Page 22 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

She’s holding back tears.

“You saw?” he said.

He heard the Marchioness huff across the room. The Lady paced toward them, her hands on her hips, watching over them as an eagle might its prey.

“Yes.” She pointed to a table nearby where the scandal sheet was left. Unlike his own copy, it was not crumpled. It was perfectly flat, the printed letters obvious in black and white. “My mother informs me that everyone in London reads that scandal sheet.”

“Did you doubt it?” her mother cut in before Philip could speak. He shot her a look, wishing he could talk to Grace alone, but the Marchioness just continued on with sudden venom. “Look what you have done, Grace.”

Her daughter flinched at the words. The sight of Grace flinching was new to him.

Philip was used to seeing Grace full of fire and defiance. He usually avoided her, but he couldn’t help noticing from afar that at balls she would not back down for anyone or anything when she had set her mind on something. Eleanor had spoken often enough of how much she admired Grace for her resilience.

“How have you been?” Philip asked Grace, choosing to ignore her mother’s words.

Grace’s eyes widened a little at him, clearly shocked. Her lips parted as she blinked, holding back fresh tears.

“I —”

“How do you think she’s been?” The Marchioness’ words made her daughter silent. “Honestly, Grace.” The Marchioness was off again, marching up and down, waving her hands dismissively at her daughter. “What possessed you to even do such a thing? How could you think to do this to us? To do this to the Duke too? It’s unthinkable. Unforgivable.”

Grace flinched again. She stepped back, her hands on the windowsill. She looked smaller than Philip had ever seen her before. A rage erupted in him.

He stepped away, doing his best to ignore the feeling. He looked at the door, waiting for Miss Tabitha’s return, though there was no sign of it.

“Did you say the Marquess was in his study?” Philip asked, looking back at the Marchioness. He was impatient now to have this conversation and be done, to be out of this house again.

“He is, but you must wait, Your Grace.” The Marchioness sighed. “He has been very unwell as of late. He’s not in a position to take visitors when unannounced.”

Philip nodded, his eyes on the door again. He grew aware of the Marchioness moving to her daughter’s side. She was hissing something, reprimanding her yet again though Philip could not hear the words.

He paced, impatiently, then looked back at Grace.

Whatever her mother had said to her in that hissing whisper, it turned Grace into a mere shadow of the woman he knew. She was pale, her red and puffy eyes the only thing that had color in them.

She stared at her mother with tears pooling then one slipped down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, as if ashamed of those tears.

I cannot let this continue.

Furious, Philip stepped toward the pair again, intent on hearing what the Marchioness was saying to her daughter.

“You know why the Duke is here, don’t you? He’s come to tell your father he cannot marry you.”

Philip stiffened.

“It’s unforgivable, Grace,” she said yet again. “You have ruined us all. How can we possibly take you anywhere again? No one in London will want to look you in the eye.”

Grace wiped another tear from her cheek. She turned away from her mother, but the Marchioness caught her wrist and pulled her back to face her.

“You will look at me when I am speaking to you.”

Grace bowed her head, hiding her tears.

This is not the Grace I know.

The protective voice came from somewhere in the back of his mind. Philip willed for Grace to say something, to snap back at her mother, to tell her to back off, but she wouldn’t.

“Enough,” Philip said coolly, finding his voice when Grace could not.

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