Page 3 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Onedidnotsayno to a duke.

One didnotsay no to a duke.

Which was unfortunate, given that a loud and wholehearted refusal was the only response Nellie could think of for a full ten heartbeats of stunned silence – that and perhaps making a run for it. But one did not run from dukes, either, and in some paralysed compromise, all she could do was stand and stare at the man who had just uttered that unthinkable question – kneeling at her feet, watching her expectantly – as the sheer, absolute insanity of those words hovered in the space between them.

Marry.

Him.

The floor she’d scrubbed herself last week seemed to be swaying beneath her.

Now the duke ought to start laughing. Now he ought to admit he was just playing the fool – that was the only way any of this could ever begin to make sense … And yet he was stillsitting there, on his knee, looking up at her with one blue-black eyebrow slightly higher than the other. As if she should have seen this coming. As if he wasn’t a nobleman proposing to a housemaid whose name he hadn’t even known five minutes ago.

The silence was growing deafening.

She parted her lips, trying to find an answer that would not offend him while also making perfectly, unambiguously clear that she wasnotgoing to move into a murderer’s home, thank you very much.I’m very honoured, but … You must excuse me … I do not think I could possibly make you happy …

Instead, all that slipped from her tongue was a blunt, ‘What?’

By the mantle, Mrs. Radcliff let out the quietesttsk.

Oh drat. That hadcertainlynot been the right thing to say. Then again, if she made sure to come across as a boorish, unmannered fool, perhaps Lord Locke would realise all by himself that he was committing the misstep of the century here? Perhaps he would simply retract his proposal, announce he had better things to do than explain his ways to witless maids, and vanish to find another, more enthusiastic victim for his schemes?

But the duke didn’t so much as frown as he rose to his feet. Nor did he smile. There was no frustration or impatience in his gestures as he straightened his cravat with his large, muscular hands; only his measured side glance was full of unspoken requests.

‘Radcliffe?’ he said.

And before Nellie knew what was happening, the housekeeper had slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind her stiff, black-clad back.

Shutting her in.

WithLord Locke– six-time widower and brand new suitor.

For one mindless moment, Nellie wondered what would happen if she were to take flight after all – if Locke would catchher before she could escape this mahogany-and-velvet trap. But even if she managed to get out of the room, causing a scene might very well cost her this position at the Eyestone household. And where would she end up if she lost her room and her daily meals, if she could no longer earn her money by ironing sheet after sheet after sheet?

In a duke’s home, a treacherous little voice whispered.

In a grave, she countered, gritting her teeth.

No, she had to stay here and face him, whatever he had to say. And then she had to refuse him –politely.

Which would be much, much easier if he wasn’t standing there looking at her with those frigid cat eyes, the slitted pupils so narrow as to almost be invisible. They didn’t gleam or glitter or glower, those eyes. They just … watched, taking in the world with a detached air of indifference that seemed far less human than even his fae hair or his unnaturally sharp cheekbones.

She’d have shivered if her tense muscles had allowed for it.

‘Your Grace …’ she started, rubbing her clammy fingers behind her back. ‘Your Grace, I’m afraid I don’t fully understand—’

‘Yes,’ he curtly interrupted, finally taking his eyes off her. She almost breathed a sigh of relief out loud. ‘Of course. I’m happy to provide some elucidation, if that is necessary in order to come to an agreement.’

What had he thought? That she’d be so elated to place herself in the position six dead women had held before that she’d throw herself into his burly arms at his first proposal, no further questions asked?

‘I would appreciate that, yes,’ she managed to say. ‘Your Grace.’

He turned away with a terse nod, intertwining his hands behind his back. ‘It’s a purely rational matter, you see. I’m in need of an heir.’

Anheir.

Which meant … oh, sweet divines. Was she blushing? This was not the moment to think of Lucy Clarke’s scandalous stories and imagine this man naked in his own silk sheets – but something about the breadth of his shoulders made it far too easy, the small, elegant motions of his hands that did not fit the roughness of their shape.

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