Page 14 of His Godsent Duchess
Victor opened his mouth to respond when something suddenly brushed against his leg. He jumped, his heart pounding. Looking down, he found himself staring at a cat.
"What in heaven's name—?" His disbelief was palpable, his heart still racing. "Who brought this odious beast into the house?"
A footman, looking nervous, stepped forward. "It belongs to the Duchess, Your Grace."
Victor's eyes swept the room, his frustration mounting. "Where is the Duchess?" he demanded.
"I am here," came a calm voice from the doorway.
He turned to see the Duchess walking into the room with two maids, each carrying a tray laden with cakes and biscuits. Victor's eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. Her disheveled red hair indicated she had been involved in the chaotic play earlier. Her pale blue day dress, though lovely, was wrinkled. But it was her bright green eyes, full of life and mischief, that struck him the most.She is a nightmare! Perhaps my worst nightmare!
His patience snapped. "Everyone out!" he barked at the servants, who scrambled to obey, leaving the room in a flurry of motion.
"Miss Peversly, take the children up to their rooms," he ordered, his voice hard.
Agnes began to cry, tears streaming down her face. The sight tugged at something deep within him, but before he could react, the Duchess stepped forward, her eyes fierce.
"Children need gentleness, not anger and cruel words," she said, her chin raised.
Victor's attention snapped to her. His jaw clenched, and he fought to keep his temper in check. "Meet me in my study. Now!"
Victor turned on his heels and stormed out of the library, his steps echoing through the grand hallways of the Castle. He entered his study with a forceful push of the door, which slammed against the wall and rattled the framed maps and paintings. He stood rigidly in front of his desk, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with controlled rage as he waited for the Duchess.
Time stretched interminably, his thoughts a chaos of anger and incredulity. Just as he was about to march out and drag her in himself, the door opened with a quiet creak, and she walked in, closing it softly behind her. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, a picture of defiance and calm.
Victor's eyes narrowed as he began, his voice a razor's edge. "I thought what I am about to say would be unnecessary because I assumed your father surely must have informed you that your purpose in this marriage is to guide my daughters and raise them with a strict hand to be proper ladies."
Her eyes flashed defiantly, and she placed her hands on her hips, the defiant gesture drawing his attention. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly see her. She was not the delicate flower her father had described, but a lean, strong woman who looked as if she spent ample time outdoors. Her skin had a healthy glow, her posture was confident, and her fiery red hair, fighting to escape her chignon in rebellious curls, captivated him despite his anger.
Her voice snapped him out of his observations. "The children do not need a strict hand. They need care."
"They have ample care," he retorted, his voice rising with emotion as he slammed his hand down on the desk for emphasis.
"How can they have care when you are seldom home?" she countered, stepping closer, her green eyes blazing with challenge.
"It is not your business how much time I spend with my children," he shot back, his temper flaring. He took another step toward her, the space between them charged with tension.
"They are children, Your Grace. They are supposed to play and be wild to discover who they are," she insisted, her tone unyielding.
Victor felt an overwhelming urge to either shake her or kiss her, the intensity of his conflicting emotions nearly overwhelming. To divert his thoughts, he demanded, "Is that how you discovered who you are? Did your parents allow you to play and be wild?" He took another step forward, his imposing presence casting a shadow over her.
The Duchess shook her head, her expression unwavering. "They sent me to a school that was most thorough in discipline."
"Then how did you end up being the dragon's spawn?" he asked sarcastically, his lips curling into a sneer.
"Because you are a worse dragon," she retorted, her voice rising. "You won't even let your children out of the cave so they can gain strength."
Victor realized how impossible she was to argue with. Every word he thought would give him an edge, she countered with something sharper. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, took a step back, and sat heavily behind his desk. "Sit," he commanded coolly, pointing to the chair opposite him.
She folded her arms across her chest, her posture defiant. "I will not ask again," he said, his voice icy, his eyes locked onto hers.
She paused, the flames in her eyes blazing even more intensely, then took a breath and sat in the chair opposite his desk, her movements deliberate and composed.
"The children are not the only ones requiring discipline in this castle," he began, his voice measured but firm. "From now on, no one is allowed in the library—neither you nor the children."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he glared at her and held up a hand, silencing her. "No playing, no shouting," he continued, his tone brooking no argument.
When he finished, he watched her closely. Her features were tight, and she looked like she wanted to speak but was restraining herself. "Do you have any questions?" he asked.
