Page 18 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

He meant to frighten her. Or perhaps chastise her—again, it felt like a powerplay, an attempt to remind her of where she stood. But Charlotte was through playing his games. Boredom was a small reason for it. And the fact that she was tired of it all. But mostly, she was beginning to see through his act.

“You’d almost think that I didn’t live here,” she said coolly, glaring at him, and then, because it felt right, she licked her lips. “Which I wouldn’t if you hadn’t forced me to marry you.”

“Excuse me?” he said coldly, the tone of his voice dropping the temperature in the study by several degrees.

“You heard me,” she responded with just as much ice, enjoying the way it made him stiffen.

Why did she take so much pleasure in frustrating him? Why was it like scratching an itch that had been bothering her for days?

“I will remind you that you were the one who asked to marry me. I will remind you that I am here because of you. You might not like it. You might not like me. But, well, to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t care. We’re married now, and there is nothing either one of us can do about it. So best that we wrap our heads around that fact and start treating one another with some darn respect.”

He didn’t respond right away. Nor did he respond after that. He sat in his chair, lips pressed together, jaw tightened, eyes burning with frustration. Had she gone too far? Had she tested his limits beyond what was reasonable? Charlotte hadn’t thought so, but four days spent alone and she was at her wits’ end.

She didn’t want him to fall in love with her. She didn’t want him to sweep her off her feet. All she wanted was for him to treat her with some modicum of respect. Was that too much to ask?

“Well?” she pressed, her tone softening slightly. “What… what do you think?”

“You did well.” He pushed the pile of papers back. “I asked that you focus on bringing this estate up to standard, and you have done exactly as I asked.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but beam, hating how elated she felt by his praise while silently wondering if maybe, finally, he was beginning to see her as more than just a nuisance.

“Is that all?” she pushed softly, not wanting to set him off again.

“No.” He thought to himself a moment, and her heart raced as she waited eagerly for what she prayed to be a turning point in this relationship. But then, suddenly, he pushed his chair back and stood up. Again, she forgot how big he was, like a giant in a cave. “I think I need a drink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He stepped around her and started toward the door. “I’m going out.”

“What? Where?” She spun about.

He reached the door and turned back, offering her a fraction of a smile that was part antipathy, part smug arrogance. “What did I tell you about asking me about my business?”

And then he was gone.

Charlotte didn’t chase him. She didn’t see the point. She had thrown down the white flag and had it thoroughly rebuffed. Although, at the same time, she wondered if maybe a small part of it was her fault.

She had meant to stay calm and composed and not test him. She hadn’t wanted to bring out that side of him that she was starting to know all too well. But the moment it threatened to rear its head, she was on it, yearning for it and testing him purposefully so he might snarl at her.

She had no idea what to think, only that this marriage of hers was more confusing than she could have imagined.

ChapterSix

“It’s not funny,” Henry grumbled into his mug of ale.

“On the contrary, I find it rather hilarious.” His best friend, Oliver Mowbray, chortled and slapped him on the back. “A damn hoot!”

“Need I remind you who you are speaking with.”

Henry attempted to tower over his friend, as if to intimidate him. He was taller than Oliver, far broader in the shoulders and thicker in the neck, too. And that wasn’t to mention his superior social status either. All of which should have had Oliver cowering back and begging for forgiveness.

Of course, his friend’s reaction was the complete opposite.

“Careful now.” Oliver wagged a finger in Henry’s face. “Any more of that, and I might have to ask your wife to defend my honor—see her subject you to another shaming. A few minutes spent with her, and I have no doubt you’ll be on your knees, begging that I forgive you.”

Henry glowered. “That is not?—”

“Not funny, yes, you said that already.” Oliver continued to chuckle as he took a swig of ale. “But I must insist on the contrary. Who would have thought that Henry Elkins, the Duke of Hayward, would find himself beaten and broken so thoroughly by none other than his own wife? In fact, who would have thought he’d have a wife in the first place!”

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