Page 8 of My Ruthless Duke

“I cannot marry you,” she insisted, though her words did not even sound convincing to herself.

No, Cordelia, do not look at his lips!

“And why not? Shall I convince you some more?” The duke teased, leaning down once more.

Oh, she was sorely tempted to let him. She had not felt so desired in her life. It was soniceto feel something other than shame and worry. Her mind begged her to let go of her control for just a moment—tofeelagain.

No, I will not be a slave to my desires.

“I am already being courted by another,” she lied firmly. “That is where my heart lies.”

The duke shook his head like he could see right through her. He brushed his knuckles down the side of her neck, trailing the line of her shoulder. “No,” he said confidently. “You may like whoever you choose, Little Flower, but you belong to me.”

“I… I do not!” She spat as indignation and something else welled up inside of her. He traced the line of soft skin back up her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse point. “Icertainlywill never be yours!”

The duke’s answering smile was not kind. “You are a terrible liar. And we will marry before the week’s end.”

Chapter 4

This is for the best. This is the right thing to do.

In truth, it was theonlything to do.

The wedding itself passed by Dorian in a blur. The preparations were simple enough, and his steward handled most of the details. It was not until Dorian found himself standing outside of the chapel, married, that things started to feel real for him.

He stood dutifully beside his carriage, waiting for his wife to finish speaking to her mother and friends. Though, he was not entirely sure why she was acting as if she would never see her mother again. By wedding him, she had all but assured that her mother would be well cared for. It was as much to assuage his own conscience as it was for her benefit. When he arrived at her family house a week ago and saw the shoddy state that it was in, he knew that his work was cut out for him. The only way to atone for being the reason her family was struggling was to care for them.

Cordelia had yet to meet his gaze once.

Even now, she was looking everywhere but him, stalling with every tactic that she could seem to dream up that would mean she did not have to get into the carriage with him. Dorian ought not to care how she chose to spend her time, nor should he care what she chose to look or not look at. But he found himself fixated on the back of her head. There was something simply intoxicating about her. On his end, it would be simpler were she ordinary. But her cherry-red lips dominated his thoughts. Dorian had not been so drawn to a woman in, well, ever.

One by one, with lingering glances and long-winded speeches, Cordelia forced him to wait as she kissed each of her friends in turn and then her mother. He would ensure that a proper caretaker was assigned to her mother’s care so that the woman did not spiral in her absence.

When she finished, he offered a hand to assist her into the carriage, which she, of course, denied.

To his eternal chagrin, her obstinance was intriguing.

“Words of gratitude would not be unwelcome,” Dorian said to break the silence as he leaned back against the padded seat in the carriage. He watched as Cordelia’s jaw clenched, her fingers closing into a fist—but she only stared out the window.

“Your mother shall be well cared for; you do not need to worry about her any longer,” he continued, hoping that she might respond to him, even if it was just to tell him off.

The scenery outside of the carriage passed in a blur of greens as they started to pull toward the outskirts of town where his home was located. Just close enough to the city to be annoyingly relevant to society but removed enough that Dorian did not have to deal with a single one of them should he choose not to.

He was the one accustomed to ignoring others. He was certainly not accustomed to being the one ignored, and he did not care for it.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” Dorian commanded.

That, at least, got a reaction.

“Is that how you imagine this to be, Your Grace?” Cordelia snapped. “You shall treat me as if I am some dog to command?”

Dorian’s brow arched at her outburst. He could not help how appealing her anger was. There was a sparkle in her eye that only seemed to exist when he was getting on her nerves. So, keeping her irritated was the key to making her talk to him? He could do that.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched Cordelia instinctively lean back as if there was enough room in the small carriage for her to have any hope of getting away from him. No, he was encroaching on her space, and he intended to stay there.

“I do not care if you hate me, but you need to understand your place.”

Cordelia scoffed. Dorian was intensely aware of how labored her breathing had become. Good. He reached forward and grabbed her chin, forcing her closer to him as she whimpered.

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