Page 6 of The Duke's Goddess

“Something could have.”

“It’s not my wedding,” James argued.

“It could have been.”

“It’s not. And it’ll never be.” There. That ought to shut them up. Except, no. That was entirely the wrong thing to say. In hindsight, James should have had the wherewithal tonotmock weddings, love, or marriage in front of the love sick fool of a duke in their quartet. At the very least, he should have known that this particular group of men, on this particular day, at this particular time would not relinquish the small rope he had tossed them. Especially a rope tethered in marriage.

“What do you mean?” Wes’s question seemed innocuous enough. It wasn’t.

“I mean what I said. I’m not planning to get married.”

Sam jumped in, “Well, no men reallyplanto get married, do they? Someone else plans it for them. A father or a mother sits them down one day and says,Listen son, you’re a duke. You need to marry and have a son. It’s all for the dukedom, you see?We’re all dukes. We’ve all had that talk, no?” He didn’t wait for any replies, just continued on, “And then when they do find the lucky betrothed—no offense Wes—the man doesn’tplanthe wedding. The future mother-in-law—or some female variety related to the betrothed—plansthe wedding. Isn’t that right?”

“Spoken as if you have firsthand experience,” Wes eyed Sam.

“None. All second and third hand.” Sam smirked while Chris nodded along. Whether the nodding was in agreement or to keep the peace, James wasn’t sure.

“All the same, I don’t think that’s what our dear friend James is referring to.” Wes sent him a shocking look as he sat up in his seat. “You won’t marry? You’re the Duke of Cornwell. It’s your duty.”

“I think we all know how I feel about duty.” He dismissed duty with a flick of his wrist. “It’ll fall to my cousin. He’ll do a good enough job.”

“Good enough?” Wes almost popped out of his seat as those two words echoed in the room.

“Why are you so concerned? It’s not your dukedom. It’s not your life, Wes. It’s my life. And I’ll choose to live it how I see fit.”

“Now, now. James doesn’t want to marry and have children. Probably because his parents treated him like dirt. He doesn’t want to perpetuate the cycle. Am I right?” Sam spoke the words cavalierly, as if they didn’t shoot daggers into James’s heart.Almost as if he were speaking about someone else. Not one of his best friends who was in the room, seated next to him, in fact.

It would be reckless for James to stand up and throw a fist in his face. But it would be impulsive. James was anything but impulsive. He took calculated risks, as uncalculated as it might look to any observers. So, although it would have been easy enough, and damn well satisfying to punch the sodding fool in the face, he sat in his chair with his hand around his glass instead.

“You’re right,” he said. And he almost left it at that, but then he had to add, “You sodding fatwit.”

“Right. Well, now that that’s settled. I have a question of my own. If you were to marry—yes, yes, yes, I know, you won’t—but if you were to marry, what would have to be so special about the lady to make you fall for her, assuming you’ll only marry for love?”

As if that were a given…it wasn’t. James wasn’t planning to marry. He didn’t want to marry. There was no bone in his body made to love. Or be loved. He had always known that. Always would.

“Not going to happen—”

“Indulge me, James.”

So James thought of the most ludicrous checklist of requirements he could think of off the top of his head. But of course, he tapped his chin lightly before he spouted off the list, as if to relay to his friends that he had given this any amount of thought prior to Sam’s question.

“Well, there are three things, if I had to put them into words and onto a list.” Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Which you do.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He tapped his chin a few more times. “First of all, she has to be willing to name her first daughter December.”

“James—” Wes started.

“Let the man speak,” Sam said with terse lips. Was he suppressing a smile?

“Secondly, she has to have a mole in the shape of a moon on her backside.”

And then, just because he was on a roll and he could see Sam struggling to keep himself in check, he added, “Thirdly, she must kiss my eyeball.”

“Oh my God, James, give it up.” Wes slapped the table. “Let’s play piquet before this chucklehead starts drinking.”

There. That was the response James was looking for. Get them off his back. For now.

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