This was dangerous. She was playing with fire, and she knew it. But something in her refused to back down, refused to let him see how much he affected her.
"You are arrogant," she said.
"I am confident, Anthea."
"You think you can simply decide what our marriage will be without my input."
"No. I think we will decide together what our marriage becomes." His hand slid from her face to her throat, his fingers resting lightly against her racing pulse. "But I will not allow you to hide behind walls of propriety and separate bedrooms and pretend that nothing exists between us."
"Nothing does exist?—"
"Liar." The word was soft, almost affectionate. "You are many things, Anthea Croft, but you are not a good liar. Not to me."
She should argue. Should push him away and insist on her original terms. But his hand on her throat—not constraining, just resting there—made thinking difficult.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
"I want you to stop trying to control everything." His thumb stroked along her jawline. "I want you to allow for the possibility that this marriage might surprise us both. I want—" He stopped, seemed to catch himself. "I want my wife to be present in our marriage, not hiding behind obligations and duties and carefully maintained distance."
"And if I cannot give you that?"
"Then you cannot." He said it simply. "But I will not agree to your terms simply to make you feel safe, Anthea. I will not lie to you or to myself about what I want. If that frightens you—if that makes you want to flee—then perhaps we should not marry at all."
The ultimatum hung in the air between them. Anthea stared at him, her mind racing.
He was right. She had been trying to control this, to establish boundaries that protected her from vulnerability. She had asked him to agree to distance because distance felt safe, felt manageable.
But he was refusing to be managed.
"You agreed not to pursue me," she said finally. "You said you would not demand anything."
"And I will not." His hand fell away from her throat, though he did not step back. "But I also will not pretend indifference,Anthea. I will not ignore attraction or possibility or the fact that we will be sharing a life together. I will not force you into my bed, but I will not promise never to touch you. Never to flirt with you. Never to remind you that you are a desirable woman married to a man who finds you fascinating."
"Fascinating," she repeated weakly.
"Infuriating. Stubborn. Far too clever for your own good." His mouth curved. "Yes. Fascinating."
Anthea's mind was spinning. She had come here expecting to establish clear boundaries, to ensure this marriage remained safely separate from anything that might hurt her. Instead, he had refused every limitation, turned her careful plans to chaos, and left her feeling as though she had lost some crucial battle without quite understanding how.
"So we have no agreement," she said.
"We have an agreement." He finally stepped back, giving her space to breathe. "You will perform your duties as duchess. I will provide for you and your sisters. We will present a united front publicly. And privately—" He paused. "Privately, we will see what develops naturally, without artificial constraints or predetermined boundaries."
"That is not an agreement. That is... vague."
"That is honest," he corrected. "I will not promise to keep my distance, Anthea. I will only promise not to force closeness. Everything else will be up to you."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to demand clearer terms, safer terms. But looking at him—at the certainty in his expression, the challenge in his eyes—she realized he would not budge. He had given her everything she truly needed: assurance that he would not force her, that the choice would always be hers.
Everything else was negotiable.
And somehow, that terrified her more than any demand could have.
"Fine," she said, lifting her chin. "But do not expect?—"
"I expect nothing," he interrupted smoothly. "I simply hope. And Anthea—" He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath against her ear. "I am very good at being patient when I want something."
Then he straightened, moved to the door, and called for the footman as though nothing had happened.
