Page 14 of The Duke Who Dared Me
She was.Desperately.It wouldn’t only be a matter of pride.She would lose the last grip of independence she had over life.If she could not find a husband, her brother would.This time next year, she would likely be married, locked away in some crumbling family seat, heavy with child, to a man she didn’t care about.All because she was deemed a burden.
Independence was everything, and she had so little already.
“I’m not,” Verity lied.
“You rode out here this morning to insult me?”
“I came to warn you.”
He snorted.“About what?”
“Mr.Nethercott intends to call on me this week.”
It was a lie.She had received a few letters from Lord Brookhouse since their first dance, but he had been detained on family business.Still, his disbelief pricked her pride.
Alistair went very still.“Does he?”
She tilted her chin.“He’s charming.Handsome.”
Alistair’s jaw ticked, and his hands gripped the reins.Good, her prodding was working.
“He’s a rake and a cad.”
“So are you.”
Again, her mouth rushed forward.Alistair Rutley, the Duke of Tunstall, was a lot of things, but he was no rake.Now a cad, yes, but she thought he could at least admit that much about himself.
“I don’t compromise women and install a string of bastard children in the countryside before fleeing the continent.”
“Not anymore, maybe.”
He urged his horse closer until their knees nearly brushed.“Don’t test me, Verity.”
“Why not?”She laughed, a cold, heartless chuckle that hid the anger bubbling up within her chest.“You seem eager to test me.For years now.Every ballroom.Every card game.Every morning ride we’ve ever shared.I can’t even find a husband without being tangled up in a wager with you.”
“First, we haven’t ridden together in years.”Alistair scratched his cheek, surveying the other riders in the distance of the park.“And you proposed, then agreed to that wager.”
“You’ve made a mockery of it.Now all of London is cheering for me to lose.”The tide of anger twisted inside of her to something sadder, more vulnerable.“They already think so little of me.”
He leaned down slightly, voice low and rough.“I’m not mocking you.”
“You think I can’t land an offer on my own.That I’m unlovable.Unworthy.For once, just say it instead of marching around, trying to make me feel small.”
“God, Verity,” he growled, eyes blazing.“Your brother asked for my help.That’s not what I?—”
She nudged her mare forward, cutting across his path.“You don’t want to win because you want a match, or even to prove you’re capable of finding someone to tolerate you.You want to win simply so I will lose.So you can lord it over me like everything else, you pompous sapscull.”
“No.I want you to lose so I don’t have to watch you fall for the wrong man.Again.”
The air squeezed out of her lungs as she struggled to string together the men behind the marriage proposals she had turned down over the years.They hadn’t hurt her.They’d shown interest and praised her beauty.They were eager to make her a wife, and a few, like Lord Farish, had even kissed her.
They weren’t wrong; they just hadn’t been right.
Alistair’s horse shifted beneath him, restless as the cool winter breeze coiled between them.
Verity narrowed her eyes.“What do you know about those men?”
His jaw ticked again.“Too much.”
