Page 7 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars (Ton’s Beasts #1)

T here comes a time when a woman must leave her parents’ house to cleave to her husband, and they shall become one body…

The familiar words from the Holy Book filtered through the haze as Theresa quietly clasped her hands in prayer.

This rule, she understood all too well. Nuns, when they cleave to their divine Husband, must leave the world behind them to devote themselves to Him.

Which was all well and good, because they had lived in a world of familiarity most of their lives.

She, however, had only ever lived under her father’s roof for one night, and now, she must cleave to her husband—this strange, magnetic man who spoke of imposing rules and getting along.

She was feeling very much like a hot potato being passed from one hand to another. Or like one of those floating plants by the river with no roots, to be carried wherever the current fancied.

She pressed her lips together into a resolute line. Drew another one in the proverbial sand. She would?—

“Excuse me, my dear, but I think it is time for us to leave.”

She looked up in dismay at the man towering over her. “What? Right now?”

“No, I am simply announcing that until you get used to the phrase in about three or four Sundays.” He smiled sardonically at her. “Of course, I meant now.”

Theresa frowned, her stomach churning.

“But the wedding breakfast has not ended yet!” She protested.

She had hardly even eaten from that mouthwatering display on the table, and they were leaving ?

Not if she had anything to say about it!

“This torment will not cease until we leave,” the Duke explained. “The ton never runs out of things to talk about, and they will go on and on and on ad nauseam until your ears fall off and your hair turns gray.”

“Well, that sounds lovely,” she told him resolutely. “And I shall have you know as well, husband, that I will not simply follow your rules like some poor hound at your beck and call. I shall have rules of my own as well!”

He looked taken aback by the sudden forcefulness of her tone. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so.” She nodded emphatically.

He did not seem too pleased as he folded his arms over that broad chest of his. His gray eyes bored into her, a storm brewing in their depths.

He may be of a more considerable height and weight, but what she lacked in measurements, she would make up for with sheer will.

“I have not made up my mind about what rules to impose,” she added quickly. “But I shall let you know as soon as I have decided on them. I can assure you, however, Your Grace, that I do not intend to live my life in solitude.”

If he thought he could walk all over her, then she would have to disappoint him right now. She had promised him honesty earlier, and she had warned him that he might regret it.

He might as well get used to it starting today . I must remain firm. I will not be confined by so many rules this time, not when I am finally out of St. Agatha’s!

The Duke stared at her as if she were some novel mushroom that had just sprouted up amidst the pretty flowers in the garden.

She stared back. Hard.

His features softened… right before he raised his hand.

She did not even hear the words that left his lips. Did not even think . As soon as she saw the hand raised in her direction, she flinched, her body recoiling in that familiar defensive stance born of enduring years of harsh punishment in the nunnery.

But the impact never came. His features, however, hardened, his eyes like a storm in the vast, open sea.

“Get your things,” he bit out savagely. “We are leaving for Blackwell Manor at once.”

Theresa bit her lower lip, her cheeks coloring. “I… do not have much, Your Grace.”

“Not much what?”

She shrugged. “Things. But if you will permit it, I might be able to change into more appropriate clothes?—”

“Well then, get going,” he snapped.

A sliver of doubt wormed its way into her heart as she watched his back disappear into the tittering crowd. Had she been too brash with him? The Bible spoke of wives submitting to their husbands.

Then again, she had not exactly adhered to the principles inscribed in the Holy Book, much to the consternation of Mother Superior and Sister Mary.

But then again, everyone in London comported themselves in a manner that was quite different from the teachings at St. Agatha’s.

After the ceremony, she had spent the better part of the wedding breakfast observing the ladies amongst their guests out of genuine curiosity.

She had been amused to note that most, if not all of them, conversed in a seemingly different language, talking with furtive glances, fluttering fans, and hushed voices, as if they were sharing secrets.

Perhaps the Duke expected her to comport herself in the same manner?

But Theresa’s education in that aspect was severely lacking. So perhaps she should have applied herself less to soften the impact of her statement.

A wife might have been more gentle with her husband, but Theresa had never expected to marry anyone other than the Lord, and certainly not at such short notice!

Rage, swift and undiluted, coursed through his very being like the fire that ripped through him so long ago. It set every nerve on edge, his fingers clenching into fists as he stalked away from his wide-eyed bride.

He had simply meant to reach out to touch her, to brush his fingers over her cheek in amusement and see for himself if her skin was as soft and smooth as it looked.

And her reaction had been purely instinctive. A swift response of self-preservation.

He was not blind. He had seen that flinch before on many different faces, each one of them sporting old and new bruises.

The question was, who the hell hurt her that she felt the need to steel herself against a mere raised hand?

His gaze swept over the guests, brutal in its judgment. Was it the Marquess of Wyndham? His wife?

Impossible. Theresa had said that she had only arrived at Wyndham Park the day prior.

Was it the good nuns from her former home, then?

His eyes narrowed.

Most likely it was that passel of hypocrites!

And what was that about her finding it unnecessary to pack? That she had nothing to her name besides that hideous monstrosity they managed to pass for a wedding dress? Why, the only thing it was good for was a heap on the floor.

But then, without it, she would be…

Undressed.

Unclothed.

Naked.

The image of her dressed in nothing but a thin shift stirred something in his loins—a feeling he had long since buried in the deepest recesses of his mind.

Aaron gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

No. No. No!

This was madness. A line of thought he needed to sever before it consumed him.

She had already been through so much—from the nunnery to the neglect of her parents. The last thing she needed—or deserved—was a rampaging beast set on devouring her.

Which he was very well on his way to being, if he could not subdue his unruly desires.

When he had read Her Majesty’s edict, he had thought that compliance would be an easy, although highly unpleasant, matter. He had not thought that the woman the Queen had managed to foist on him would not only thwart but also tempt him at every turn.

“It has simply been too long since I have been with a woman,” he growled to himself, running his hand through his hair in sheer frustration.

The last woman who had been brave enough to face his bed had been a courtesan, and she had run out of the room. Nothing deflated a man’s ego—and his cock—faster than a woman running from him in sheer horror and disgust.

He was not so cruel as to subject another woman to the mental torture of gazing upon his twisted visage. Especially not his wife.

He stalked outside to where a groom was holding the reins of his stallion.

The beast’s dark coat shone in the morning sun, its eyes regarding its current handler with the same arrogance of one who knew its worth—all one hundred and fifty guineas of it.

It stomped its hooves in a display of impatience, snorting all the while.

“Your Grace!”

He turned around to find the Marquess running up to him.

“You are leaving?” He gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Aaron regarded him with a cool gaze. “Why do you sound so disappointed?”

The Marquess recoiled as if he had just punched him in the gut, but he was a gentleman through and through. He managed to collect himself and his dignity before Aaron could stomp further on it, unfortunately.

“I have prepared a carriage for your journey back to Blackwell Manor,” he informed him stiffly. “It is brand new, outfitted for comfort?—”

“Riding will be faster,” Aaron cut in, grabbing the reins from the groom.

“Yes, but you are no longer traveling alone.” Exasperation was clear on the older man’s face. “Your Grace, you are married now.”

“I am not so old that my memory escapes me before the noontime, nor am I so lacking of wits to forget that particular fact, Lord Wyndham.”

The Marquess’s shoulders sagged. “You… you will treat her well, will you not?”

Aaron went still and looked at the man. Lord Wyndham may have abandoned his daughter to that godforsaken nunnery, but at that moment, he looked like a father who genuinely cared for his daughter.

“Better than you and that coven of witches she has endured for years,” Aaron retorted.

Lord Wyndham reeled back again as if he had been struck physically. All of a sudden, he seemed much diminished, as if all the air and bravado had left him.

At that moment, Aaron saw his bride coming out of the house with her mother holding onto her arm a little too forcefully. He was very much relieved to find that she had changed out of her wedding dress and was attired more appropriately for travel, as she had promised.

“Can I… hug you?” He heard the Marchioness ask tearfully.

He met Theresa’s gaze and nodded subtly. “Do not take too long,” he warned. “The carriage awaits you.”

She nodded at her mother.

Lady Wyndham did not hesitate to throw her arms around her. She clutched Theresa to her as if she might never let go.

Aaron did not miss the slight grimace of pain that crossed her features.

“Oh! I am so sorry!” The Marchioness apologized. “I should not have?—”

Theresa smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes. “It is all right, Mother. I… hope you find your daughter.”

The Marchioness burst into a fresh wave of sobs as Theresa gently extricated herself from her embrace to step into the carriage her father had prepared for her. She did not so much as look back when Aaron closed the door after her.

With his bride safely ensconced in the carriage, he stared at the Marquess and his wife coldly. He did not know their reasons for sending their daughter to the nunnery, but he was most certainly going to judge them for it.

He had fought in the war. He had given his youth and his body for the country. But then that was his decision to make.

Theresa did not ask to be thrown at a bunch of abusive hags who pretended to preach about the Lord while beating young girls under their roof.

With a final scathing glare at his in-laws, he mounted his steed and barked, “Let us be off to Blackwell Manor.”

He had had enough for one day.