”
Cathy did not like what her reflection was showing her. She was not yet calm, with her chest heaving and her pupils dilated. Her whole body was still vibrating, and her palm could still feel him. His velvet heat. His rigid length. A lingering heat betrayed her feeling of indignation.
She rose from her seat and began to pace on the rug that ran from the bed to the window. Every time she glanced at her bed, her stomach did a little flip. The linens were still a tangled mess, and both she and the Duke were responsible. She had never shared a bed with anyone other than her sisters.
“Indecent,” she gasped, clutching her chest. Then, she strode toward her bed and yanked the duvet off. “Wretched rake!”
Yet she was not truly mad at him. She was angrier at herself. How could she let the man get under her skin? Worse, what made her take such leave of her senses that she would wake up next to a well-known rake? A man about to be married at that?
Tristan Radcliffe had always been a menace. Cathy had known him for years, although they had never been within the same circle of acquaintances. It was said that the Duke could charm even the most sensible women, leaving a trail of broken hearts and near scandals. It was a surprise that he had decided to settle down, but she supposed men like him would play with many women, choosing one they deemed had the best reputation to be their obedient little wife.
“That man is… everything I have sworn to avoid,” she whispered, the words sounding hollow and forced. It was merely a desperate attempt to straighten her moral compass after it had been shaken.
Still, she knew that it would look worse to everyone at the party if she did not come out of her room at all. Therefore, it was best if she dressed with her usual grim efficiency, and that was what she did.
As if punishing herself, Cathy chose to wear her most restrictive corset. She used a bedpost to help tighten the back, then reached behind her to knot the laces. She wore gray, as if she were just emerging from a year of mourning rather than seeking suitors. Because, in truth, who would have a spinster like her for a wife? Perhaps a vicar—at least one who could endure a combative wife. Or perhaps a widower seeking someone who could manage a household.
Cathy sighed.
Truth be told, her dress was more like armor. She dreaded leaving her room, wondering if anyone had heard her scream earlier. Did anyone see the disheveled duke come out of the room? She shuddered at the possibility. When she did get the courage to step into the hallway, she felt like the very walls were listening for her approach. For what she planned to do next.
Walking to the breakfast room felt like a struggle. Her heart pounded in her chest, reaching its peak when the aroma of coffee drifted to her nose, along with the cacophony of voices.
A footman opened the door for Cathy, and when she stepped inside, the sound rose even higher.
Suddenly, the noise stopped abruptly as she approached the tables. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. Her legs felt like lead as she took the walk toward the refreshment table. Was everyone watching her, or was it just her imagination?
No. Why would they be watching me?
Yet, Lady Cooper gaped at her with a fork almost inside her mouth, while Lord Victor lowered the newspaper he was often engrossed in. The clattering of utensils seemed to have ceased in unison.
“Thank heavens you are here, Cathy!” her younger sister, Madeline, exclaimed.
Before Cathy could try to duck from everyone and plan an escape route, Madeline intercepted her.
“Please lower your voice, Maddy,” Cathy whispered. The last thing she wanted was for people to turn her way. “I... it feels like the whole room is watching me.”
Her younger sister, at twenty, looked vibrant in pinks and yellows, reflecting her cheerful attitude.
“That is because theyarewatching you,” Madeline insisted, although she lowered her voice and pulled Cathy to a corner slightly obscured by leafy plants. “They have been talking about you and His Grace since sunrise! The whole house party is in disarray about the game you two were playing last night.”
“What game?”
It was strange not to remember anything at all about whatever terrible mistakes she had made the night before. She normally kept up appearances. The thought of embarrassing herself so blatantly made her shudder. She might not agree witheverything society had to offer, but she would rather linger in the shadows.
“Yes!The Great Competition, as some people have been calling it. Lord Althorp seemed particularly impressed that a woman was able to write poetry and handle mathematics and turn it into a competition against a man!” Madeline reported excitedly.
What have you done, Cathy!
“The... the what?” Cathy knew the day was not going to go well, but this was worse than she expected. The blood rushed out of her face.
“How could you have forgotten?” her sister asked. “You were magnificent! You wrote such compelling poetry in less than ten minutes. He did, as well, but yours was infinitely better.”