Page 8 of The Duke’s Unwilling Bride

However, even as I drink it in, it’s soon overpowered by the acrid stench of rage. How dare someone of her station, omega or otherwise, allow her emotions to run away with her? Has she no sense of self-discipline to control her feelings in front of a duke?

It is enough. Gripping her shoulder, I force her to turn back around and face me. Normally, I leave any sort of disciplinary action to my steward or housekeeper, but there’s no evidence of structure in this household.

“You will hold a civil tongue in your lips, or I shall pry it out.” I have no idea what caused me to say such an outlandish threat, but now that it’s out in the open, I cannot take it back.

Hopefully, she will not drive me to fulfill it. To my knowledge, Middlehey has no chamber with antiquated torture devices, and I have no desire to drag this chit to The Rose and Thorne to avail myself of the various clamps they have lining the walls.

“You will unhand me, you ruffian” her voice strident as she yanks herself from my grasp, all but ignoring my words again.

After she’s free of me, she slides her fingers under her hair and plucks out a strand of cotton from each ear before balling them up and sliding them into a pocket. That at least explains why she wasn’t listening. The daft girl couldn’t hear me.

Now that she is under no such inhibition, I once more turn her to me, my mouth open, poised to give her the tongue lashing she so rightfully deserves when the library doors fling open to reveal Middlehey.

“Ahh. I see you’ve met my cousin.”

Cousin? I drop my hand, releasing the girl as if her skin itself is molten, burning me to the core. “You must be confusing her with one of your servants. Surely this wretched creature is not she.”

“Wretched?” she bites out, her fingers curling into tiny fists. “You nearly drench my most prized book and dare to call me wretched?”

“Honesty, my dear cousin,” Middlehey murmurs as he comes closer, “is one of Foxford’s most endearing qualities.”

Upon hearing my title, Lady Teresa dips down into a clumsy curtsy, her eyes blazing as she rises. “I was unaware we were to be visited by someone of such nobility. In truth, I had no idea you comported yourself with those of such high rank.”

Middlehey’s face turns red for a moment, but in true testament to his ability to ride out any storm, it clears as if she never said anything at all. I, on the other hand, hold no such compulsion. Stepping back, I give her a courtesy bow before allowing my eyes to rove up and down her person.

“I see now what you mean. And I am sad to say, but it will take far more than just money to get her presentable enough to make even the slightest dent in the marriage mart.”

She stills and glances between Middlehey and me. “I am not going on the marriage mart, so you may keep your opinions and money to yourself.”

“Bite your tongue, Teresa,” he growls, coming in closer. The anger radiates from his body as they stand there, eyes locked. “You are to be rid of this house, and the only honorable way is to be married.”

“You hate me that much, Cousin? That you would drive me from my home and into the arms of any man who may take me?”

I step in, no longer wishing to hear any more of their squabbling. “As of right now, it remains to be seen exactly who will take you. Your acerbic tongue will see you on the streets with nary to your name.”

“I already have nary to my name,” she cries out, her face flushed.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Enough!” Middlehey roars. “Foxford is here to help. You’ll do well enough to keep silent and allow him that opportunity.”

“Yes, but at what cost? What does a duke care for an earl anyhow?” She narrows her eyes at me and steps forward, the hellcat lurking just under her thin veneer of civility.

“My duties to your cousin are no concern of yours.” I glance at her slim form, then look her up and down with a slow, lingering gaze. “Is this all she has to wear?”

“That and three others of similar quality and style.”

“Am I not qualified to answer?”

Middlehey and I both ignore her, and I walk about, taking in everything about her person, pinning her under my scrutinizing gaze. “And does she always wear her hair like this? Where is her lady’s maid?”

“Even when she had one, she wore her hair like this, loose and carefree.”

“Like a woman with better things to do than to be consumed with my hair,” she butts in.

“Like a toddler,” I chide, my lips turning up into a sneer. “She will need an entirely new wardrobe, and I’m assuming a trousseau.” At that, a light blush arcs across her face, pinkening both cheeks at once.

I shouldn’t find it so entirely delectable or endearing, and yet, in that moment, I want to see what other ways I can make this wayward miss blush. Shaking my head, I dispel myself of the silly notion and continue with my scathing review of her person. Before she reacts, I reach forward, skimming my hands along the sides of her waist, then pulling back.