“I never... I always remember my grandmama arguing with my papa at dinner, and my mama trying to enforce peace at the table. I suppose I was afraid that something similar might happen tonight.”
“I would never put you in such a position, Cathy.” Tristan took her hand in his.
“Thank you. We lost our mother when we were still young. Everything fell apart, then. I found myself trying to do anything to care for my sisters, and I just... feel responsible about everything that has to do with them.”
“What about your father, then?” Tristan asked.
Cathy’s spine hardened. The memory of mounting debts and empty chairs rose from her, together with her walls rising up around her.
Harleigh Quinten had never been much of a father to her and her sisters, and yet, she had always felt responsible for him, too.
“My papa has been the object of jokes in theton. If it were only because of his pedigree, I would have defended him. But everyone knows about his gambling and drinking problems. After my scandal, he simply emptied our coffers and vanished.”
A tear escaped, but she wiped it angrily. It tracked a path through the rouge she carefully applied on her cheek.
“It is normal to feel angry, Cathy. He left you all to fight on your own without a penny to your name.”
“I know. I should be so angry. But you know what is worse? I know should hate him; I know I should feel furious with him, but instead, all I feel is worry. I am worried about where he is and what he is doing. I just... do you think that makes me crazy?”
“No, Cathy. I think it makes you wonderful and kind. But I do not like to see you worried. I will find him for you,” Tristan promised, his eyes dark and serious.
“What?” she asked, surprised by such a promise, one that sounded like a deadly vow.
“I promise you that I will find your father, and I will bring him back,” Tristan reiterated.
Chapter 20
“Idid not expect a visit from you so soon after our arrival,” Tristan said. “Is that a new nightgown, wife?”
It was not a new nightgown. However, Cathy knew she finally had to take her seduction game to the next level. She blushed from the roots of her hair to her toes at the thought. When had she become this woman? The one who dressed in her most revealing nightgown and knocked at her husband’s door at night. The one trembling and palpitating before him.
He stood by the doorway of his chambers, blocking the path with his large body. His cravat was long discarded, and his shirt unbuttoned, low enough that she could spy on his throat and his well-defined chest. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, revealing powerful forearms. He looked like he had already been in bed, or had been running his fingers through the strands of his hair.
“I... it is not a new gown,” she replied, her heart slamming in her chest.
Cathy kept her hands hidden behind her back because they were shaking violently. But she had already decided she would go through with this. She chose a simple cream nightgown, made of cotton and lace. It exposed her neck, and though she was covered, she felt almost naked.Very little came between her and the man who owned her thoughts.
“Are you not well, then?” Tristan asked, tilting his head to the side.He scanned her from head to toe. However, he had lingered on her neck as if he could see the frantic pulse even in the semi-darkness.
“Everything is fine, Your Grace,” she said, her voice finally steadier. Inside, she was still a trembling wreck.
Cathy gave Tristan a composed smile, one she had practiced in front of the mirror several times. It was supposed to be the smile of a temptress, confident and self-aware. However, she suspected he could read her well and knew she was counting in her head.
One. Two. Three.
Don’t let him see the real me.
“What do you need, then?” he asked, his voice turning husky as if he already knew what she was there for.
“M-may I come in?” she asked. “I thought we should spend more time together without an audience.”
Tristan stepped back. He moved with the grace of a predator, giving his prey space to enter his lair. It made Cathy wonder whether the whole thing was truly her idea. The door clicked behind her.
His adjoining bedchamber was about the same size as hers, but felt larger because he had fewer decorations. He had a large canopy bed, side tables, a writing table, and a chair. There was one large rug and a dresser. There were no paintings on the walls, but the place felt like his own because of the scent of sandalwood. Entering his room, Cathy was surrounded by everything that reminded her of him. Her knees shook.
“You surprised me at every turn today,” he murmured, his gravelly voice making her shiver. He quickly moved to her side, the heat of his body emanating toward her own. “This is the best surprise yet. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my private bedchamber, Cathy?”
She remembered her grandmother’s voice telling her that rakish dukes tended to be distracted. Their eyes would wander to the next woman. She reached out for his sleeve, feeling the man beneath it. Solid and warm.