Page 46 of The Duchess Games

Matthew gave a start when he spotted Callum. He stopped, mid-yawn. “Who’s that?”

“This is His Grace.”

“Go on with ’ee.”

Cat glanced at Callum, then snickered at her brother. “No, really.”

“Oh.” He blinked rapidly, looking uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable. There was panic there, stuffed behind the bravado of a seventeen-year-old boy. “I should put on pants.”

Caitriona rolled her eyes. The footsteps above them picked up speed.

And doubled.

Matthew wasn’t alone. Poor girl. She was likely mortified. Callum moved his gaze to the window out of courtesy.

“Why don’t I show you the goat,” Cat blurted out.

Through the wavy glass, he caught the unmistakable shape of a young man dropping from the loft window and fleeing through the garden in his underwear.

Cat froze. The worry came off of her in waves. Percival pressed his giant nose in her palm. “You don’t want to see a goat,” she said quickly. “How about some tea?”

Callum shifted, his expression turning cold and ducal, hiding any real feelings behind the façade of a dignified Tremaine. Their mother had demanded that of him practically since birth. He was grateful for it for the first time in his life because it meant he did not betray a hint that he had seen anything. Not even when Matthew threw himself down the ladder at a breakneck pace and Cat turned on her heel with a wide, distracting smile, placing herself between him and her brother. Protecting him.

Callum wanted to tell her she never had anything to fear from him. Ever. For any reason. He would have if he’d thought she’d believe him. But he knew she would feel better if she thought he hadn’t noticed anything. Truthfully, he could not have cared less where her brother found his pleasure. But he understood why she looked ready to do battle with a minotaur. There were those who would see young Matthew severally punished. Hurt. Outright murdered over it. And those blackguards would have an unjust law at their behest.

All that mattered to Callum was Cat. And her happiness.

Period.

Matthew ran a hand over his hair, smiling ruefully. His cheeks were red. “Apologies, Your Grace.”

“No need,” Callum said. “I’m in your home unexpectedly. And rather early.”

Matthew snorted. “Cat doesn’t sleep.” She pinched him. “Ouch. What?”

“You’re not supposed to talk about sleeping,” she hissed.

“I was talking about not-sleeping.”

“Well, that too.”

“I haven’t even pissed yet, Cat. The sun’s barely up. It’s too early to scold me.” He frowned. “Now what? Why are you so red in the face?”

“You’re not supposed to talk about bodily functions either.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

“He’s right,” Callum said.

Cat blinked, surprised. He didn’t blame her. The entire mask and shield of his persona as the duke relied on the rules her brother just maligned. But even with the hidden panic and the embarrassment Cat tried to hide, this cottage was already warmer than his estate had ever been. She’d scoff and think him an idiot, but he’d trade a hundred gold candlesticks for dog fur on the chairs and ale spills on the table. Even as he thought it, she wiped at it hastily with a cloth, shooting her brother daggers.

“Percival did it with his tail,” he said.

She turned slowly. “Are you blaming my dog?”

“That thing is a menace.”

“That thing will piss on your bed if I ask him to.”