Page 52 of The Wrong Duke

“I do...” she said softly, speaking into her chest.

He scoffed again. “Allow me to remind you because if you fail me tonight, daughter, it won’t just be your head on the block. Bridget’s too. I wanted sons, God how I wished for them. But I was cursed with daughters instead, daughters who would do well to remember that they live by my good graces. Understand?”

“I do, Father.”

“But I will not be denied what is rightfully mine. I have many a friend and acquaintance who would literally kill for the chance to marry either of you. They may not be members of the gentry, but their purses are fat enough that it can be overlooked. Next week, Amelia, if you fail me in this, I will — look at me when I speak to you,” he snarled. “I need you to see that I am through playing about. If you fail me, next week, I will take you and your sister to my weekly game, I will put you on a stage for each of them to see, and I will sell you to the highest bidder. I do not speak in metaphor. I do not exaggerate. I will auction you off like I would a prized mule because at the end of the day, that is all you are to me.” He scoffed again. “At least a mule knows better than to talk back.”

It was all Evan could do to keep himself from storming around the corner and punching Lord Lindstone in his fat face. The only thing keeping Evan from doing so was knowing that it would make little difference. Sure, it might save Miss Baker from tonight, but Lord Lindstone was her father, and he was free to do what he wanted.

It was unbelievable. Unfathomable. What Evan had heard... he still struggled to comprehend it. As if it wasn’t real, because surely, he must have misheard or misunderstood? And to think, sickeningly, that Evan had dared to accuse Miss Baker of trying to trick David. As if she was in anyway at fault. That alone made him —

The arguing had stopped, and Evan noticed just in time. Shadows emerged from around the hedge ahead of where he stood, and Evan was quick to press himself into the bushes and meld into them, using the absolute darkness as cover, holding his breath, not daring to move an inch, as Lord Lindstone dragged Miss Baker behind him and back toward the ball.

If Evan had thought himself to be an idiot earlier, now, he knew it for fact.

He’d assumed that he was doing the right thing by Miss Baker. By explaining why they couldn’t be together, by telling her the truth as he saw it, he had wanted to spare her heartbreak.

She didn’t want David She never had. But that was also irrelevant. If David didn’t take to her, and there was no saying that he would, her fate would be worse than anything Evan could have imagined. Worse even than heartbreak, for she would have no heart left to be broken. If Evan didn’t do something to stop this, what Lord Lindstone had planned was a fate worse than death.

He promised he would stay away from her. She demanded it of him. Only, Evan couldn’t do that. Miss Baker’s future, her very happiness, hung in the balance, and it seemed, ironically enough, that it was on Evan to save her. He only hoped that this time, for once, he didn’t ruin everything.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Amelia stood before the closed door, her hand trembling above the doorknob, her body shaking as it rebelled against her — against what she was about to do. She had been standing there for minutes, hours it felt like, knowing that she couldn’t refuse while knowing that she couldn’t possibly go through with it.

How could she? How could her father ask this of her? She still couldn’t believe it. Even now, more than an hour after the demand was made, and she thought back to their conversation, desperate to find a new meaning in what was a very clear and precise request. But there was no hidden meaning. This wasn’t some test that he had given her. Her father, the beast that he was, had ordered her to sleep with Lord Malnor or suffer consequences that were even worse than this most heinous of acts.

Maybe the Duke was right, Amelia thought to herself bitterly. Rather than risk being hurt, he had chosen a life of solitude and loneliness, refusing to open his heart to the world for fear it might be crushed. It had sounded pathetic to her ears, a truly pitiful way to live. Without hope. Without love. A life of misery for fear of rejection and pain. Who would want to live like that? Who would choose such a state of being?

It seemed now that the Duke had been on to something. If Amelia was as cold as he, as uncaring, as emotionally stunted, then this right here wouldn’t be nearly the travesty that it was. It would be but a clever maneuver, a sure way to secure her future and that of her sister’s. And surely, she wouldn’t feel so dirty.

There was nothing she could do. Her father was in the adjoining room, no doubt listening for her to enter the bedroom of the Marquess. And tomorrow morning, they were to meet in the library so that the two could... could discuss what had happened. Her body shuddered at the thought that he’d want such a thing. Nay, that he would demand it!

If she refused this, next week she and her sister would be sold off like livestock, and that would be a fate worse than death. She didn’t want to do it. Her stomach twisted and churned at the mere thought. But with no other option...

Amelia turned the door handle and stepped inside the bedroom.

It was too dark to properly see. The curtains were drawn. Light from outside barely slipped through the cracks. She could just make out the shape of the bed in the room’s center, and the lump lying on top that told her it was occupied. Not that this came as a shock, but a small part of her had hoped the Marquess might not be here. But then again, Amelia never had been that lucky.

Silence hung heavy in the room. So much so that she could hear her heart thumping inside her chest. With each step taken, she could hear the floorboards creak under her. And the Marquess’ breathing was slow and steady and peaceful. A man in a deep slumber. A man not expecting to be woken.

What did her father think would happen? That the Marquess would wake up, see her standing there, and pull her into him. That he would be so overtaken by lust that he wouldn’t be able to help himself? Or was she going to have to force it? Climb into his bed, slide her hand down his leg and... and... she couldn’t even think it. Let alone do it!

She reached the side of the bed and froze. Too dark to see the Marquess properly, but his shape was there. The sound of his breathing. And his scent. Standing this close, silence her only companion, she could smell the Marquess clearly, a musk that was... familiar in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite herself, she breathed in deeply through her nose, and that smell wafted through her, doing things to her that she didn’t want but was glad for as she was going to need it.

“He... hello?” she spoke softly and leaned forward, touching the Marquess on the side. “Lord Malnor, are you awake?”

Nothing. The Marquess’ breathing remained steady, and Amelia cursed under her breath. Shaking now, she knew if she was to do this, she’d have to commit. No light stepping around it. She needed to make sure the Marquess couldn’t refuse her. And for that to be the case...

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she steadied herself, took a deep breath, and then climbed into the bed.

She pressed her body up against the Marquess’, curling herself around him but not knowing what to do from there. She reached out her hand, thinking she would stroke his face and perhaps kiss down his neck? Maybe run a hand down his thigh? Maybe grab his... she couldn’t! How could her father ask this of her? How did he think she’d be able to go through with something like this? As far as he was aware, she’d never even kissed a man before. And this! She lay frozen beside the Marquess, one hand hovering above him, unable to move, even breathe, such was the fear that —

The Marquess’ hand reached out and snatched her wrist. She gasped and before she realized what was happening, he pulled her onto her back, rolled over, and was on top of her. Body pressed hard against her own. Legs entwined. Hands pinning her down. She was trapped.

“Don’t scream,” he whispered, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

“I wasn’t going to —” she started to speak, but the words caught in her mouth.

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