Page 3 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t,” I snap out, the frustration building in me. “I just wanted one last look. One last wave goodbye before she disappeared out of my life completely.”

Shaking his head, he tugs on the last drawer and lets out a breath, presumably satisfied I didn’t unearth whatever secrets reside in those depths. “You have an unhealthy relationship with the help,” he mutters, striding back over to me. “You value your relationship with her far more than putting your affairs into order.”

Fingers trembling, I set the books down on the desk and plant my fists against my hips. From inside my chemise, the pipe jostles a touch, slipping down a bit further. For a moment, my breath stills as panic surges through my body, turning my bones into liquid. The last thing I need is for it to manage to slide down somehow and fall to the floor under my dress.

As if drifting from his grave, my father’s voice whispers in my mind, reminding me to choose my battles. Right now, the pipe is paramount, and this petty argument can wait for another day or two. Besides, fighting with Asher will never bring Mary back. Once he decided she had to leave, that was it.

All this will do is prolong the inevitable where I either accidentally reveal the pipe, or he somehow deduces there’s more to the ruse than mere goodbyes and books. Though he isn’t the most book-smart man I know, he seems to be the most cunning. His wits are akin to those of a snake, solely seeking out how to take down a prey as opposed to stopping and thinking if his actions are just and wise.

Everything he does appears to be underhanded and sneaky, stirring some part of my gut to mistrust. But that could be merely a supposition on my part, seeing as I refuse to build a bridge between us. He could feasibly be an amiable man, but I refuse to even acknowledge that possibility.

“Forgive me, Cousin,” I reply, making my tone as demure as possible given the rage simmering below the surface. “I merely wanted to say goodbye again, then caught sight of some books I wanted in the main library. That way, I wasn’t constantly having to come to you to ask for them.”

Brow scrunching, he picks them up one by one and examines them, turning the books over in his hand and opening them up before giving them a hard shake. Whatever could he be looking for? Does he think I’m smuggling documents out of here?

Guilt gnaws at my insides as the pipe continues to slip a millimeter or so every few minutes. Hiding the pipe is different. In my heart, I know it to be true. By keeping this one thing after he’s sold so much, I can't cause any more harm to befall this household than is already here.

Surely one lonely pipe won’t make a difference in our monetary affairs. And again, I detest the fact I can’t answer the unspoken question since I have no knowledge of just how bad in arrears we are or what a pipe like this will actually fetch. And it’s that lack of understanding which makes me pause, almost convincing me to give up the information he never asked for.

However, even though a war rages inside my mind, I remain silent. To keep this pipe, to smell the scent that always clung to my father like a second skin, I would endure any other punishment, give up any other thing. Even if it means going without food for a bit, I’ll make the sacrifice.

My eyes narrow a bit as I watch him flipping through the pages. Still, he seeks something, something I cannot even fathom to understand or help in his quest. But after several minutes, he eventually stacks the books back up, his lips twisting in disgust, seemingly never finding what it is he’s looking for. Again, I am plagued with more questions than there are answers.

“You may take them. But if I catch you in my study again, there will be a punishment to pay.”

I gather my treasures into my arms, grateful to hide my bosom again with the large stack. Relief floods my system, and for a moment, it robs me of my senses, allowing me to say things that should be better kept behind closed lips.

“And you feel as if you are qualified to punish me? A cousin who merely wants to deprive me of the last joys I have on Earth? Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Watching the unease as it crawls over his face, I let my sorrow have free rein. Though it’s emotional blackmail, I let the tears fall again, knowing just how uncomfortable it will make him. But I rest in the fact that despite his discomfort, it will never be even an ounce of the agony I feel with every breath.

And so, I sob, allowing just a hint of the despair that slashes through my soul until I cannot breathe to fill the space between us. It sours the air, my grief taking a scent more akin to rancid milk or mold festering within damp wood. Just like clockwork, his face turns a slight shade of pink, clashing horribly with the dark green brocade of his jacket.

Clearing his throat, he motions for me to leave, and I oblige, no longer wishing to suffer his presence. Today was close. Too close. Clutching the books to my chest, I hurry out of his office and down the hall to where the library is. It’s my one safe place. My haven. The one location my cousin doesn’t bother me.

And why should he? The title he now holds as an earl is only his because of the death of my father. To my knowledge, neither brain nor brawn afforded him a title of his own. He’s certainly not as well-spoken as I would like the lord of the house to be… But that decision isn’t mine to make.

Once more, I curse my sex, which makes it nearly impossible to have anything go my way. And it’s not that I’m an omega, for plenty of omega males have made a name for themselves. It’s merely the lack of an appendage betwixt my thighs forcing me into this plight.

Grumbling under my breath, I push my way into the library and set my stack of books down before heading to my room. I need this pipe out of my dress before anything else can happen. As I traverse the halls, easing my way up the stairs so as not to jostle the pipe further, titters of laughter drift out from a few of the rooms where Asher’s maids pretend as if they’re cleaning until I walk in on them.

“Did you see the drab frock her lady’s maid dressed her in before she left?”

“Oh, that’s no worse than her hair. Whoever thought bone straight was a desirable trait?”

I sink into the shadows, listening to them gossip about me. Reaching up, I run my fingers through my aforementioned hair, twisting it for a moment before letting it fall back. They wouldn’t understand. All I need is my hair pulled out of my face, so it doesn’t interfere with my reading or experiments.

I’ve never wanted fancy coiffures that took so long to arrange, only to eventually fall out at the slightest head shake of frustration. More than that, I refuse to abide by the headaches borne from having my hair pulled and tugged. And for what? Fashion? For some man to admire it and decide to mate me as a result?

If any man I meet holds hairstyles as a marker for one's attributes, then I am better off without them. A man who will endeavor to win my heart will see past finery and frippery, mere window dressing, and to the heart of who I am as a person. They will see my brain, my wit, and my willingness to be a helpmate as opposed to a pretty bauble adorning their arm.

Shaking my head, I smile as the loose strands caress my neck and face. If I had my way, I’d shave the lot off and keep it short like a man. That way, it can never bother me. Wouldn’t that be a lark? Walking about as a woman but with the carefree nature being a man affords.

Besides, the less time Mary spent on my hair meant more time to pour over my science and philosophy books, putting myself to more academic pursuits as opposed to merely being jewelry and adornment for the Alphas. A scowl twists my lips as they continue to berate my style and how I choose to comport myself. As if they understand what it means to be the daughter of an earl.

None of them have ever once been in my shoes. None of them have any prospects they stand to lose by conducting themselves in ways that defy the Ton. Not one of these maids understands the fact I am well aware my unorthodox ways will cost me marriage to an Alpha who’s suitable to my station.

I, however, am keenly aware of all of it. It was drilled into my head by my mother and then Father after she died. Though he indulged me with my academic desires and aspirations, he continued to school me on how I was to conduct myself with those of the courts. And though he did his best, my desire to pursue knowledge over marriage won out.