Page 17 of Tamed By her Duke

He took a step backward, instead, shooting her a satisfied, mocking look.

“Lock yer door, eh, lass?” he ordered, for all that it was phrased like a question. He gave a last long, probing look over her scantily clad form. “Lest I change my mind, aye?”

And then he closed the door in her face, turning the lock with enough force that Grace could hear it click into place with a decisive thud.

Mayhap it said terrible things about his character, but as Caleb watched his little wife fume for the rest of their journey the following day, he couldn’t summon anything but amusement. She was fetching in her ire, all flashing eyes and pink cheeks. She wasn’t very good at being angry, either, he noted. Her gaze kept flicking back to him when she thought he wasn’t looking, as if she was seeking some sign that he was about to give her an apology for the night prior.

Well, it that was what she was waiting for, she’d be waiting a long, long time. He didn’t regret his actions in the least, nor did he intend to show his bonnie little broodmare the whole ofhimself before he had to spend near on a full day trapped in close quarters with her.

If she was going to be prissy and astonished and appalled about her Scottish brute of a husband…? Well. He didn’t need to bear witness to it.

This was likely why, when she shot him those entreating little glances, the ones that begged him to repent, to make peace between them, he instead decided to poke at her.

“Somethin’ sittin’ wrong in yer belly, there, lass?” he asked conversationally after the seventh or eighth time she’d torn her gaze from the window to peep at him.

This time, instead of darting nervously back to the landscape, those eyes went round.

“No! I mean—that ismostimproper to ask a lady!” she blurted, clearly shocked.

He shrugged a careless shoulder. “Ye’ve spent the whole morning looking as good tempered as a bee-stung pig, so I wondered if the sausages at the inn this morning weren’t up to yer exacting English standards.” He paused, “Nor yer delicate English constitution.”

She didn’t even respond this time, just gaped at him.

Caleb privately thought this might be the most fun he’d had in…ages. No doubt this was due to a contrast to the interminable carriage ride, not anything to do with his present company.

“’Course,” he added, letting his tone turn thoughtful, “I can’t say ye’re much likely to see aught else up in Northumberland, so perhaps ye’d best accustom yourself to rougher fare.”

She jolted. “Northumberland?” she demanded. “I thought you said we were going to Scotland.”

He stifled a grin. She’d caught that, had she?

“Nay,” he replied. “Yousaid we were going to Scotland.Isaid we were going north. Tis nae my fault you’re a city girl who thinks England starts and ends with London.”

“I’ve been north of London!” she protested.

“Oh, aye? Where? House parties in Hertfordshire? This is nae quite the same, lassie.”

Her eyes flashed with rage and—something. She turned to stare out the window some more, arms crossed in clear irritation, before he could figure out what that something was. He indulged himself in a small chuckle, knowing it would only stoke her ire. From the way her cheeks flamed, he was right.

Oh, he had his little bride pegged good and proper, didn’t he? She was shallow as a puddle, transparent as the best glass moneycould buy. He felt satisfied in the knowledge. Managing her would be easy.

CHAPTER 6

Killing a peer was a hanging offense, even for a duke’s daughter—or, goodness, she was a duchess in her own right now, wasn’t she? Being a woman might save her from a public execution—decorum and all that—but her rank wouldn’t spare her neck. The late Duke of Hawkins was evidence aplenty of that.

This was the main reason Grace did not murder her husband after hisnumeroussins—and only a day and a half into their marriage! Sending her away the night prior had been the greatest, of course, but the bit about theirnotbeing headed to Scotland had cut like a knife. They were headed north.

North.

And then he’d had the nerve to askwhereshe’d been in the north. She had been, of course, unable to answer him. The Packards had not mentioned their locality in between snapping orders for Grace to scrub this or scour that, and Grace had beenso distracted by her sudden reversal in fortunes that she’d not paid attention during the journey home with Evan and Frances.

Naturally her rude, taciturn,awfulScottish husband had used this as a reason to assume she was some sheltered, missish piece of fluff who was terrified of anything outside of Mayfair’s borders.

Grace was sufficiently offended by this that it took her a few minutes to realize what this meant.

Her husband didn’t know her past—the kidnapping, the presumed death, none of it.

She wasn’t sure what this meant for the dynamic between them, but it felt like power.

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