In Bed with the Duke

‘I shall, of course, ensure you have the means to live comfortably until your own money is restored. After all, if you refuse to go through with the ordeal of marrying me then there is no reason for me to pay heed to your ridiculous plea for clemency for your aunt, is there? Until such time as she releases it, however, you may stay here. Or at one of my other properties, if you prefer.’

What had she done? Insulted him to a point past bearing—that was what. Because marrying him wouldn’t have been an ordeal. Not if he hadn’t been a duke anyway.

How could she have been such an idiot? Gregory had never given her cause to suspect him of double-dealing. He’d been chivalrous to the point of...of saintliness! Any ordinary man would have washed his hands of her after she’d thrown that rock at him, but what had he done? Lent her his coat and bought her breakfast.

Even after she’d insulted him in the worst possible way just now, by accusing him of avarice, he was still going to do all that was necessary to get justice for her, to get her money back and ensure she had somewhere to stay while he was doing it.

But she’d had years of being an obligation already. She couldn’t face forcing him to stick by a betrothal he’d considered farcical from the very first.

She opened her mouth to say the words that would end a betrothal that should never have begun.

And hesitated.

There was no consolation at all in telling herself she was about to do the right thing.

But she loved him too much to let him put his head in what he considered to be a noose.

She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Loved him? How could she have fallen in love in such a short space of time? Why, because she was her mother’s daughter, that was why. Her mother—who’d fallen in love with a handsome young officer at the assembly and run away with him before a week was out.

Oh, Lord, but Aunt Charity was right about her. She was the amalgam of all the worst traits of her parents. Not only did she have her mother’s impulsiveness, she had inherited a hefty dollop of her father’s stubborn pride, too. That was what had made it so hard for her to swallow the discovery that Gregory was a duke. She’d had no qualms about proposing marriage when she’d believed she had the upper hand. When she’d felt as if she was graciously bestowing her hand upon a penniless but worthy suitor. But when he’d turned the tables on her...

She hated having nothing to bring to this union        . Becoming a burden again. An obligation. And she’d rather retain at least a sliver of pride than face a lifetime of such humiliation.

She lifted her head and regarded him bleakly.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I release you.’

And, just to prove how sensible she could be, she ran from the room.

She ran all the way up the stairs, so that she reached her room out of breath. There she was immediately challenged by the luxurious carpet, which lay, just like his title, directly in her path. She pulled off her worn-down shoes, wishing she could as easily discard her grubby background, then dropped them by the door, wishing it was as simple a matter to dispose of the way they’d met. Or the things she’d said to him just now. Things that had hurt and alienated him.

She ran across the sumptuous carpet and threw herself face-down on the bed. But even there the pristine eiderdown wouldn’t give her leave simply to burst into tears. Not until she’d squirmed her way up the bed and got her face into a pillow out of which salt stains would wash could she really let go.

Chapter Sixteen

It was the most selfless and also the most stupid thing she’d ever done.

She could have been his wife. His wife!

And now her life stretched out before her as a long, grey, barren vista. Because he wouldn’t be a part of it. He was too proud to remain friends with her. Even if he never managed to extract her money from Aunt Charity—because there was every chance Mr Murgatroyd had somehow lost it all anyway—and she became his pensioner, he’d take good care to avoid her. His pride would demand it.

She didn’t know how she would bear it.

She’d been alone before. During those long, dreary years with Aunt Charity she’d felt terribly alone. But it would be as nothing compared to the misery of being without him.

She was just reaching for a handkerchief to blot up the tears when the door burst open so forcefully it banged against the wall and bounced back onto the man who stood there, breathing hard and looking as if he was about to commit murder.

‘Gregory!’ She sat up and swiped at the tears streaming down her face. ‘What are you doing in here?’

He stalked across to the bed.