Page 42 of His Runaway Duchess

Daphne flinched, horrified. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

He shrugged. “My mother died giving birth to me, and then my wife died giving birth to our son. I’m cursed. It’s well talked about, and many people believe it.”

“That’s just a coincidence. It’s just bad luck. And what about Lady Clarissa? Your stepmother? She’s not dead. You can’t possibly believe this nonsense.”

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t say that I believed it. I said that other people believe it. In this world, that’s all that matters—what people believe.”

“That can’t be true.”

He sipped his chocolate. It must have still been too hot to drink, but he gulped it down as if hurrying to get the drink over with.

“It matters what people believe,” he said. “If enough people believe a thing, it becomes true, more or less. It’s silly, but it’s true. It’s naive to believe otherwise.”

She shook her head. “No. We have to prove them wrong.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Well, me, then. I’ll live, and that will prove that this curse is nonsense. There’s no chance of me dying in childbirth, as you made it pretty clear that we wouldn’t be having any children ourselves.”

She watched him carefully as she made that point.

Daphne wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted to see. Regret, perhaps, at having so carelessly told her that they wouldn’t share a bed, not even once? Desire?

No, don’t be stupid.If he did desire you, you wouldn’t have the first idea what to do about it. You’d just stand there, mouth open like a fish, looking silly.

It didn’t matter, because Edward’s face gave nothing away.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said, at last. “Don’t concern yourself with proving anybody wrong or worrying about my reputation. It’s not yours to worry about.”

“But it will be,” she pressed, leaning forward. “Don’t you see? We’ll be married. I’ll be the Duchess, you’ll be the Duke.”

“Oh, is that how it works? How fascinating.”

“Don’t try and make light of it. Ofcourse,I’ll be concerned with your reputation, and Alex’s, just like you’ll be concerned with mine. Once we’re married,” Daphne continued, warming up to her subject, “we’ll show Society who we really are. Whoyoureally are. We’ll host parties, go to balls, and?—”

Without warning, he dived forward, grabbing her wrist. He didn’t squeeze it but held it firmly enough that she could not pull away.

“No,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Listen to me now, Daphne. I thought I was clear enough before. When we are married, we’ll live our own lives. I agreed to be friends because I don’t want to make your life or mine unpleasant, but this is not a proper marriage. We’ll keep our distance from each other, and go on as we have. This is how it must be. It’s how Iwantit to be.”

She stared up at him, her heart pounding. His fingers were cool around her wrist, tingles flying up and down her arms. She couldn’t make sense of the way her body seemed to react to the man, not when he was soinfuriatingmost times.

“You’re nice to look at, but you drive me to distraction every time you open your mouth, Edward.”

It took Daphne half a minute to realize, in horror, that she’d said it out loud.

Edward blinked, clearly taken aback. They were entirely too close, his nose only a few inches away from hers.

“Then I’ll close it again, after I’ve finished saying what needs to be said,” he ground out. “Let me be blunt, Daphne. I don’t intend to change my lifestyle, not for you or anyone. I live a quiet life. No parties, no Society. Just a simple life, and my work. That’s all I want. I won’t change that. You can do as you like, and once a few years have gone by, you can move somewhere else if you like. For now, though, do not try to change me. I am who I am, and nobody will make me do anything I don’t wish to do. Not you, not anyone.”

She tilted up her chin. The happiness and laughter had gone out of the room in an instant like air sucked away from a raging fire.

“Not anyone? Not even your own son?”

She’d hit a nerve, then.

Edward flinched back, impulsively releasing her wrist. She backed away, suddenly keen to put distance between them. Anything to calm her racing heart and pounding pulse. Anything to reduce the prickling sensation in her skin, the infuriating tug of desire in her gut.

Why can’t I be attracted to a nice, charming, soft-spoken gentleman? Why does it have to be him?

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