Page 8 of Married to the Ruthless Duke

“Your Grace,” her father started. “I…”

The Duke’s eyes on him stopped the words about to come out of his mouth. With his eyes on her father, she was granted some respite from being the target of his intense gaze.

“I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness,” her father finished, finally finding his voice with a pointed glare at her. “May we retire to my study to further discuss the situation?”

“All right,” the Duke conceded. “After you, My Lord.”

Helen watched her father step out of the room in disbelief. He had just dismissed her protest by moving the meeting to a private space where they could decide when he would send Margaret to the chopping block that marriage to the Duke would be.

“You will never have my sister,” she spat just before the Duke stepped out of the room.

He turned back to her, his eyes lit with dark promise.

Helen reddened and looked away, but not before noticing his trademark smirk directed at her.

“Interesting,” he muttered.

She sank back onto the sofa in an ungracious heap, but she didn’t care, even though her handmaid would scold her for wrinkling her dress.

“Betrothal? To the Duke of Blackhill?” Margaret whisper-yelled, her voice unusually high-pitched.

Helen turned to see that her sister’s face was white with shock and fear.

“I can’t marry the Duke,” Margaret said, wringing her hands. “Why would Father draft a betrothal agreement without informing us?”

“I don’t know,” Helen answered, equally as distraught. She stood up, walking over to sit with her sister. “I think it was drawn up when we were still infants, and he didn’t tell us because he thought that it was void since the former Duke died.”

“Well, I can’t marry him,” Margaret cried, tears streaming down her face. “I… I love someone else.”

“Who?” Helen asked, surprised, trying to identify anyone her sister had been close to, and her eyes widened when it finally clicked. “Lord Wesley?”

Margaret didn’t answer, but the look on her face and the way she looked away, blinking away tears, was answer enough.

How was Helen supposed to console her sister, who was in love with a married man?

Rubbing Margaret’s shoulder in consolation, she murmured, “You won’t have to marry the Duke, I promise.”

* * *

It wasn’t every day that people stood up to him, and he would admit that Miss Helen looked adorable while she confronted him. James’ words hadn’t been sufficient to describe the cherubic face on top of a body made for sin. At the sight of her full pink lips in a defiant pout, Alexander instantly felt the insane urge to kiss her. He had had to pinch himself to rid himself of the thought.

That was no way to think of a wife he was just marrying to sort out problems outside the marriage bed.

He liked the fiery spark he saw in her, though. It would serve her well against his family when he finally introduced them to her.

He was shocked to see that she had been the damsel that had caught his eye all those months ago at a ball he had been forced to attend by his best friend. He could tell she recognized him too but said nothing. He had watched her often at balls they’d attended, and the bright aura she carried around herself had captured his attention when some thought her too loud.

But then that was what made him notice her, at first. She was the only gleam of fun he had gotten from attending all those dull affairs to maintain the image of the dukedom and maintain public appearances for the sake of his business pursuits.

But then, he would have never imagined marrying her if it was not for the insistence of Lord Frampton that he preferred working with married gentlemen.

Finding out about the contract had helped Alexander kill two proverbial birds with one stone. Besides, it was time he got married, and there was no better time than the present to do so. He would marry the belle of the Season and gain the use of her hospitality skills to win the contract that would catapult his business dealings, and that was all that mattered.

It helped that she was beautiful, even though he didn’t have any intention of claiming his marital rights, no matter how tempting she looked.

Tempting, indeed. With sweet visible curves, her dress accentuated the softness of her body.

It was no wonder he spent several minutes staring at her. He was grateful that Lord Honeyfield had called his attention, or he would have given away his lust.

---