Heartless(105)

“Good riddance,” Catherine cursed after her.

“Beg pardon, Lady Pinkerton?” said the Duke.

She sneered. “For shame, Your Grace! You should know better than to eavesdrop on a girl when she’s grumbling to herself.”

“Ah yes, I do apologize.” The Duke rubbed at his jowl. “Please, finish your thoughts.”

Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. Margaret was egotistical and wearisome, and for all his faults, the Duke could have done better for himself. But what business was it of hers?

None at all, perhaps, though it filled her with loathing. Margaret, of all people! Insidious, obnoxious Margaret was being courted by a man who adored her. There would be no hiding and no shame and everyone would bless them joyfully and wish upon them many snout-nosed children.

“Shall I speak now?”

She grunted. “Fine, go ahead.”

“I am sorry to see you feeling so poorly, Lady Pinkerton,” said the Duke. “I wanted to thank you. I’m not sure what involvement you might have had in turning Lady Mearle’s affections toward me, but … well, a favor for a favor, I believe our deal was.” He grinned around his tusks. “The storefront is vacant, now, if you weren’t aware. I understand if you’ve no longer any interest, given the … the situation with the King…” His eyes twinkled and for a moment Catherine feared he might wink at her, but he didn’t. “But should you still want to lease the building from me, I could hardly deny you anything.”

Her jaw began to ache from grinding her teeth.

The storefront was hers.

Now, when she had no hope of a blessing from her parents, nor a shilling from her dowry, nor an ounce of respect from her peers if she dared to reject the King’s proposal.

Now, when her friendship with Mary Ann was over.

“Is that all?”

The Duke frowned. “Why—yes, I suppose. Aren’t you pleased?”

She forced an annoyed breath through her nostrils. “I am not, I’m afraid, though it’s through no fault of your own.” Forcing her tight shoulders to loosen, she pressed her hands into her heavy skirt. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I don’t think you should reserve the storefront for me. There was never going to be any bakery, and there certainly isn’t going to be one now. Please forget we ever spoke of it, and … go dance with your lady. She’s already spent too many waltzes watching from the sidelines.”

She left before she could feel the full sting of his happiness, but she had not gone far when a hand grabbed her forearm, squeezing so tight Catherine nearly choked. She tried to yank her hand away, but was tugged back against an iron-solid chest. A gruff voice growled into her ear, “What’d you do with it?”

Warm breath rolled over her, smelling of pumpkin.

Cath twisted around. Peter Peter was clutching her arm, his fingers pressing indentations into her flesh. There were purple-gray circles beneath his eyes and a deep gouge across one cheek, like someone had attacked him with a knife. Though the wound was healing, the sight of it made her stomach flip.

He was wearing muddied coveralls and no mask, as if he had no idea there were expectations around attending a royal masquerade.

“What’d you do with it?” he growled again.

“What are you—release me this instant!”

His grip tightened. “Answer me.”

“I don’t know what you’re—ow! You know, you and your wife could stand to learn some manners when it comes to—”

He yanked her closer and Cath gasped, dwarfed by his hulking shoulders. Then, surprisingly, he did let go. She rubbed her arm, pulse racing.

“I don’t know what that maid of yours saw or thought she saw,” he said, his menacing voice barely carrying in the crush of music and laughter, “but I won’t let you hurt her. I will see you made into worm food before I allow it. Now tell me what you’ve done with it.”

“I don’t know—” She started to shake her head, but stopped. Was this about the pumpkin she’d stolen? The cake she’d made, that his wife had been so desperate to eat? “I-I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I just used it to make a cake, just that one cake. I didn’t think it would do any harm and it was just one little pumpkin, and you seemed … so busy, and I only wanted—”

His hand latched around her arm again and she yelped. “I already know about that,” he growled. “I was there at the festival. I saw what happened to that Turtle, and now my wife—” He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not an idiot. The whole kingdom saw you with that sword. Now tell me what you’ve done with it!”

Her heart caught in her throat. “Sword? You mean—the Vorpal Sword?” Her thoughts roiled. “What does that have to do with pumpkin cake?”

His eyes flamed and he shook her again. She hissed through her teeth, sure he was leaving bruises. “I will ruin you, Lady Pinkerton. Mark my words, if anything happens to her before I can fix this—”

“That is enough, Sir Peter!” Cath said, raising her voice when she remembered the role she’d sworn to play this evening. Everyone believed she was to be their future queen—surely she wouldn’t stand to be spoken to in this way by a measly pumpkin farmer. “I demand that you release me at—”