Page 15 of His Unwanted Duchess

Nowthatwas shocking. Gentlemen did not touch ladies, except to perhaps grasp the tips of their fingers in a handshake. Beatrice was not sure that anybody had ever grabbed her wrist in that manner before. What was worse, his long, cool fingers had managed to slip underneath those ridiculous, billowy sleeves, touching bare skin.

“Unhand me, Your Grace,” she hissed.

His grip was sudden but not tight, and she managed to whip her arm away from him.

Far from being cowed, the wretched man only chuckled.

“Unhandme? Are you some sort of heroine, my dear? Are you going to swoon right here in front of the church at the sheer horror of my villainy? May I remind you that you agreed to my terms? One favor is owed, to be called in at my discretion. You should have read the fine print, I think.”

“You can’t possibly want tomarryme,” Beatrice tried again. Ithadto be a joke. “A man like you could marry anyone he wants. Why would you need tocompelsomebody to marry you?”

He winced. “I have a reputation to uphold, Miss Haversham. And while there are plenty more…adventurousyoung women who might fancy themselves as Duchess Blackheart, they are not exactly suitable. Not what I am looking for, dare I say.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I had no idea that you werelooking.”

Abruptly, he leaned forward, coming almost nose-to-nose with her. Beatrice flinched, despite herself. She was suddenly conscious of a musky smell, of petrichor and something spicy. It was his cologne, she realized.

For all the man’s flaws, he certainly smelled pleasant enough,andhe was clean.

“Miss Haversham,” the Duke said thoughtfully, as if the idea just occurred to him, “you strike me as a clever woman. Observant. With good instincts, into the bargain. However, I consider myself a man who defies interpretation, if you understand me. My point is that you don’t have the faintest idea of who I am and what I want. You owe me a favor, and I believe I have already hinted at dire consequences if you refuse to oblige me.”

She clenched her teeth. “I didn’t know you were going to make memarryyou. I would never have agreed to that!”

“Oh, but you did agree. You agreed to afavor. I’m sure you guessed that myfavorsare more than invitations to tea. I expect to be repaid. In full.”

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache. It had been building since that morning, the tension abruptly released when she realized that she was not going to marry the Marquess after all.

And now, unsurprisingly, the headache was back.

She opened her eyes to find the Duke leaning back again, eyeing her curiously. She couldn’t interpret his expression. She doubted that anyone could.

“I did not ask for you to free me,” she said, carefully, “only to find myself trapped by somebody worse. No offense, Your Grace.”

He chuckled. “None taken. And my proposal is not quite a traditionalmarriage. I shall make sure that you don’t feel trapped, I can promise you that.”

“How on earth could you promise such a thing?”

He folded his arms across his chest, eyeing her critically. “Imagine this, Miss Haversham. No doubt you do not need me to tell you that life as a single woman is… limiting. You are all but owned by your father until you come of age, with no access to your own money or to any means of earning some. When you marry, you become your husband’s property, more or less.”

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Rich widows, as we all know, are the most free women in our society. Let us not get into a debate about the fairness of this matter, I’m sure we feel the same. To do anything, to have any sort of respect or status, a woman must bemarried. That involves giving up her freedom.”

“I am familiar with the plight of my sex, thank you,” Beatrice remarked dryly. “Go on.”

He began to circle her, standing entirely too close. She felt the urge to turn and keep her eyes on him as he paced behind her,but she forced herself to stay still as if his pacing did not concern her at all.

“Suppose you were married to a man. A rich man who would give you a massive allowance as well as property and land, and would not give a fig about where you went or with whom you spent your time. How would that suit you?”

There was a long pause between them. Beatrice blinked up at him.

Is this part of the joke?

“Such a man does not exist,” she said, at last. “What would he gain from such an arrangement? An heir? I might as well tell you now, Your Grace, I have no interest in children or in producing any.”

The Duke chuckled. “Heavens, no.”

He paused, his gaze flitting over her shoulder. “Our friends approach, I see.”

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