Page 65 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“Informed does not equal compliant, Your Grace,” Marigold said.

The Duke chuckled at her words. He was not angry, he was intrigued. He stood up from his chair and walked around his desk, not making any move to invite her to sit down.

“You came here to defy me to my face, sweetheart?”

Marigold realized that she may have overestimated her confidence as the Duke stalked toward her. His dark black eyes locked on hers, and Marigold had no illusions as to who the apex predator in the room was.

She tightened her fists and struggled to keep her face neutral as the Duke came closer to her, asserting his power by his sheer size.

“You didn’t answer my question, and you know what happens when you don’t answer my questions.”

Marigold gasped and looked at him with wide eyes. She didn’t exactly know what happened when she didn’t answer his questions, but she always felt inclined to follow his instructions, especially if they were in a more private situation. Which this, given the fact that they were in a locked room, constituted a private setting.

“Did you come here to defy me?”

Marigold felt the heat rising in her body. Her cheeks flushed, and her pulse hammered at her throat. If he was trying to lure her away from her questioning, he was doing an excellent job. And he would probably have succeeded if Marigold hadn’t caught the bruise on his nose, catching the light from the fireplace.

“What is happening?” she demanded.

The Duke stopped his advance and looked down at her with an unreadable expression. It was caught between disappointment that his plan didn’t work, surprise at Marigold insisting on knowing, and concern over what he was actually planning to do.

“You think I don’t know why you asked to retreat to your study tonight?” Marigold said. “You have a plan in the works.”

“That is not something that you should worry yourself about.” The Duke took one step back and retreated to his wall.

“Seeing that I was the one treating you back to health since you nearly escaped death last time,” Marigold said in a firm tone, “I think I have earned the right to know exactly what you are planning, so I can at least prepare the medicine and aids I am going to need.”

The Duke felt ashamed, treating her like an ignorant lady when she was the one giving him the information, knowing very well what that information cost her.

“I told you the last time was just⁠—”

“Reconnaissance, I know,” Marigold fired back. “You have used that word plenty of times as if it were supposed to make me feel better. I may not be very well versed in the art of war, but I do think that doing reconnaissance has more to do with stealth than with broken ribs.”

He turned his back on her and looked at his wall. Marigold softened her body and her face and stood right next to him.

“You know you can tell me,” Marigold said. “I’m not going to faint or be scandalized. You literally found me almost ruined in a dark alley by these people.”

The Duke’s whole body tensed with pure malice.

“If you want me to keep my head level, please do not remind me of that situation ever again,” he demanded.

“All I am saying,” Marigold turned and touched his arm, “is that I worry, and I want you to tell me what you are going to do.”

They had touched each other in the most intimate ways, but it seemed that the simple touch on his arm had the Duke losing his focus. Perhaps because it was not born out of physical need but of genuine concern. Truth be told, neither of them was very accustomed to having someone distressed on their account.

“What is the plan?” Marigold asked with a soft smile.

“That is a very large question,” Brandon countered.

“Then give me a very large answer.”

He sighed, shedding his strict disposition, and his look softened. Marigold was very satisfied to see that she had finally worn him down.

“I cannot go into details.”

“Perfect. Details are boring.”

“Details are the perfection of a plan.”