Page 60 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“A few days after,” Brandon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “my father threw a newspaper at me during breakfast.”

Marigold’s hand tightened on his, as if sensing what was coming.

“Greta was heading to her sister’s house when she was robbed. She, of course, had nothing of value on her, and they killed her out of rage.”

“Oh, God.”

“If I wasn’t so reckless, she would still be alive,” he said firmly. “As you can see, I haven’t changed much since then.”

“You were just a child who was playing in a garden. It was everyone else’s fault. Your mother, who was so cruel, your father, who didn’t protect his employee, and that gang that killed her above all.”

“Those men that killed her, Marigold,” he said, his voice harsh. “They grew. They came back to London.”

“Johnny’s gang.”

“I was following them that day, hoping they would lead me to their lair. Until I saw them corner you.”

“That’s why you’re so relentless in pursuing them,” Marigold finally realized.

“I won’t stop. For Greta. And for you.”

He squeezed her hand and looked at her deep in her eyes. He realized that this woman, thrown to him by chance and whom he saw as a tool, might finally be the reason he found peace.

CHAPTER 18

FRIENDS AT LAST

A few days later…

Marigold could lie to herself and say that her bright smile was because of the morning light streaming through the breakfast room windows or the fine tea that was served to her or even the smell of coffee that she had grown accustomed to.

But she would also be aware that she was lying because the real reason for her smile was sitting right across from her, looking at her over the rim of his cup.

“You are staring again, Your Grace,” Marigold said.

“I am simply admiring the view,” Brandon said with an utterly mischievous grin.

“Are you complimenting me, Your Grace?”

“I was referring to the garden,” he said with a smirk on his lips.

Marigold served herself a cup of tea without losing her smile.

“Is that so?” she asked. “How unlucky. I am told good things happen to husbands who compliment their wives often. I am guessing you are not one of them.”

“I believe, Your Grace,” Brandon dropped his voice lower, “I have my ways of getting good things out of my wife.”

Marigold blushed at his brazen comment.

“You are impossible,” she chastised him.

“I have been told so on many occasions.”

For a while, they sat there, enjoying their breakfast, Brandon reading the paper and her reviewing the little correspondence she had.

“So, what are your plans for the day?” Brandon suddenly asked.

Marigold was taken aback. “I will be reviewing the garden. I was thinking of adding a greenhouse.”