Page 81 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

“Good God,” Mr. Audley swore, “I have fallen in with a band of bloody idiots.”

Amelia saw no reason to contradict.

Mr. Audley looked directly at her father. “Sir,” he said, “I will not marry your daughter.”

“Oh, you will.”

And that was when Amelia knew her heart was broken. Because it wasn’t her father who said those words.

It was Thomas.

“What did you say?” Mr. Audley demanded.

Thomas strode across the room, stopping only when he was nearly nose-to-nose with Mr. Audley. “This woman has spent her entire life preparing to be the Duchess of Wyndham. I will not permit you to leave her life in shambles. Do you understand me?”

And all she could think was—No.

No. She didn’t want to be the duchess. She didn’t care one way or the other. She just wanted him. Thomas. The man she’d spent her whole life not knowing.

Until now.

Until he’d stood with her, looking down at some meaningless map, and explained to her why Africa was bigger than Greenland.

Until he’d told her that he liked her bossy.

Until he’d made her feel that she mattered. That her thoughts and opinions were worth something.

He had made her feel complete.

But here he was, demanding that she marry someone else. And she didn’t know how to stop it. Because if she spoke out, if she told them all what she wanted, and he rejected her again…

But Thomas wasn’t asking her if she understood. He was asking Mr. Audley. And Mr. Audley said, “No.”

Amelia took a gulp of air and looked up at the ceiling, trying to pretend that two men were not arguing over which of them had to marry her.

“No, I don’t understand,” Mr. Audley continued, his voice insultingly provoking. “Sorry.”

She looked back. It was hard to look away. It was like a carriage accident, except it was her own life being trampled.

Thomas was looking at Mr. Audley with murder in his eyes. And then, almost conversationally, said, “I believe I will kill you.”

“Thomas!” The cry sprang from her throat before she could stop to think, and she flew across the room, grabbing his arm to hold him back.

“You may steal my life away,” Thomas growled, pulling on her arm like an angry, aggrieved animal. “You may steal my very name, but by God you will not steal hers.”

So that was it. He thought he was doing the right thing. She wanted to cry with frustration. There would be no changing his mind. Thomas had spent his entire life doing the right thing. Never for himself. Always for Wyndham. And now he thought he was doing the right thing for her.

“She has a name,” Mr. Audley retorted. “It’s Willoughby. And for the love of God, she’s the daughter of an earl. She’ll find someone else.”

“If you are the Duke of Wyndham,” Thomas said furiously, “you will honor your commitments.”

“If I’m the Duke of Wyndham, then you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Amelia,” Thomas said with deadly calm, “release my arm.”

Instead, she tightened her grip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her father chose that moment to intercede—finally. “Er, gentlemen, this is all hypothetical at this point. Perhaps we should wait until—”

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