Page 6 of His Unwanted Duchess

“I disagree in the strongest terms. Do you want me to help you, Miss Haversham, or not?”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Fine, fine, very well. The man is Mark Roberts, the Marquess of Hampton.”

The bouncing coin did not slow down. “I know the man. I assume you want me to unearth vices, debts, hidden sins, and the rest?”

“Yes. It must be…” Beatrice swallowed hard, wishing for another cup of tea. “It must be something that would break an engagement.”

The coin stopped bouncing. Those pale green eyes snapped to her, and she realized with a pang of bittersweet triumph that she had genuinely shocked him.

“The Marquess is engaged?”

She allowed herself a wry smile. “The banns haven’t been read yet. Nobody knows. The arrangement is a very private one but will become public knowledge in a few days. I daresay a man likeyouwould have known by tomorrow.”

“I daresay,” he repeated. Setting the coin aside, the Duke leaned over the desk. “This is a serious matter, you know. Even I balk at breaking up engagements and ruining weddings. What about his poor bride-to-be?”

Beatrice clenched her teeth. “His bride-to-be does not wish to become his wife.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“I just am.”

“Details, my dear. Details.”

Beatrice let her eyes flutter shut.

Oh, what’s the use? He’ll find out soon enough, anyway.

“Because,” she said, her voice strained, “I am to be his bride.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her strangely. She could not interpret the look on his face.

“Well,” he said, “that certainly changes things.”

“I think so, don’t you?” she responded. “So, will you do it? The wedding will take place as soon as possible. Within a month, if mybetrothedhas his way.”

She couldn’t help spitting out the word—a fact that the Duke no doubt noticed. She fought to keep herself from circling her wrist with her other hand. Beneath her long sleeves, there was a ring of bruises around her wrist, still tender when she proddedthe skin. She could still feel the Marquess’s hand, his fingertips cruelly digging in.

“You’ll wear the dress I picked out for you, my dear,”he had spat, his eyes narrowed.“If I am to be forced to marry you, by God, you’ll be forced to be a proper wife.”

She shivered, swallowing hard.

“I assume a clever woman like you has already tried the traditional methods of escaping an engagement?” the Duke drawled, leaning back and raising his eyebrows. “Saying no, for instance?”

“Of course.”

“You are a rich woman, I hear. Why are you being forced into a match you do not want?”

She snorted. “There’s a difference between being a rich woman and a woman with a large dowry, let me tell you.”

The Duke acknowledged this point with a tilt of his head. “I cannot argue with you there. Well, Miss Haversham, I believe I can help you. Now, I believe our business is concluded.”

“Wait! I want to know what sort offavoryou might demand from me in return.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, my dear, I don’t even know that myself, do I? I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

She shook her head mulishly. “No. No, I want to know.”

He got up from his seat and rounded the desk to stand uncomfortably close to her. She was forced to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.

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