“I will have fewer if you answer them.”
His laugh was pained, but he laughed all the same, and despite herself, she relaxed slightly. “Very well. We are going to Nathanial’s Leicestershire hunting box to begin with, and this is a hired carriage. I apologise for the smell.”
She drew her feet up. “You may apologise for capturing me.”
“Oh, but I feel no need to do that,” he said gently. “This, without the unfortunate pain in my leg, is precisely what I had intended.”
“Butwhy?”
“Because you are Nathanial’s wife,” he said. “And he is the Duke—a title that without his marriage might have fallen to me.”
“All this for a title?”
“All this because my cousin, born with that proverbial silver spoon, was granted leniencies I was not. Because my cousin is the Duke and I am not.” His smile was a dark, bitter thing as he looked at her. “And he married you, my little mouse.”
There was a look in his eyes that alarmed her. Not because it was violent, precisely, but because it held a heat she was all too familiar with. Nathanial had taught her what expressions like that could mean, and while she might have been amenable to kissing Nathanial in a carriage, Sir Montague was a very different matter.
“What do you intend to do with me?” she whispered.
“An intriguing question,” he murmured. “WhatdoI intend to do with you?”
Without her knife, which she could see nowhere easily accessible on his person, Theo was helpless. He might be injured, but he was larger than her, and stronger. He had killed a man in a duel, and there was something dark about him that spoke to the primal part of her, telling her to run.
There could be no running from inside a carriage.
Sir Montague gave a low, humourless laugh. “I told you, Duchess, I have no intention of hurting you.”
“I suppose I ought to thank you for your forbearance.”
“A mouse with the claws of a cat,” he said, one side of his mouth curling. “I understand why my dear cousin is so attached.”
The thought of Nathanial made Theo want to scream. Had Betsy given him the letter yet? What would hedo? He wasn’t well enough to go gallivanting around the country after her.
If only she had aimed the knife a little higher.
“Why Nathanial’s hunting box?” she asked after a moment. “Surely he’ll find us there eventually?”
“Sooner rather than later, I hope.”
“And once he arrives, what then? What are your intentions?”
“My intentions are to become Duke,” he said. He made no attempt to reach forward and touch her, but she felt his gaze skim across her body, and she fought the urge to curl into a ball. “And I intend to achieve that with Nathanial’s consent or without it.”
She snorted. “You’re expecting Nathanial to give up his title for my sake?”
“I have every expectation of it.”
“And if he does not?”
“I recommend you do not trouble your head over it.” A coldness entered his voice, one that sent goosebumps rising over her skin. This was not the charming, smiling man who had courted her and offered her compliments. This was the creature of darkness that lingered under his skin and did not shy away from causing pain. “But if thatwereto happen, then fear not, little mouse. I would be more than happy to restore you to your current position as Duchess, once the appropriate period for mourning had passed.”
Disgust tasted like ash in her mouth. “You would marry me? After killing my husband?” Laughing or crying—both seemed reasonable options, but neither would give her satisfaction. “You cannot be serious.”
“Can I not?” Now he reached across the space between them and plucked her hand from her lap, smoothing out her fingers to reveal the life lines on her palm. “I must marry someone, once my position as Duke is assured, and of all the ladies I have encountered thus far, you are the only one to occupy my attention for more than a month or so.”
“I?” Theo tried to snatch her hand back, but he didn’t let her. “Let go of me.”
“I would make you happy, Theo.”
