Page 8 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
How could anyone expect her to agree to marry the man who had humiliated her so thoroughly not once but twice? How were they to relate to each other with such a disastrous beginning? She did not understand why he was even willing to try until she remembered that he was set to inherit an entire ducal empire. She knew nothing of the Campbells, only that they were distant relatives. She assumed that this must feel to them like the chance to make something of themselves and their lineage.
But why must I be the sacrificial lamb? It is not my fault that my father was unable to bear sons, she thought viciously.
The footsteps came to a stop. “You really are a very dramatic person. Is all this truly necessary?”
Freya did not deign to answer.
He sighed, “Is this how the entirety of our marriage is going to be?”
Provoked, she sat up at once and turned to glare at him. “There will be no marriage between us.”
He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “You know I have spoken to your governess —”
“She’s not my governess; she’s Isabella’s.”
“I have spoken to your governess,” Eric continued, ignoring her interruption, “and she told me of your love of the gardens at Stark Manor. Are you aware that your father intends to sell it?”
Freya gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes, wondering if he was lying to her.
He nodded as if in confirmation, “He told me of his plans just now. He has heard of an experimental treatment in the Orient and means to sell the Manor so that he might travel there in hopes of a cure.”
“No, he can’t! Where would we live?”
He lifted his eyebrows, “Why with me, of course. I suppose this townhouse would be left empty. It might be a good place to conduct my business.”
“And what of Isabella and all the staff at Stark Manor? What will happen to them?”
He shrugged. “That is hardly any of my concern.”
She stared at him in disbelief, “So you just came here to add to my misery? Please leave me alone.”
He took a step closer. “Of course not. I came here to make you a proposal.”
Her brow furrowed, “And what makes you think I would be interested in —”
“Do you want to save your gardens, your sister, and the staff or not?”
Freya was rendered mute for a moment. “What is your proposal?”
“Stop this childish refusal to marry me, and I will give your father the funds that he needs to seek this treatment. That way he will have no reason to sell Stark Manor.”
Freya frowned. “And do you have the funds to just give to him?”
“Of course. My family is very well off.”
Freya hid her surprise at this piece of news. “Oh.”
He corked an eyebrow. “So? Do we have an agreement?”
Slowly she nodded, “Yes, I will marry you.”
He took a step closer, “That is good. As for your father wanting an heir, I am well aware of the repulsive nature of my scars. I will not force you to come near me. That I promise you.”
Freya’s lip trembled with the need to refute his words. He was not repulsive—he might look like a rakehell, a pirate and a ne’er do well but he wasn’t repulsive. But on the other hand, she was not willing to give anyone any heirs. Not under these conditions. So, it was better for him to think that she could not bear to be near him rather than to try to come up with another reason why she was not ready for the intimacies of marriage.
Mrs. Beecham had been very thorough in her education as soon as her father had announced that she was to wed Alexander, so she was cognizant of what might be expected of her in the marriage bed. Mrs. Beecham had even taken her to the stables to watch as poor Miss Potty was bred to a stallion. Freya had never felt so sorry for another living being.
“It’s all quite natural.” Mrs. Beecham had said. “You’ll see.”
