Page 16 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

It would make marrying her off all the harder. Ten thousand is no negligible sum, but when paired with this level of incompetence? Hopefully, they will be stunned by other assets and not thrown off by the lack of her mind. Granted, most matches are about money. The devil knows most of the simpering misses are not intelligent by any stretch of the imagination.

It’s one of the many reasons I loathe the idea of joining anyone in marriage. For a moment, I had the wild idea that someone as given to books as Lady Teresa could make a smart match with me, even despite knowing the evil lurking inside her heart. Once married, I could have disciplined her, trained her to behave in a manner becoming of a duchess.

After today, however, all such notions are gone. I can fix a wily attitude with a taste of my leather, but I can’t grow a brain in that skull of hers. The fact she seemed to be so well read, and yet can’t perform one womanly duty to save her neck… Shoving the anger to the side, I nod at the lone performer in the room to strike up a lively tune.

Perhaps she’ll show some skill at this. But soon, my wishes turn to ash drifting on a wave of smoke as she steps on my foot. “Many pardons, Your Grace,” she gasps out, maneuvering away from my body.

Maybe it was just a false step. Others have had similar, and it’s not as if the late Middlehey was known to throw balls. But soon, she once more crosses my foot with hers. The dance is painful, stilting as I force myself to go through the steps, enduring pain after pain as her feet continue to prove just as clumsy as the rest of her.

After two dances with such ill effect, I pull away from her, resigned to endure no more at the mercy of her feet. Something isn’t right. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but there’s something about the soft smile that dances about her lips before her muttered apologies. Or maybe it’s the sparkle in her treacherous blue eyes.

Either way, something about her lack of skill doesn’t sit right with me. Thomas Baker, her father, was always considered an eccentric. He made no bones about his disdain for matters of court. And yet, it still seems wrong that someone as intelligent as him would not insist his daughter have some modicum of training.

I watch her through slitted lids, examining the movements of her body as she sways about to the music, ostensibly off in her own little world. She appears lithe and graceful. Perhaps it was just the music then? Maybe it’s a dance she’s not familiar with.

Motioning toward the player, I change it up to something else, something graceful, like a waltz. Scandalous as it is, I wonder how she will fare with these steps. Besides, with the number of servants lurking about, no one can cry foul. I’m hiding nothing.

With a few swift steps, I join her again, sweeping her up into my arms. Though I keep a proper enough distance away, I can still feel the heat of her body as I move her into a turn. She allows me to lead, moving in such synchronicity it nearly takes my breath away. But then, just as I lower my guard, there comes her foot, hard on mine.

“Enough,” I finally roar out, my pride and feet no longer able to abide by such abuse. “How in all of heaven can you be so damned inept?” Yes, I cursed in the presence of a lady. No, I do not give one single fuck.

She blinks up at me, widening her eyes in that maddening innocent way of hers that both twists my gut and stirs my ire at the same time. “Am I not a woman?”

Yes, she is a woman. Yes, I want to thrash her within an inch of her life. Yes, I want nothing more than to peel the clothes from her body and inflict as much pain on her as she has on me. Tit for tat and all of that.

It’s that last desire, however, that gives me pause. There’s nothing about her person I should find delectable or delightful in any way. Perhaps it’s merely the ardent wish to inflict violence upon her person. Yes. That must be it. For the sake of my sanity, that has to be it.

“I need a few moments to recompose myself. In the meantime, you will find some occupation that will hopefully sharpen your dull senses.” I need space from her, to go somewhere where her intoxicating scent of mint and sage can no longer taunt me.

* * *

A sigh heavy on my lips, I descend back into the fray, prepared to do battle with the darkness that awaits. All I have to do is instill the proper amount of training, just enough to make her passible for society. Plan firmly etched into my mind, I seek the vixen who plagues this house, but turn up empty.

Each room has a faint hint of her scent, denoting she’s traversed the floors, but no sign of the incompetent omega I so foolishly decided to take under my wing. Bollocks. But did she enter every single room? Is she that curious? Too bad her inquisitive mind couldn’t have been put to better use.

Stopping back by the drawing room where the scent of her is the strongest, I lean against an obliging wall, darting my gaze back and forth to ensure my solitude. Daydreams so real they’re akin to hallucinations flood my mind. If only she were mine. I could train her with my personal methodology.

Though they would seem scandalous to someone as innocent as her, they would be effective. Closing my eyes, I picture her naked, bound in my ropes as I apply the crop to her backside. No doubt she’d never forget a step again after a few weeks under my intense training.

A smile curls up the edges of my lips as I palm my burgeoning erection. What an odd lady’s school that would make. We would keep our hands away from their pussies so as to present a woman with all her virginal charms to her new mate, but we would ravage them within an inch of their sanity.

Groaning, I squeeze my balls and continue on with my search. There are only two other places she can be, and if my servants allowed her entrance to my study, there would be hell to pay. I take off toward the gentleman’s lounge area of the house, emboldened by the strength of her scent.

As I open the door, I watch her tiptoeing around the room, her fingers fluttering over pretty much every item. Then, however, she stops, her hand drifting over the pommel of one of my fencing rapiers. I step all the way in and lean against the frame, smirking as her eyes widen.

Poor innocent thing. No doubt she’s looking at the intricate scroll of metal work so as to ascertain a value for which to sell it. She misses the craftsmanship that makes this fencing blade such a delight to own.

“Careful. I promised your cousin I would bring you back to him in one piece. I would hate for you to injure yourself on my blades.”

She tosses her head, making the mountain of curls tremble behind her, before casting a disparaging glance over her shoulder. “If I am able to injure myself with one of these blades, then you, Your Grace, are a fool to have them here.” Disrespect drips from her lips as thick as honey from a comb.

My vision wavers for a moment as I stare the young chit down, my fingers pulsing by my side as the need to thrash her nearly consumes me. “Perhaps it’s best if you take a seat, little girl, and know when to stop while you’re ahead. Besides, what would you know of swords?”

“I know enough,” she grinds out, the muscle in her jaw jumping.

“You? A woman? More so, a woman who’s not even capable of performing the most menial tasks? Pray continue to joke. It’s something you’re actually good at. Who knows, if I cannot make you a wife, you might be able to attend court as their new jester.”

“I am not in jest.”