Page 105 of Go, Rogue

“Menace—” he begins, but she only gives him that wrong smile once more.

“Your Grace,” she whispers. “I’ll see you this evening. It’s the Yule Ball, don’t forget.” And in just a few steps, she’s out the door, taking his heart with her.

Catherine wishes she had time to wallow, but she doesn’t. She arrives at the governor general’s mansion with the sun still hidden behind the clouds, but the new day has already begun—the day of the Yule Ball, and the last day she will spend as Lady Catherine West. The sky above her is heavy and gray, overburdened with clouds, as if to mirror her heart.

Her conversation with Andrew that morning had only confirmed what she’d already known but hadn’t wanted to face: Andrew McGann is the Duke of Barclay. And she can never return to her life as Lady Catherine West.

Even if she wished to—and she does not—she’s ruined her reputation beyond repair. A duke would not, could not, come within a nautical mile of her. Least of all one who, given his parentage and the manner of his accession, will have troubles enough of his own.

For him to survive the court cases, the peerage, and all the machinations that are about to erupt into his life like an undersea quake, his reputation will have to be spotless. He’ll need to marry the most sterling, upstanding lady of society he can find. And that is certainly not her. A woman who jilted her fiancé at the altar and then ran away to sea.

No. Especially not now that he has a dream worth chasing. She’d heard that wonder in his voice this morning; it was beautiful. And she won’t tarnish it with her presence in his life.

She quietly lets herself in through the servant’s entrance and climbs the stairs to lay down in bed, only to be found moments later by Claire, bringing in a tray of tea and toast. If her absence had been noted earlier this morning, it isn’t mentioned now.

“Morning, Miss,” Claire says. “Mrs. Masters is already up, and Sir Cleveland is eager to meet with you both.”

“Yes, thank you,” Catherine replies. “Please tell them I’ll be down in a moment.”

She dresses in a hurry and then joins Sir Cleveland and Elizabeth in the governor general’s office.

“Are you certain?” Sir Cleveland asks fifteen minutes later, for what feels like the millionth time in their short conversation.

“I am,” she says. “And it’s easily provable. Any Scottish barrister could tell you—or any legal tract, for that matter. Andrew McGann is the Duke of Barclay if his parents married at any time, before or after he was born. It makes no difference if the title is Scottish, which it is.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sir Cleveland says. “Will he accept it?”

Catherine nods. “I think he might. If he can find a way to make it beneficial.”

“Beneficial?” Cleveland asks. “How could inheriting a dukedom not be beneficial?”

“I believe she meant to others, Uncle,” Elizabeth says.

Catherine reaches over and squeezes her hand. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”

“He’ll be the duke, for Christ’s sake,” Cleveland replies. “He can do whatever he wants. For whomever he wants. That’s the whole point of being a duke.”

“You will speak with him, Catherine, won’t you?” Elizabeth asks. “And do remind him of the Yule Ball. It’s this evening, after all.”

“Elizabeth,” Cleveland chides, “this is hardly the time to worry over invitations.”

“On the contrary, Uncle,” she says. “It is exactly the right time. Barclay—or Lord Evans, I suppose he is now—is in prison. Andrew must claim his place, and the Ball hosted by yourself, celebrating Yule, is the perfect time to do it. You must show your support of McGann as the rightful heir.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cleveland says, and Catherine feels the bars of the cage closing securely around them. Around him, especially.

The political machinations are beginning—right here and now, in this very conversation. Who shows support and how and why and when. What the weight of a reputation is worth, and who gets to assess it. Who has power and who does not. Who aligns with whom. She knows this world intimately and she wants nothing to do with it. Andrew won’t want it either, but he won’t be able to turn away from it now.

“Where is Barclay, Lady Catherine?” Cleveland asks, bringing her attention back to the room.

“At his grandmother’s,” she says, ignoring the shudder she feels when he calls her Lady Catherine. “He’ll need time to recover. He was quite grievously injured by… bother, Elizabeth, what is the man’s name now?”

“Lord Richard Evans.”

“Thank you. Yes. He was quite grievously injured by Lord Evans. It will take time for him to regain his strength.”

“But you will speak with him?” Sir Cleveland presses. “It will be best for everyone if he accepts his position with no fuss.”

“I will,” she says. “For all the good it will do.”