Page 52 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke
“I built it to function,” he snapped, “not to be overrun by animals and misrule.”
They were close now. Too close. Her breathing was ragged, her eyes stormy with defiance. He could see the tip of a wild curl near her temple, a flush crawling up her neck. She was vibrant and furious and utterlyinfuriating.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he said quietly, with a trace of disbelief.
“No,” she whispered. “I think you’re the one who’s afraid.”
He didn’t know who moved first—her or him—but suddenly the space between them seemed to shrink, the air thickening with something electric and raw.
His hand trembled just above her cheek, caught between hesitation and desire. Her breath hitched, lips parting ever so slightly, inviting and daring all at once.
There was a flicker of something wild in her eyes—a challenge, fierce and unguarded—and beneath it, a subtle sweetness that only made the fire burning between them hotter, almost unbearable.
And then?—
Bang.
The goat kicked something over inside her room. A vase, maybe. Or a chair. It bleated again, with tremendous satisfaction.
Dominic exhaled sharply and stepped back.
“One night,” he said tightly, refusing to look at her mouth again. “He may stay one night. After that, I want him back in his pen.”
Marianne gave him a dazzling, triumphant smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He turned and walked away without another word, ignoring the strange heat prickling at the back of his neck.
Behind him, he heard her laugh—and the goat snort—as if they’d both won something important.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Where are they?” Marianne asked, breathless from holding her breath for most of the wait.
The weekend had finally arrived.
Marianne had explored nearly every corner of Oakmere Hall by now—its shadowed corridors, its quiet attics, its sunlit gardens. She’d even amused herself by making changes just to see how far she could push the Duke’s patience.
That, admittedly, had been the most fun of all.
But today, she couldn’t be bothered to care what he thought. For her sisters were coming.
She stood at the front entrance, hands clasped behind her back, neck craned as she stared down the long drive. The gravel was still and silent for a moment, and then—at last—a carriageappeared through the trees, rumbling closer with every turn of the wheels.
Her heart leaped.
The vehicle drew to a halt a few feet away. The door opened.
First came Wilhelmina, poised and solemn in a deep purple velvet cloak. She was on the cusp of womanhood now, with the kind of regal bearing that turned heads. Though Marianne knew that beneath that serene exterior was a tongue as sharp as cut glass.
The twins tumbled out next. Victoria, in a forest-green gown, wrinkled her nose as though the country air personally offended her. Daphne, ever the contrast, wore a pale pink frock and beamed with open delight, already turning her head to take everything in.
Behind them trailed an exhausted governess, her bonnet askew and her shoulders sagging under the weight of responsibility and motion sickness.
But one figure was missing.
Marianne scanned the carriage again, her brow furrowed.
No Elizabeth.
