“I was not aware that we were fighting.”
“It feels that way. It feels like you’re upset with me.”
She was tempted to continue playing that game of indifference, but she lost the will all too soon, so she braved looking up at him instead, meeting his eyes. “Will it always be like this, Joseph? Am I to expect that every time we grow a little closer, every time you open up to me, you pull away?”
“I am not pulling away,” he protested softly.
But she shook her head. “You are. You know it.”
His brows dipped slightly. Conflict shadowed his eyes as he searched hers. Catriona didn’t look away. She hardly paid attention to her steps, to the fact that they were twirling about in a waltz, pressed against each other in a manner that was onlyproper between a married couple. Her only focus was on what he was going to say next.
“You always knew what this was, Catriona.”
Disappointment, hurt, and shame came crashing down on her in thunderous waves. She blinked against the force of tears that rushed to her eyes, and then she looked away when she found herself losing the fight. It took a moment to compose herself, to force back the pain that wrapped around her heart so securely, she thought she would never find herself again.
At that moment, she knew. She’d always suspected, but now, she was certain.
She was in love with him.
And he could never, would never, love her.
“I know,” she managed to say without her voice cracking. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but she would at least get her next words out without breaking into a thousand pieces. “I know. But I do not think I can bear it.”
The end of the dance could not have come at a better time. Catriona eagerly pulled away from him, barely dipping into the barest of curtsies before she slipped away. She heard him call her name, but she didn’t stop, didn’t see the faces of onlookers past the blur of tears in her eyes. She headed straight for the closest door, grateful to find that it was an empty parlor, wentto the furthest chair she could find, and then cried until she had nothing left in her.
CHAPTER 21
It was killing him.
The silence. The tension. The feeling of dread that he might have made a terrible mistake. The fear that he knew what might be the cause of it.
Another sleepless night kept Joseph pacing back and forth in his bedchamber. The moment they’d returned from the ball, in complete silence, Catriona had headed straight to her bedchamber and locked herself inside. He’d knocked almost thirty minutes after they returned home, well after midnight, but she didn’t answer him. He couldn’t tell if it was because she’d already retired to bed or because she was ignoring him.
That sensation of dread told him that it was the latter.
Unable to stop himself, Joseph made his way to the wall adjoining hers and pressed his ear against it, listeningdesperately for any signs of movement. He jerked away a moment later, embarrassed by his actions.
“You wanted this, Joseph,” he said to himself, recommencing his pacing. “You were the one who told her that there could be nothing between you two. And there is nothing.”
He paused, looking longingly at the wall attached to her room as if he could somehow see her through it.
Then why did he feel like this? Like he was making a terrible mistake? This was what was best for everyone involved, and he knew it. If he dared to get any closer to Catriona, she may entertain ideas of love. She might actually fall in love with him. And if he could not return her feelings, would she succumb to her sadness like Hannah had?
The very thought felt like a cord around his neck.
Thankfully, his thoughts were broken by the sound of a knock. Joseph flew across the room to his door in a second. He yanked it open, hoping to see Catriona standing on the other end.
It was Dorothea.
She was in her pale nightgown, gripping the sides of it with big, teary eyes. “Daddy…”
Joseph sank to his knees, putting his hands on her shoulders in alarm. “Dorothea, what’s the matter? Were you crying?”
The answer to his question came in the form of a sniffle. One tear fell. “I had a bad dream.”
He hesitated. His mind emptied. What did one say to a seven-year-old child who was crying from a bad dream? That everything would be all right?
“Can I sleep with you?” she pleaded.
