CHAPTER 10
“Just who are you, Catherine?” Alaric murmured as he leaned over the balcony, watching Catherine in the gardens below.
He had gone out to get some fresh air, hoping to clear his thoughts and his mind after his conversation with his wife. He massaged his jaw as he watched her kneel in the dirt beside the little boy.
He does look like me.Alaric’s brow furrowed as he watched Catherine chat animatedly with the child. He saw the boy’s muscles relax, and he could hear Catherine speaking in gentle but friendly tones. It was as if she had known Oliver forever.
He heard laughter and realized that it was Oliver’s mingling with Catherine’s. It reminded him of the way she had laughed earlier, of how the sound had burrowed into his chest even as a part of him bristled at it.
“We are strangers, and she does not want to know me,” he said, gripping the balustrade and shaking his head. “I did not want to know her, at least—that is what she claims.”
He continued watching them, his mind tumbling over thoughts of their conversation. “What kind of man was I, that I did not even want to know you?”
‘I know you would not enactthat sort of monstrosity.’Her words echoed in his head, and he stepped away from the edge of the balcony, just as he saw her body tense as though to look around. He slipped into his study.
“I will not interrupt their moment.” He pictured the anger in her eyes.
His eyes drifted to the papers on his desk. He could still smell the faint lavender of her perfume and realized that his fingers were stretched as though reaching for the spot hers had rested.
The amount of whiskey she had poured remained untouched, but her glass bore the imprint of her lips from where she had taken a drink of what he had given her.
Every muscle in Alaric’s body tensed, and he let out a growl of frustration. “Do not be such a letch. The woman does not want you, and you did not want her. There must have been a reason for that.”
It makes no sense.He sat down at his desk and pulled a pile of documents toward him. The numbers and letters swam before him, but he forced himself to stare at them. The smell of lavender grew stronger.
“I wonder what her favorite flower is?” His eyes drifted to the balcony. “Not that it matters. What would I do? Buy her a dozen of them? Plant them in the garden for her?”
Why not?The tiny voice in his mind seemed almost reasonable. “She wants us to live separate lives. And it is what I wanted.”
The clock chimed, and he let out a sigh. “I am not going to get anything done, not when my mind keeps drifting to her. And I do not even know why it does. Why do I want to know her?”
The words made his heart race, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. He frowned. “And why does that unnerve me?”
He pushed himself away from the desk and shook his head. “Perhaps a ride into town could help. I could do with the fresh air. And I think I remember how to ride.”
The servants had not seemed keen to let him test this particular skill, but he felt that if he did not do something, he would wear a hole in the castle floor with his pacing. “I am their Duke, and they will listen to me.”
Something stirred in the back of his mind, and the image of a younger man, practically a boy, hurtling on horseback throughthe countryside filled his mind. His heart raced as though he was that boy; he felt the thrill of the gallop, could practically smell horses, mud, and sweat.
He put a hand over his head, feeling the familiar dull throb. His heart was racing, but not with fear. It was the sort of feeling that stirred within someone when they stood at a cliff edge and jumped into the waters below, knowing that they would survive.
Why do I think this is something I have done?
Alaric suspected it was not the sort of question his servants could answer, nor could Catherine. He thought of the way her eyes had searched him, reminding him of a wild animal cornered by a hunter.
The smell of horse lingered, the restless energy in Alaric bubbled to the surface and he nodded, striding from his study.A ride, fresh air. That will clear my head.
“I did not even ask her for her hand.” Alaric rubbed his jaw. “I arranged everything and told her how it would be. Of course, she hates me.”
Spoiled goods.Catherine’s words echoed in his mind, and the same venomous rage surged within him. The idea that someone could think such a thing about her, that anyone would be so foolish as to say it, made his fingers tighten as if reaching for an invisible throat.
“She does not deserve that. No one does.” Alaric growled, so lost in his own thoughts that he did not realize that Catherine and Oliver were walking toward him until he saw the boy flinch away and hide behind her.
Alaric stopped, realized how tense his jaw was, and knew what the boy must be seeing. He kicked himself mentally.
He may not be my son, but I do not want him to be scared of me.
He saw Catherine tense, but she said nothing. Alaric glanced at Oliver, who was peering out from behind her skirts. Slowly, Alaric kneeled down so that he was eye level with Oliver, but did not move toward him.
