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Chapter Eighteen

“ O ne moment,” Marianne said, her heart leaping to her throat.

The moment she’d heard the knock on the door, she knew that it was him—the Duke. Her husband. It was, after all, their wedding night. With clammy palms, she turned the knob to let him in.

Candlelight highlighted his sharp features as he entered. He was breathtakingly handsome, yet something troubled him. His eyes raked over her from head to toe, and she wondered what indistinguishable emotion they hid.

Apprehension? Repressed anger?

She tried not to shrink under his intense gaze, the one that traveled from the top of her head to her bare toes. Was he trying to see if his “purchase” was a wise one? She could already imagine her father’s future demands.

Shame washed over her, but she reminded herself that she was doing this for her sisters and their brother.

“I came to see if my new wife intends to fulfill any of her marital duties. Or if she’s here in Oakmere Hall to sulk in satin and silk.”

“What duties would those be? Smiling at dinner? Pretending you didn’t drag me here in a whirlwind?” Marianne asked.

The Duke stepped closer, his breath fanning her cheeks. She could not help but notice the twitch in his jaw.

“Among other things,” he replied dryly.

Marianne burned with too many sparks to name. Desire warred with fury. Yes, she was drawn to him, insufferable as he was. She knew what it felt like to kiss those soft, unyielding lips. But trust him? Never. He was a hunter, and she suspected he’d married her just to prove a point.

Still, escape was no longer possible. Her father would make her siblings’ lives unbearable—more than they already were. She knew he meant every word of his threats. And if she didn’t submit to the Duke in every way he desired, she risked being sent back to that house.

A non-consummated marriage could be annulled. Her father would greet her with even sharper teeth, and her sisters would pay the price dearly.

She could not risk that.

So, she took a long, deep breath and walked toward the bed.

“What are you doing?” the Duke asked, his voice low.

“What does it appear to you, Your Grace? I’m getting ready for our wedding night. My marital duty, as you said,” she said evenly, even as her heart thundered in her chest.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hoping that he would not see her legs shaking.

She thought that he would jump at the chance, maul her with kisses. Yet, he did not. Instead, he remained still, narrowing his eyes at her. Only after a moment did he move closer.

But then he stopped. And paced. Left to right. Right to left. His eyes were on her the whole time, waiting for the right moment.

Then, he stopped again. He bent his torso a little so that his face was close to hers.

“I told you, I do not like easy prey,” he grunted.

“I am not your prey,” Marianne retorted, her hands clenched into fists on either side of her thighs.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his eyes widening. “You will be, and you will beg for it.”

She gasped at his tone. He couldn’t truly believe that.

She hated him for his words. But she also hated herself for how her body reacted to them. She was supposed to be insulted—to slap him—but his words set her on fire. She tried not to press her thighs together as something unfamiliar seemed to pulse between them.

Before she could protest or move, he stepped away from her and straightened up. Her cheeks heated at his implications.

How could he? How dare he suggest that she would want to approach him with… those things in mind? Surely, a lady would not do such a thing.

“I won’t bed you when you look like you are facing the guillotine, Duchess,” he added.

Marianne blinked. She let her breath out slowly, finally allowing relief to surge through her.

“How noble of you,” she muttered.

He shook his head and gave her an arrogant smirk. It made her cheeks warm again, feeling the spark that only he could ignite.

“There you go. I’ve been waiting to see the lady who jumped in front of my rifle again,” he said, lifting his chin slightly, his mouth twitching.

“Am I a curiosity to you?”

“You are not afraid of me. I like that. But I didn’t marry you only because I’m curious,” he murmured, his voice back to that ragged depth from earlier—the one that made her skin burn.

She paused then, not knowing what to say or do, except crumple the satin of her gown in her hands.

“I am merely reminding you that you are my wife now, little doe. Tell me what you want, and you shall have it,” he urged.

What she wanted? She wanted to be free of her father. She wanted her family completely free of him. To whisk them all away from his claws, his outbursts, his vitriol.

She wanted to salvage whatever she could from Victoria and Daphne’s childhoods. To let Elizabeth and Wilhelmina choose the life and the husbands they wanted. To let Daniel grow into the man he wishes to be, without the cruel scrutiny of Lord Grisham.

Her brow creased. A fire in her burned, wanting to believe him. Wanting to make this marriage real. However, she had not yet found anyone beyond her siblings that she could trust.

She didn’t know this man. How could she trust him? How could she tell him about her father’s sinister nature without knowing whether he would side with his father-in-law?

Still, the Duke had the power to ensure her sisters’ safety. For that, she could make a bargain with him.

For them . Yes, everything that she had done so far in this world was for them.

Her breathing ragged and raw, she decided what she was going to ask.

“I would like to make a deal.”

His eyebrows rose quickly, clearly surprised by her words.

“I will be your well-mannered Duchess,” she said.

“I know how to behave among company. I’ll be agreeable, smile, and curtsy if needed.

I will eat meals with you and accompany you everywhere you require me to go.

What I’m asking for is for my sisters to stay here.

With us, during the weekends… or for as long as they need. ”

The Duke was silent for some time, making her wonder if he had changed his mind about giving her what she wanted.

“Is this merely about you missing your sisters?” he asked.

“Yes,” Marianne answered, nodding. “I miss them very much. I have not spent a day of my life without them.”

She was partly telling the truth. She wanted her sisters there, to see them regularly. To know if they were being treated well at home. But she also wanted to test just how far her husband would go to give her what she wanted.

“And you are offering yourself in exchange for their company?” he asked, studying her.

He circled her with deliberate slowness, his hunter-like disposition visible once again.

“I am offering my cooperation as your Duchess. If that includes warming your bed, then yes,” she said, meeting his eyes.

He would not make her cower. She was not a little doe.

Again, silence hummed in the room.

Marianne clenched her hands, trying to hide the tremors.

Finally ending her torture, he bent close to her ear, his lips grazing it gently, his breath on her skin. Her eyes closed instantly, beyond her volition.

“No.”

“What?” she blurted, her eyes flying open.

“I don’t want it to feel like an obligation,” he said. “I told you, I don’t want you cold and trembling beneath me. If you come to me, you’ll come because you want to. Because the little doe stops running. Needs to stop running.”

Marianne gulped. Her skin sizzled, her breathing quiet yet shallow. Her toes curled on the rug as she felt his words inflaming every nerve in her body. She tried to tame her desire, the way her hips wanted to rise and fall over the bed. Her core pulsed, tight and coiled.

Then, he backed away. Disappointment washed over her again and again.

What was wrong with her?

“I accept your terms, little doe,” he continued. “You shall have your family visit as often as you’d like. I don’t want anything in exchange, except for your proper behavior. Nothing else.”

Her throat went dry. Was this what deer felt like when rifles were aimed at them? No room to run, no chance of escape.

In just a few, quick strides, the Duke was at the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. Marianne wondered if he was battling with himself as she was.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re my wife, Marianne. Not my prisoner.”

With that, he turned and pulled the door open, disappearing into his chambers.

Marianne sat frozen on the edge of the bed, the thin fabric of her nightgown clinging to her skin. Alone and burning.