Page 5 of The Duke of Ruin
Diana pulled her bonnet from her head and met her mother in the middle of the room.
“I’m not sure if we should have duck or pheasant. What do you think?”
That none of this matters.
She nearly told her mother the truth right then. But fear of her father’s wrath—so quickly after one of his outbursts—held her tongue. “Duck. What else?”
Her mother looked at her a moment, her gaze softening. “You really shouldn’t provoke him. You know better than to do that.”
Yes, she did. But sometimes, particularly after a long period of calm, which they’d enjoyed since she’d become engaged, she forgot herself. Or, more accurately, she forgothim.
“And why would you joke about such a thing?” Her mother scoffed and then ended up laughing. “Don’t you want to be away from here as soon as possible?”
They rarely spoke of his anger or the ways in which he tortured them both, which, despite the way he’d just grabbed her, was almost entirely nonphysical. He’d pushed her mother a few times, but once in a while, Diana wondered if it had ever gone further between them. She’d always been too afraid to ask.
She looked into her mother’s soft blue eyes. “Don’t you?”
Her mother flinched. “Of course not. I’m quite content. In spite of things.” She summoned a smile that Diana didn’t completely believe. “You mustn’t worry about me. I love your father, and he loves me—never doubt that.”
Strangely, Diana didn’t. But it forgave nothing.
The headache Diana had professed to have earlier bloomed behind her left ear. “What else do you need me to look over?”
“That’s it for now. Go and rest. I can tell you don’t feel quite right.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Diana leaned over and kissed her cheek, then departed the drawing room.
Upstairs, her maid attended her immediately, helping her to undress so she could lie down before dinner. “Are my parents staying in tonight?” Diana asked. She’d won a reprieve from social events this week because her fiancé had asked for one. Whereas her father would’ve dragged her out anyway, now that she was engaged—or supposedly so—he’d decided to allow her the freedom of remaining home.
“I believe they are attending a ball. Do you wish to join them?”
Diana shook her head. “No. It will be nice to be alone. In fact, please have my dinner brought here. Then I shall retire early.” That would give her plenty of time to pack.
Wait, had she decided to leave? Where would she go?
The maid finished up and left.
Diana sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her armoire. Inside was a wardrobe any young miss would crave. But she’d walk away from it all if it meant true freedom. Not just one night in which she didn’t have to parade around the town with her parents, but a lifetime of deciding what she wore, whom she talked to, and whom she married.Ifshe married.
A bead of excitement bubbled inside her.
But, again, where would she go? And what would she do?
The only way she could avoid her father would be to marry someone. The Duke of Romseyhadoffered.
She shivered.
He was the Duke of Ruin—or so everyone called him. He’d been a terrible rake before marrying, and then his wife had died under very mysterious circumstances. It was widely accepted that he pushed her down the stairs in a drunken rage. Apparently, he never disputed that, which only lent credence to the rumor.
She couldn’t spend her life with someone prone to rages. Never mind that he’d never demonstrated such behavior. It wasn’t just that she’d never seen it—their acquaintance had been rather brief after all. She’d asked and been told that he was always affable and kind. He was also witty and charming.
And he kissed divinely. Not that she had anything at all to compare him to.
She abruptly stood and paced around her bed, clasping and unclasping her hands.
If she stayed, her father would be furious, and there was no telling how he might punish her, especially if her reputation suffered. He might even try to enforce the marriage with the Duke of Kilve, but Diana suspected that wouldn’t end well.
She could absolutely rely on him arranging a marriage with someone else as soon as possible, and this time, she doubted he’d take her preferences into account. He’d suggested a few other men whom she’d judged too old or too unpleasant—they’d all made her uncomfortable, and she was too afraid to see what a marriage to them would mean. It was better to stay with the devil she knew than one she didn’t.
