Page 45 of His Runaway Duchess

“I did notcontradictyou. I didn’t know! And why can’t he come in here? It’s just a gallery.”

Edward took a step closer. Daphne did not step back. She held his gaze defiantly.

She had expected anger, bluster, and perhaps a little shouting. She hadn’t expected him to sigh.

“He shouldn’t come in here,” he said in resignation, “because I’ve asked for it to be so. You can understand that, can’t you? A simple rule, easy enough to follow. It’s bad enough that my son seems to prefer your company to mine.”

She clenched her jaw. “That’s because his father avoids him and gives one-word answers.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration.”

She said nothing, holding his gaze. “Can I go, then?”

He stepped aside, holding out his hand. “You’re free to go wherever and whenever you like, Daphne. You aren’t a prisoner.”

“So then why do I feel like one?” she snapped.

Not waiting for a response, Daphne strode past him and hurried down the hallway. She half expected to hear him stomping after her, but there was nothing. He let her go. When she paused at the end of the hall, unable to resist turning around, she found him looking at her, a small figure in a large gallery.

Tingles ran down her spine, and she resolutely turned around.

Edward’s head was pounding.

You’re a fool.You’ve estranged your son, and now your wife-to-be can’t stand you. It’s a miracle, really, how you manage to turn everybody against you.

Last night had been a disaster. And it had all been going sowell, too. They’d reached an almost comfortable accord.

And then he’d ruined it, speaking without thinking again.

It’s for the best, though.Curse or not, I’m not fit to be a husband. Our marriage is just a piece of bad luck. She needs to see that.

He turned to go but found himself glancing up at Jane’s portrait instead. She stared down, benevolent and so very unaccusing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said aloud. “I’m doing my best. The license has arrived, and the wedding is set for tomorrow. I’ll leave it to her mother to tell her that. It feels like I’m bringing news of the plague or something. Alex likes her, though. I think you’d like her if you met her.”

Jane, of course, said nothing.

Sighing, Edward turned to leave. Tapping footsteps approached, and he flinched, pausing.

For one mad moment, he thought it might be Daphne, come to throw herself dramatically into his arms and do something ridiculous, like claiming that she loved him. Why she would do that, he did not know.

It wasn’t Daphne. It was Peter Tinn.

“Your Grace,” he puffed, red-faced. “There’s… there’s another pair of guests.”

Edward blinked, frowning. “What? Guests? Who is it?”

Peter breathed out slowly. “It’s… Well, it’s the Duke and Duchess of Blackwood, Your Grace.”

Edward went very still. He could almost feel Jane’s painted eyes boring into him.

“Wait.Beatriceis here?”

She hadn’t changed. Edward established that as soon as he saw her. She and her husband—tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, and with a reputation for having eyes and ears everywhere—were lounging in one of the parlors, talking in low voices.

Edward paused at the door, nerves suddenly eating him up.

Come on, man. Don’t be a coward.

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