Page 32 of His Unwanted Duchess

She grabbed the quill, pausing only to double-check that he hadn’t added anything to the list of rules—aside from herrequirements, of course—and then signed her name with a flourish.

There. It is done. At least I am able to sign away my own fate. Many ladies don’t have the same opportunity.

She moved to replace the quill in the inkwell but abruptly found that the Duke’s hand shot forward, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist. She flinched, her eyes widening, and met his intense green gaze.

His cool grip was not particularly tight, but neither could she pull away from him.

To her horror, tingles spread across her skin, gooseflesh rising on her arms at his touch. She wasawareof his fingertips on her hand in a way she had not experienced with any other touch before, and some unfamiliar sensation coiled in her gut.

A sort ofwanting.

Beatrice realized, to her growing worry, that shewantedhim to continue touching her.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “You made the right decision, I think.”

Beatrice’s mouth was dry, and her throat bobbed when she swallowed. When had he leaned so close to her, close enough for her to smell petrichor and cologne, close enough to see goldenflecks in his green eyes and observe the curve of his full lips, which were twisted into an insufferable smirk?

It didn’t matter.

With effort, Beatrice wrenched her hand free. The quill clattered onto the table, scattering ink drops.

“I am neither good nor a girl, Your Grace,” she said dryly, rising to her feet before her legs could become so jelly-like she could no longer stand. “I’m a woman, and I’d thank you to remember it.”

The Duke leaned back in his seat, his arms hanging over the armrests, his legs stretched out in front of him, and eyed her speculatively.

“I’m unlikely to forget it, I think,” he murmured, and she had the impression he was talking to himself. “We are engaged, then?”

She adjusted the folds of her cloak, wishing her heart would stop hammering. “It seems so.”

“Then I shall write to your father directly and inform him.”

“Some gentlemen would write to ask for his permission.”

He grinned. “I’m not in the habit of asking politely for what I want, my dear. And you’re of age, are you not? You don’t require his permission.”

“No, but I would like his blessing.”

The Duke grunted. Whether that was an agreement or a dismissal, she was not sure. It would not make much difference, after all.

“I shall organize the wedding,” he said abruptly. “And obtain a special license. It shouldn’t take long.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I think I would like to go home now.”

There was a tap at the door just as she spoke, and the tall butler appeared, even though Beatrice was quite sure that nobody had rung the bell to summon him.

“Ah, Mouse, there you are,” the Duke said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “Impeccable timing. Miss Haversham is leaving, would you show her out?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Oh, and you might as well be the first to know, Mouse. I am very nearly an engaged man.”

The butler raised his eyebrows, not seeming surprised in the slightest. “My felicitations, Your Grace.”

The Duke waved a hand towards Beatrice. “Let me introduce the woman who will soon be the Duchess of Blackwood.”

Mouse eyed her calculatedly, and Beatrice wanted to sink into the ground at that moment.

“My congratulations, Miss Haversham. Shall I show you out?”

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