“Would you care to drink some tea with me?” she asked, this time with her normal voice. She did not want Tristan to think she was close to fainting.
“Ah,” Tristan mused. “I suppose that is a good way to follow my early morning ride, a nice, soothing drink.”
They sat together in front of the table where the tea set was still arranged. To Cathy’s horror, her movements were stiff instead of graceful, despite her efforts. Tristan seemed unaware, even as she tried to spread her skirts artistically. Meanwhile, he appeared completely at ease, sitting as if nothing was wrong at all, even though her plan had been falling apart since the moment he entered the morning room.
Now, it is time to lean forward, she thought. She had to look interested in what he had to say. Perhaps she was. She wanted to know if he found the whole thing ridiculous. If he found her ridiculous.
She leaned to pour his cup, ensuring that he would have a view of her low neckline. It was a shameful thing, and she swore that even the tops of her breasts were blushing. While doing so, she tried to casually look at the Duke through her lashes. It was quite a feat, looking at him while trying not to spill the tea.
“Well, it is a lovely morning,” she murmured. “Do you not think?”
Tristan’s gaze was not on her neck, no matter how much she tried to flaunt it. Was it really swan-like, or was she just a tall woman with long limbs and neck? She noticed how the Duke’s eyes darkened, the confusion replaced by something raw and hungry, though. His eyes were not on her neck, but lower, on her bosoms.
It must be working. I am seducing him!
Cathy should be ashamed at that moment, but she felt triumph in her veins. However, while trying to look sultry, she forgot she was holding the teapot. She had tilted it too far, and the tea missed the porcelain cup, dripping onto the plate beneath andonto the fresh lace doily!
“Oh, no!” she cried, jerking back from the accident.
In her haste to straighten the pot, she hit her teacup with her elbow. The fragile china clattered to the floor, spilling tea on the hem of her skirt.
“Blast!” Cathy cried as she attempted to steady herself. Her Miss Priggish persona flew out of whatever window had been opened by the failed seduction. “Of all the hopelessly clumsy—”
“Let me help you,” Tristan said calmly, as she wished she could just sink into the earth.
He rose to help her dab herself with a napkin, and after that, she just did not want to do any more of the seduction steps her grandmother taught her.
I give up.
“I believe it is best if I retire to my study,” said Tristan as he got to his feet.
“No! I... You mentioned something when you came in,” she said, smoothing her skirts with what she hoped was an air of dignity rather than desperation. “When you first entered, you said I might find something interesting.”
“Oh, yes.” He reached into his coat and produced the crumpled paper. He smoothed it against the table with his palm, taking more time over it than was strictly necessary, before sliding it toward her. “I received it this morning. I thought you should see it before I did anything about it.”
Cathy took it. Her eyes moved across the lines once, quickly, and then again more slowly, because the first reading had not quiteconvinced her that she had seen what she thought she had seen.
It was from the Marlow estate steward. The wheat tithe miscalculation she had been wrestling with for weeks had finally revealed its source—a clerk who had been quietly skimming from the accounts for the better part of two years. The amounts were not enormous, but accumulated over time, they were significant enough to explain several of the shortfalls that had been keeping her up at night.
“How did you come by this?” she asked.
“I had my own man look at the accounts,” he said. “I hope that does not offend you. I did not intend to interfere; I simply wanted to help.”
“No... It does not offend me,” she said carefully. “It is... I am grateful. This has been troubling me for some time.”
“I know,” he said. “I could tell.”
She looked back down at the letter. She needed somewhere to rest her eyes that was not his face.
“The clerk will need to be dismissed and the matter referred to a solicitor,” she said, because practicality was the safest ground available to her at that moment. “I will write to the steward this afternoon.”
“We will write to him,” Tristan said. “Together. I know these accounts better than you might think. I have been reading your notes.”
She was not accustomed to those words being directed at her regarding her family’s disasters. She had always been the one who dealt with things alone. The idea that someone might simply sit across a table from her and say we as if it were themost natural thing in the world was so entirely foreign to her experience that she did not immediately know what to do with it.
“Well, I will leave you to...” He gestured vaguely at the letter, the tea set, the morning room in general. “All of this.”
“Of course,” Cathy said.