Page 11 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

Thalia blinked, realizing she still hid the kitchen knife behind her back. Quickly, she discarded it across a splintered entryway table, gesturing farther into the rookery. “I’m…sorry.”

The duke shrugged. “Your caution is understandable—I’m impressed you were willing to stab whomever stood on the other side of this door.” He eyed her still-bandaged wrist, and Thalia quickly folded her hands behind her back.

“W-well, I’ve been forcing you to stand out in the smog for far too long. Please, come in, Your Grace,” Thalia insisted. “We can discuss further details of our… arrangement.”

She didn’t think he would, and Thalia couldn’t blame him. What duke would be caught dead entering such a horrid place?

He was already risking quite a lot simply being in Whitechapel, and yet, he seemed unbothered by the request, even entering the home and finding a seat at their table. Thalia stood by the door, her mind reeling. There was a genuine duke in her home—her brother’s home—and he hardly looked nearly as aghast as she felt.

“Are you going to offer me a cup?” he asked.

Thalia blinked, suddenly aware of the whistling kettle. She quickly removed it from its hook over the fireplace, setting it against the table before scrounging up another mug from the shelves. “Ah…we only have an inexpensive black, I’m afraid. It’s likely quite old.”

“That will be fine,” the duke replied coolly.

Thalia put a cup together and set it against the table, unable to do anything else but stare. Eventually, the duke slid the cup closer and raised it for a sip; she didn’t see a single line of grimace or hear a groan from him. “Your wrist is improving, then? That was quite a bit of strain against it just now.”

“W-well, one cannot worry about such minor discomforts in Whitechapel,” Thalia replied. “But, yes—your aid was quite helpful. It’s remained quite still, and I’m certain it will be better soon.”

The duke was quiet for a moment, scrutinizing Thalia entirely before speaking once more. “As I said last night, my aid will cost you five days within the walls of my mansion.” He set the mug back down, gently swirling the contents within. “Five days of elaborate courtship, to put rumors of my romantic endeavors to rest. In exchange, I will help you dishonor your cousin and return all you have lost.”

Thalia nearly fell out of her chair, her hand catching against the table. “I—what?”

The duke took another sip in return, never once breaking eye contact with Thalia. It fell to her to explain herself, then.

“N-no, I couldn’t possibly—I only want what’s legally mine, your Grace. Giles has the title of marquess by law, but I—there were estates on my mother’s side—documents he burned.” Thalia paused, only now realizing how impossible of a task this truly was. “I’m…not even sure how one would go about reclaiming those documents, now. I doubt there are copies, and it would be his word against mine.”

“It would be his word against a duke’s,” he corrected. “And the specifics of my plan are hardly your concern. All you need to worry about is behaving properly in public with me.”

Thalia couldn’t help but let out a snort, completely forgetting whose presence she was in. She cleared her throat awkwardly, quickly standing from her chair and turning back to the fireplace. “Would you like any milk with your tea, Your Grace?”

Silence. A shiver ran down her spine, and Thalia reached for the upper shelves, trying to grasp at the condensed milk. Her fingers just barely brushed against the container, and she grunted, straining to reach, to ignore the duke’s cold gaze against her back. If her wrist wasn’t still sprained…

“Allow me, my lady.”

Every nerve ending erupted as Thalia felt a sudden weight against her back. Her eyes flickered, catching the duke pressed against her back as he stretched his arm upward, grasping the sugar bowl with ease.

“You may hide the severity of your injury all you want, Miss Sutton,” the duke whispered into her ear. “But for the next few days, I won’t allow any form of harm to come to you.”

His warm breath caught Thalia’s in her chest, bubbling into a rush of exhilaration. Or, no; she was embarrassed, and rightfully so at such close proximity.

“Of course…” The duke set the bowl against the table, his hand cradling her splinted wrist. “If you begged nicely for it, I would happily consider leaving my mark on you…”

She would. No, she wouldn’t?! A dizzying euphoria flushed across Thalia’s cheeks, and she tried desperately to calm herself. He was toying with her, playing with his food like the deviant predator he was. And yet, he held her wrist so gently, brushed his thumb across her knuckles as tenderly as one might the bare skin of…of…!

“Get off Thalia, you bastard!”

CHAPTER6

Gabriel wasn’t the type to be snuck up upon. Having impeccable hearing certainly helped with such a boast, and especially in somewhere as dangerous as Whitechapel, he made sure to keep his attention entirely on his surroundings.

But the moment he heard Thalia’s laughter for the first time, it was the only sound he could focus on. He found himself standing against his will, moving towards her and leaning—leaning—against her back in pursuit of the milk. And his words…he hadn’t meant to say anything aloud. But he had, and he could feel her heat radiating beneath him.

At least, until someone had thrown him off-balance. Instinct quickly took over after that, and before the young man had a chance to swing his arm forward, Gabriel had sidestepped, using the attacker’s momentum against him as he grabbed his collar.

Swinging him around, Gabriel managed to pin the young man against the table, ready to beat his face black and blue.

“Your Grace!”

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