Page 86 of The Duke
And she is only twenty-four, Kate thought with amazed longing.She is only just starting to become the woman she will be.
Somewhere, a clock struck three. The tall, delicate statuary on the tables, dripping with angels and pots of sweets, trembled withevery step taken, every chair pushed back. Elsewhere, she heard Richard’s loud, friendly laugh.
He, who had every reason of friendship and love, hadn’t stood with her.
She didn’t think Celine hated her. She thought the distance Celine had enforced was to do with loss and saying goodbye. The loss of Celine suddenly felt very close, and very real, and it scared Kate to death. It was just beneath the surface now. She wouldn’t be able to keep it at bay for much longer.
Celine’s voice became a little hoarse, her mouth making beautiful shapes behind her hand as she laughed, her eyes thinning to wicked crescents as she delivered a witty riposte. Celine, sailing through an anecdote in English, looked up and caught Kate’s eye and faltered.
Kate told herself what was rational: Celine had her own reasons for making herself respectable and popular. She was hardly a blameless hero. But it was impossible not tofeel it. How her own enemies had become Celine’s enemies and had not been allowed to prevail. How she had been born into this fight, and had fought it alone from the age of thirteen, and had thought she would always fight it alone.
Celine’s attention was called away, breaking the eye contact between them. It was her suitor Lord Burnley, who stood solicitously behind her chair and spoke to her, his manner private. Celine cocked her head, listening, then nodded once. She put her hand in his and allowed him to help her rise. She followed him away from the table and out of the room.
He was going to address himself to her. He was going to propose.
And there was no way in hell Kate was going to let that happen.
What erupted through her, finally, was an annihilating truth that neither doubt nor fear could withstand: She loved Celine, and Celine was strong enough to take it.
She stood and followed Celine from the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The ball of Ten Thousand Lights, for Celine, was a perfect monster made of dream and nightmare meeting.
She wished the night would never end. It was the realisation of all her planning, and still nothing had prepared her for the glittering splendour of the ton, or the thrill of the ton’s adoring attention. May the sun be pinned in dark space and never bring light across the horizon again.
And yet…
It was agony being always across the room from the duke, unable to hear or talk to or touch her. It was agony to feel Markham’s attention always upon her, always watching from that one cold eye. Always reminding Celine what must be done, and that shecouldn’tstop the new day’s approach, and that happiness was only possible in the narrowest of terms.
“Is it true you know the,” Miss Finemore said, then mouthed,Marquess of Royston?
“Didn’t you see them dancing together earlier?” said Lady Florence Morton impatiently. She had claimed the seat nearest Celine, as Celine’s particular friend. “The marquess is her guardian’s cousin. Of course they know one another.”
Another debutante burst out, “I can’t thinkwhatpossessed Lord Seaton to invite Lord Royston, I heard she ravished a girl in broad daylight just the other day, and now the girl is dying of a wasting disease. Or at least, Mama says she ought, if she has any sense of propriety.”
“Will she come overhere, do you think?” Miss Finemore squeaked.
“Not when she’s dying,” the debutante said blankly, “no.”
“Not the girl,” said Miss Finemore. “TheRake.” She pronounced the word with an unmistakeable capitalR.
A quick scan of the room told Celine that Royce was nowhere to be seen. At a guess, she was in the garden deflowering something.
Across the room, yet another mama with blushing daughter in tow had approached the Duke of Howard to make introductions. The attention had been incessant, never abating the whole night, fans and giggles all vying for a shot at the unmarried duke. The duke had not, thus far, taken Celine’s suggestion on board and danced with any of them.
“Lord Royston is scandalous,” Florence said, “it is true, but in my opinion the truly unforgivable lapse was allowing that—thatbastardthrough the doors.” Florence sounded truly rattled, which drew Celine’s attention back to the conversation and her friend’s expression. She took Florence’s hand.
“Markham didn’t do anything to you, did she, Florence?” she asked, trying not to give away the extent of her concern.
Florence went a mortified pink and said, “Sheasked me to dance. Have you ever heard anything more absurd? I barely knewwhatto say.”
Celine’s hand tightened involuntarily. Had Markham grown bored and decided to prey on her friends? “I hope you turned her down?”
“My goodness, naturally I turned her down. No young woman could wish to dance with her.” Florence’s colour heightened. “It would be… deranged.”
Celine stroked her hand. “Well done, Florence,” she said warmly. “You did just as you ought. Promise me you won’t allow Markham near you again.”
