Page 13 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“Please, Miss. The duke-”

“Will see me when I’m ready,” her face crumples as she slides back over to the side, head bowed.

As much as I want to take my time, to draw out this charade until he gives up, I don’t want to cause any undue duress for his help. Why should they suffer for the arrogance of their master? With another sigh, I turn towards the door, noting the relieved smile on her lips.

When she opens it, I half expect to see Foxford pacing, his lips screwed up like a rabid dog. But there’s no one. Somehow, it’s disappointing to me. I was so hoping to have our row out here and now, but it seems it’s still waiting for me.

Gripping the sides of my dress, I flit down the stairs with as much grace as these uncomfortable shoes will let me and stand there at the base waiting for him. I look this way and that, but still no one. Has the master quit this house and left me alone?

Eventually, after what feels like several minutes, he strolls towards me, resplendent in his clothes. If I didn’t loathe him with such a passion, I might have my head turned by such a display. As it is, however, I can’t even look at his face without wanting to spit into his eyes.

“You’re late.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” I murmur, settling into a low curtsy. “It was my understanding you wanted perfection, and that, of course, takes time.”

“Perfection,” he snorts. “We shall see if you’re capable of such a lofty term.” Holding out his arm, he waits for me to take it, and I debate the merits of running.

But then, as a Middlehey, running is not in my vocabulary. And so I thread my arm through his, detesting the flipping of my stomach as his woodsy scent invades my nose. Is it his soap perhaps? Or does he play the barbarian amongst the trees? I cannot tell, and I don’t dare ask.

Either way, the disruption to my stomach must be none other than the fact his very existence seems to make me ill. In fact, even now, heat seems to envelop my very being, making it difficult to breathe. I can’t let him see this weakness. I must fight past and show an icy veneer that not even his supercilious demeanor can crack.

He settles his fingers against my gloved hand, touching only what society deems appropriate, and yet it still feels scandalous. No doubt it’s the very fact his presence is reprehensible in my eyes. Yet one more foppish noble with nothing in his head except for the latest fashions and which way to turn their calf to show it off to perfection.

I want to believe the worst of him, to fill my mind and heart with every detail I can find, but unfortunately, whenever his startling green eyes find mine, it seems as if all my thoughts scatter. Such a strange affliction I must ponder in secret.

Taking me into a nearby drawing room, my stomach plummets as I take in the various musical instruments lined up, all poised, ready to be played. Though I am fully capable of playing them all, I do not wish for this show. Shall I end the rouse now? To show him just how well I can play each and every one?

Granted, I am better at some skills than others. Truth be told, I allowed myself to lapse in all instruments save the pianoforte. That one I kept up with, regaling Mother and Father with bright, spry pieces to drive away the gloom of the evening.

But part of me doesn’t wish to impart this with the odious man lingering at my elbow. He doesn’t deserve the same courtesy as my loving parents. Not with how vocal he is about my supposed faults.

Biding my time, I drift over to a large portrait, staring up at the happy family sitting there. With silent steps, the duke files in behind me, the heat from his body scattering my thoughts once more.

“Such a lovely family,” I murmur, desperate to break the tense silence.

Next to me, Foxford straightens, pride emanating from his body. “My father, Albert Harding, Duke of Foxford. My mother, of course, The Dowager Duchess, Caroline Harding. My siblings, Lord Alexander Harding and Lady Ellen Harding.”

My heart pounds in my chest to hear him speak of his family with such conviction. It’s the same as the fire that burns in my chest every time I think about my parents. Could it be this cold, unfeeling monster cares about someone other than himself?

“And how are they enjoying London?”

“My mother is always happy to be amongst her peers, however, my siblings reside at Moorbury. Since my sister is too young to even entertain a coming out and my brother is… well, shall we say, feeling very spirited as he grows into his role as an Alpha, he is away at school when not at the country estate.”

“I see.” But honestly, I don’t understand at all.

Seeing as I have no siblings or even a vague understanding of the feelings Alphas possess, all I can do is make polite conversation and hope to stall Foxford until he forgets the reason for this visit. But, of course, luck is not on my side.

Straightening, he nods to toward the instruments, his lips in a thin smile. “Let us see this perfection. I have been kept waiting long enough.”

CHAPTER 6

Teresa

My breath catches as his eyes look upon me, the green giving way to the flecks of gold, until I cannot tell the two apart. Has there always been gold there? Or am I just imagining them? The flames from the various lamps must be playing tricks with my eyes, but the longer I stare, the more they take me in.

It’s maddening, vexing. The more I try to hold on to my anger, the more it slips through my fingers like fog floating off of the Thames. What power does he hold? What sorcery does he possess?

“Lady Teresa. If you please.”