Page 51 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
The next day, rain poured.
Again, Dominic had tried his best to steer clear of his wife, as she seemed to still be wary of him, even though she awakened sensations in him he’d stifled long ago.
Desire. Lust.
Marianne walked down the hallway, wrapped in a shawl. She was barefooted, no doubt having left her dirty slippers outside. The hem of her dress was soaked.
Dominic watched her, wondering how he had been so fortunate. When he let himself look at her,reallylook at her, he saw a beautiful, intelligent woman who was not afraid of what other people thought of her. She had no wishes to be pampered, no interest in his estate. It seemed that she was focused on making him send her away. Annul the marriage.
Another woman would have wanted to please him all the time, for the sake of gifts—clothes and jewels.
Then, he saw the goat.
It trotted confidently through the corridor like it belonged there, its hooves clicking on the polished floors. Marianne followedbehind it, her skirts bunched in one hand, the other extended in a futile attempt at diplomacy.
“No chewing,” she murmured sternly, as if the creature might listen.
Perseus gave her a look, flicked its ears, and took a bite of a dried flower arrangement on a console table.
Dominic’s left eye twitched.
Marianne lunged forward, snatched the bouquet away, and tried to herd the beast down the hallway—toward her chambers, no less.
She looked nothing like a noblewoman. Her hem was streaked with dirt, and her hair had come loose again, tumbling down in unruly waves.
Farmhand. That was what she resembled. Not the daughter of a marquess.
Certainly not a duchess.
She paused at her door, glanced back, and caught him watching. To her credit, she didn’t start or curtsy. She just gave a breathless, little smile and said, “We’re working on boundaries. Perseus hates thunder.”
Dominic said nothing.
The goat bleated, then trotted inside her room as if he were invited.
Dominic pressed his fingers to his temples. “He should not be inside your room. Or any room, for that matter,” he warned.
Marianne turned in her doorway, leaning against the frame. “He has a name. And he’s cleaner than some of your tenants’ boots, I wager.”
“Be that as it may,” Dominic replied, taking a step closer, “he is still livestock.”
“He’s family.”
He stared at her. She stared back, unblinking, her chin lifted in defiance.
“Duchess,” he said, his voice dropping further, “you cannot keep a goat in your bedchamber. This is not a farm. You are not a?—”
“What? A milkmaid?” she challenged, pushing away from the door.
Her words were like kindling to the flint of his temper.
He stepped closer. “Yes. We had an agreement, if I recall correctly.”
“I remember our agreement, Your Grace. But it’s pouring, and Perseus is terrified.”
“Yes, so terrified he must wreak havoc in my house?”
“Is that how you want your house to be? No goats, no laughter, no living things of any kind—just dust, order, and control. What a delightful house you’ve built.”
