But she would never say those words, so she settled on a believable lie. “My sisters insisted. They were quite taken with the dress, by the way.”
“They have wonderful taste,” he responded. Catriona caught herself before she smiled at that. “And why weren’t you? Taken with the dress, I mean.”
“I never said that I wasn’t. I simply thought it too much for a gift. Going to the modiste, however, gave me a bit of control on how to take advantage of your kindness.”
“And by that I assume you mean you decided to choose the most unattractive dress you could find just to spite me?”
She couldn’t stop herself this time. She blurted out in laughter, more amused by his assumption than offended. Catriona hid her smile behind her hand, but she didn’t miss the spark of surprise in his eyes.
“I should probably be upset that you think I would do such a thing, but I suppose I cannot blame you for coming to such a conclusion,” she said. “But no, I did not do that. I did, however, bring my own fabric.”
“Did you now?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as if he was truly in tuned with the conversation. “May I see it?”
Catriona frowned. “Whatever for?”
“I am curious,” he said simply.
That only deepened her confusion, but she supposed there was no shame in showing him?
“One moment, then.” She stood and left.
The moment she was out of the drawing room, Catriona quickened her steps, making it to her bedchamber in a matter of minutes. She fetched the last scrap of tartan from the back of her armoire before heading back, ignoring that small voice of nervousness about what he would say when he saw it. Would he care that it was not one of the commonly used fabrics in London? Would it bother him that she was still so attached to her Scottish heritage?
That irrational nervousness only grew maddening when she returned. He was in the same spot, watching her as she returnedto her seat. Catriona held out the fabric with as straight a face as she could manage.
Joseph gave it one look before tucking it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Catriona asked with a frown.
“Keeping it,” he answered with ease. Then he stood, holding a hand out to her. The way he towered over her did unspeakable things to her insides. “Let us begin.”
“Begin what?”
He tutted, a sound she never thought she would ever hear come from him. It only confused her further, and she could do nothing but stare up at him. “So full of questions,” he muttered.
“Valid questions,” she told him.
He didn’t answer. He simply took her hand and guided her to stand then he said, “It’s time for your first lesson.”
“Oh?”
“I will be teaching you how to dance.”
“I already know how to dance,” she snapped. “Surely you must think more highly of me. We even danced once if you recall.”
“Of course, I recall,” he said with such quickness that she momentarily forgot her consternation. “And you are a skilled dancer, Catriona. However, you will need to know far more than waltzes if you expect to become a proper duchess.”
“And what makes you think that I don’t already know other dances?”
He raised a brow. “Do you?”
She crossed her arms, annoyed that she’d just backed herself into a corner. She didn’t know anything other than the waltz and the Scottish Highland dances that she was certain would never make an appearance at any London ball.
Again, there was that hint of a smile on his face before it was gone. Though it might have just been smugness.
“Let us begin then,” he said. And she had no argument. “We’ll begin with the quadrille.”
Catriona held back her protests. It felt appropriate as she was not one to simply sit back and allow someone to tell her what to do, but he was right. As much as she hated it, she knew she could not hope to be a wallflower at any balls she attended in the future. She couldn’t hide behind her sisters any longer, pretending she didn’t care that no one would ask her to dance.
