Page 13 of The Duke’s Second Bride (Regency Second Chances #4)

“ D on’t be cruel,” she said.

Her voice shook.

Christian realized, with horror, that she was trying not to cry.

He watched Lady Dunfair’s face carefully. After a moment of frozen shock, her expression melted into one of disbelief. She scoffed, shaking her head.

“I will marry you,” he insisted, his voice even more serious than before. “You have my word. I will marry you, and thus make sure Lord Dunfair stays away from you. You can live as my duchess, with me and my son.”

She must have heard his tone, because something in her face changed once again. She straightened up and took a step towards him. Even with tears in her eyes, even shaken as she was, there was still a strength to her, a fierceness, that nearly had him on his knees.

“And what would you be getting out of such an arrangement?” she asked him point-blank.

“A carer for Luke,” he said. “As you—and Vincent,” he said, muttering that second name to himself, “are so eager to constantly remind me, he seems to have developed a fondness for you.”

“Vincent?” she asked, confused.

“The point is—Luke has been without a mother for several years. It would do him good to have a duchess in the house again,” he said.

“And, to be frank, it seems the marriage-minded mamas of the ton are determined that there should be a duchess in the house again. Whether I like it or not. If we were to marry, I could finally be rid of their meddling interferences in my life. I am tired of the gossip, and tired of the entirety of the ton trying to poke their noses into my business.”

She laughed. “That is all? Are you quite certain you won’t be wanting anything like what Lord Dun?—”

“Do not compare me to that filth,” he snapped.

He stepped closer. Still, Lady Dunfair held her ground.

“And why should I trust you?” she asked.

“You believe I need more out of this than company for my son? I told you: with a new wife, I will no longer be subjected to the attentions of every marriage-minded mama of the ton. I will no longer be the subject of pity from people who believe I am doing my son and the duchy a disservice by remaining unattached,” he said.

Lady Dunfair narrowed her eyes, as though she still did not quite believe him. “Is that all?” she asked.

He tilted his head, stepping in closer. “That is all,” he promised. “Nothing more. I will not touch you.”

Her lips parted slightly at the proximity. Almost immediately, he regretted his promise, for he could think of nothing he would want to do more than to kiss her, to draw her close and feel her naked form against his. He prayed she could not somehow read the thoughts in his head.

For a long moment, all they could do was stare at each other.

Finally, frustrated that she had said nothing, he shook his head. “Clearly you do not wish it,” he said. “I will leave you to sort out your own plans.”

He went to leave.

“Wait!” she called.

He turned back around. For another scorching moment, they locked eyes.

“I will marry you,” she said, so breathless he could almost imagine she was saying it under entirely different circumstances.

Then, as if to soundly shatter that illusion, she shook her head again.

When she spoke, her voice was firmer once more. “Only because I have no other choice.”

He nodded. “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I will acquire the special license in the morning. We shall be wed within the week. I will take care of everything. And if Lord Dunfair tries to lay a finger on you again, I promise you he will regret it.”

With that, he hurried inside, before they argued more—or worse, before the temptation to kiss her became overwhelming.

Christian kept his word. It took only a few days to acquire the special license needed to conduct a wedding in such short order. There was only one matter he was dreading.

Then again, he thought, as he walked up the steps to the Dunfair townhouse, perhaps it was this matter he had been looking forward to the most.

He banged on the door with all his might, and no concern for who on the street might hear. Let them take notice.

After a moment with no response, he paused to press his ear to the door. Two voices conversed in hushed, distressed tones.

Having confirmed the house was not entirely empty, Christian immediately began knocking once more.

The door swung open after ten or eleven heavy-handed knocks, revealing the bewildered face of a middle-aged man.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said. Lord Dunfair’s butler, Christian assumed. “May I help you?

“I am here to speak to Lord Dunfair,” Christian said, barely holding in his impatience.

The butler looked him up and down. “May I ask who you are, sir?”

“The Duke of Richmond.”

The butler swallowed, though his face betrayed no other emotion. “Lord Dunfair is not here?—”

Christian pushed past the butler. His frail protests soon gave way to silence.

Sure enough, Lord Dunfair was just in the room off the foyer. He leapt to his feet just as soon as he heard the ruckus, as though trying to present a calm exterior.

As soon as he saw Christian, the other man’s expression flickered from fright to a forced placidity. Christian was pleased to see the bruises that had bloomed across the man’s face. His hand itched with the desire to add a few more to the spread.

Before Dunfair could shut the door, Christian stopped him with a foot in the doorway.

Dunfair eyed him fearfully. “What do you want?” he inquired.

Christian kept his voice calm, but firm. “A simple matter. Finances. A family matter,” he said, quoting what the pitiful man opposite him had said the other night. “We may discuss it if you allow me in.”

Dunfair hesitated for a moment and then opened the door. “So long as you promise not to blacken my other eye.”

“That shall depend on what you say,” Christian said, maintaining an even tone of voice. He noticed how the other man blanched at the reply.

Once they were in the drawing room, Christian pulled out the document he’d had drafted up.

“Here.” He handed it to Dunfair, who took it warily.

“What is this?” the other man asked, skimming over it with no small amount of trepidation and skepticism in his voice.

“A marriage settlement,” Christian said, “drawn up by my solicitor. Legally, once your sister-and-law and I are married, any claim you have over her inheritance shall be nullified once and for all.”

“What?” Dunfair scoffed. He looked in bewilderment down at the paper, then back up at Christian. “You and Ava?”

Christian felt his jaw stiffen. “I would advise you to keep her name out of your mouth,” he hissed.

Dunfair looked intimidated, but he didn’t back down entirely.

“If Lady Dunfair is no longer to be any concern of mine, then good riddance,” he sneered.

“I wash my hands of the wretch.” Christian clenched his fist. “But,” Dunfair continued, “I must make clear that I will not sign without a settlement. As is my right, as the man of the Dunfair name. The only man, mind you.”

Christian ignored that last bit, which he didn’t quite understand the snarky tone behind, and nodded. “If you read further, you’ll see the settlement includes a modest sum. You may take or forfeit it.” Dunfair kept reading.

Christian saw how his eyes widened when he reached the number in question.

“I trust that is sufficient to ensure you make no efforts to interfere in the lady’s life in the future?”

Dunfair let out a guffaw. “My word! It’s a rather high price to pay for used goods,” he said, adding a sneer at the end.

“Watch how you speak about my betrothed,” Christian growled.

“Peace, Your Grace! I only mean to say that your bride-to-be is a bad investment,” Dunfair said cruelly. “She’s infertile, or hadn’t you heard? You shouldn’t get your hopes up for a spare heir. And given the s-s-sorry state of your first, I’d imagine that would be quite a letdown.”

Christian took a single step forward, knuckles white at his side, and Dunfair immediately backed away, his face pale with fear.

“You will sign,” he said, “or else, I will personally see to it that the Dunfair title—and your name—is dragged through the mud.” He leaned in closer, relishing the look of fear that bloomed in the other man’s beady eyes.

“And if you dare to show your face at the wedding, I promise that threat of social ruin will feel like a pleasant memory compared to the fate that awaits you then.”

Dunfair paused for a moment, swallowing. Then he nodded.

“Very well,” he said, that omnipresent sneer returning to that punch-worthy mouth. “There you are.” He shoved the paper back at Christian. “Congratulations on your nuptials.”

Christian took it, skimmed it to make sure everything was in order, and then nodded. “Good. You’d best hope we never cross paths again, Lord Dunfair.”

“Farewell, Your Grace,” the man called out, apparently unable to resist the urge to let Christian go without one more attempt to tempt him to blacken his one remaining good eye.

“Enjoy her for me, won’t you? I can’t deny I won’t regret getting to sample Ava’s wares, however dear a price it might have cost me. ”

Christian halted at the door. Then he turned around, walked back to Dunfair.

He blinked, “Your Gr?—”

Christian walloped him once more across the unbruised cheek.

Dunfair fell to the ground, clutching his face with a pathetic moan.

“You lunatic!” he panted after a moment. He crawled backwards from Christian’s approaching steps. “You’re an absolute madman.”

“On the contrary,” Christian growled, “I don’t think I have ever felt saner. It is the man who insults another man’s fiancé who could most accurately be termed mad.”

“You can have her,” Dunfair blubbered, almost laughing from the pain and fear. “It might even be a good match, all things considered. You might be the only man alive who could put her in her place, having to deal with that damned temper of yours.”

Christian’s jaw tensed. His fist tightened at his side. He saw Dunfair’s eyes go completely round in fear. The other man cowered, as though preparing to dodge another blow.