Page 49 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

For that reason alone, I want to keep her the villain, allowing my ire to cause her slick to flow for me. If she wants my iron hand, she will get it. And if I find out she was innocent in all of this, then I’ll merely shift my mind to that of the sadist within, so I may keep her satisfied.

CHAPTER 24

Teresa

Days go by, and the duke and I never really see each other. Every day, I look at myself in the mirror, studying my stomach, but nothing changes. I even log my food intake in secret, jotting down everything so I can account for any shift.

Tucking the notebook under my bed, I walk over to the far wall and pull back the rug. There, just like in my old home, I pry up a loose floorboard and study the treasures within. To think that my good fortune held out enough to grant me a hiding place.

I was so sure I’d have to find a way to move it myself, but it seems that someone else had the same ideas as me. Was it Mama Foxford? Did she have things she wanted to hide? Perhaps it was a lady from generations back.

In that space, I can almost feel time as it winds around me, connecting me to the great duchesses that have lived here before. It’s as if I’m not alone. I pull out the pipe and clutch it to my chest, inhaling the soft tendrils that remain.

If only he were still alive. None of this would be happening if my father were here. He would have convinced me to attend the balls and such, since it’s what society demands, but he wouldn’t have forced me into marriage. I’m sure of it.

Slumping down, I sit with my back wedged into the corner, rocking back and forth as tears gather in my eyes. Either way, he would not have wanted me to be so unhappy. But then, with the situation being what it was, he might not have had a choice.

How did he manage to get so far into debt? Again, the thought of what could I have done slithers about in my brain. It eats at me almost daily. But there’s never a solution I can see. What’s done is done, and I can’t take back his debts.

Hopefully, Asher got what he needed so all of this can be put behind us. The last thing I need is for people to start talking about my father in an unflattering light. Even if he had gambling issues, he was still a great man and father.

Either way, these waters would have been far easier to navigate if he hadn’t passed. At the very least, Asher wouldn’t have been in charge, and as such, Foxford would have never been summoned in the first place. Such a precarious house of cards, all set about because of my father’s death.

It’s done now, however, and there’s no use crying over the fact when nothing can be changed. Giving the polished wood of the pipe one final kiss, I place it in its hiding spot and cover everything back up. From there, I tiptoe to the door and glance about, noting the guard dog Foxford placed on me, and roll my eyes.

Let the man follow me. I have nothing to hide. Nothing I’ve done should be of any suspect. In fact, I’m hoping the man is bored by my flitting about the place. Even when Mama Foxford asks if I want to go with her outside, presumably to shop, I decline, looking every inch the perfect wife.

Truthfully, I enjoy the days when it’s just me. Just like today. With Mama Foxford gone as well as the duke, I can let my hair down a bit. Within reason. Shaking out my loose tresses, I slip out of the door and curtsy to the servant, flashing him a mischievous smile.

Let them all think what they will. I’m never happier than when I’m either in the library, playing an instrument, or conducting an experiment. Since I can’t really squirrel away and test out theories in a house this size, and the library holds bad memories, it leaves the drawing room.

Stopping by the study, I take one more look to make sure I’m truly alone. No sense in allowing the duke to know my secrets just yet. Like clockwork, the servant follows me, his movements purposeful, as if to catch me in some dastardly secret.

But once I’m back in front of the pianoforte, I can allow myself to outwardly mourn the life I no longer have. Stroking the ivory keys, I play a rather melancholy piece, my fingers never once faltering. My voice wavers a bit as emotion clogs my throat, but it’s still soft and melodious, the perfect pitch ringing out in the room. There are few things in life I hold dear and the piano, singing, and my art are three.

These were the things that my father and I shared—apart from our love of science and literature, of course. And every time I’m able to play and sing, it feels like he’s still here with me, both of us retiring after a meal to enjoy lifting our voices in song.

“Well now, it seems like my little songbird has improved since I first took her into my house.” The duke’s voice is laced with scorn, sending a frisson of unease up my spine.

“I have practiced, Your Grace.” Again, the words are not false, merely misleading.

He strides over to me, his Hessians clicking against the wood with each step. They mirror the pounding of my heart as he stares me down, catching me in the lie I told at least a month or so ago. He wasn’t supposed to be home, and I wonder how I miscalculated things so badly.

A quick glance at the servant who followed me doesn’t reveal he’s said anything, and honestly, why would he? He doesn’t know I lied. But the Alpha storming toward me, anger flashing in his eyes, does.

Jumping away from the pianoforte, I shuffle backward until my spine smacks against the dark wood. “Please, Your Grace. We are not alone.”

“I am very well aware of that. Leave us,” he barks out.

Well, that didn’t go as planned. My goal was to have him remember himself, but now there’s no one here to rescue me if things get bad. My body trembles as my core throbs with need. Just the scent of him is enough to nearly send me into a spiral. I want so desperately for him to act upon the threat I see dancing in his eyes, but I dare not say a word.

“You lied.”

“I merely told the truth in a way that you were able to come to conclusions. Wrong conclusions, apparently, but your own nonetheless.”

“Do not spin your web of half-truths around us in this moment. I am tired of your trickery. Had I known what a lovely voice you had, I would have forced you to sing for me on our wedding night.”

“I- But- What would you have had me sing? I know of no songs appropriate for the bedchambers. Unless you are referring to just singing for the purposes of letting loose with a song. That’s still very peculiar, though.”