He was much closer now. How did he cross the room so quietly and quickly? Maybe even her husband could teach her a thing or two about moving more seductively. He moved like a predator afraid his prey would bolt.
“You look different today,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Cathy had to repress a shiver. He was looking at her as if he were starving, and she was his feast. He was making her feel things that she did not know how to handle.
Could this have worked so easily?
“Do you mean it in a positive sense?” she asked, her voice catching. “Or would you rather I...”
Tristan leaned in so that his face was mere inches away. He smelled of the stables and of sandalwood. He had been riding early in the morning.
“I think it suits you. However, is there something wrong with your neck?”
What?
“My neck?”
Was he merely worried about her the whole time she thought her seduction was working?
“Yes, your neck. You seem to favor one side? Are you in pain? A crick in it? Perhaps we need to find someone who can help you with it. Brandon knows a physician who is quite good with such things.”
Cathy stilled. Her neck was indeed aching from the unusual angle, but she did not expect the Duke to diagnose a medical ailment. Shame washed over her, but she refused to show it.
“A... a crick?” she echoed, her voice still stuck on the breathy quality she had started with. Would he diagnose a breathing problem next? Probably. “No, Your Grace. You are perhaps seeing me in a different way, given that I am not wearing my usual gowns today.”
Tristan looked at her strangely, then, and mumbled, “Perhaps. Still, I think a physician should see you just to be certain. You sound like you have run up and down the stairs. Are you feeling feverish?”
Smile, but not too widely. Slow and knowing.
“I am not feverish at all, Your Grace,” she replied, forcing her lips to form what she thought might be a seductive curve. She suspected she was merely baring her teeth when Tristan flinched.
How would anyone make a smileknowing? She narrowed her eyes as if she was conveying a secret between them. Instead of interest, confusion marred Tristan’s handsome features. His frown had deepened.
“Cathy, your eyes are twitching. Your jaw also looked like it had locked tight. You need to see the physician immediately. I will have him called from wherever he is right now.”
That was not the kind of attention Cathy was looking for.
“I was simply smiling!” Cathy snapped, her natural persona flaring up. All this pretense was truly making her ill.Then, she remembered her promise to her grandmother. She quickly softened her expression. Or at least, she tried. “I, uh... I meant that I am trying to smile as a welcome to my husband.”
Then, she remembered that she had not twirled her hair as taught. Her curls were so distracting, and she could not fathom having to use her finger for such silliness.
But she wanted to follow her grandmother’s advice, anything that would salvage her at this point. Therefore, she used her index finger to wrap a strand around it and twirl. She did it slowly and deliberately, as she was instructed, while gazing into Tristan’s eyes. However, anxiety had her twirling a little too vigorously. The curl, slick with something Mrs. Collins applied, had her finger stuck in a certain position.
“Ow,” she whispered, as she tried to no avail to pull her finger from her hair.
“Are you all right?” Tristan sounded absolutely aghast. He came closer and gripped her wrist. “What in all that is holy are you trying to do? You are going to pull strands from your scalp! Do you want to go bald?”
“Do not worry, Your Grace. I am merely playing with my hair,” she replied, as she tried to make her efforts subtler. “It is, uh, supposed to be quite feminine. It can be considered a... flirtatious gesture by some.”
Tristan kept on staring at her as if she had grown three more heads. His grip on her wrist remained.
“A flirtatious gesture?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “I see. So, all of these things were part of that? I was about to call the physician!”
“No, I was... I was merely trying something!” Cathy whispered. “Can we simply forget everything that happened?”
“Already forgotten,” Tristan said, finally letting go of her. “The curls are lovely if you do not try to rip them from your head.”
Cathy exhaled audibly, stepping back from the Duke. She wanted to be free of this. It was a strange feeling, lighter skirts and the cool air hitting the tops of her breasts. Should she still try some more?