“Careful now…” He clicked his tongue. “Compliments like that will go straight to my head.”
She scoffed. “Is there room up there with your ego taking up so much space?”
His eyes flashed. “You know, I usually save the pillow talk for the bedroom. But I suppose the breakfast room will suffice.”
She narrowed her eyes. “There will be no pillow talk – a marriage of convenience means that –”
“I am aware of the meaning,” he spoke over her, his tone turned sharp. “Just as I am aware of how much you despise me – and do not deny it.” He held up a hand to silence her. “Be warned, though, if you push me too hard, treating me as poorly as you have, when the day comes that you do finally try and seduce me, you might find me not interested.”
She laughed. “Is that what you think will happen?”
He winked. “I’m not sure. Like you, this is my first marriage.”
“I assure you, it will not.” She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow in warning. “This will be a marriage in name only. No affections. No complications. Just…” She clicked her tongue. “Circumstance.”
He considered, still smiling to himself, a look in his eyes that told her he would agree while secretly wondering how long such terms would last.He is arrogant… cocksure… so entitled that he likely thinks the sun moves around him. And dammit, I don’t hate it nearly as much as I should.
“Done,” he said finally. “Now, would you like to join me for breakfast? So we might further discuss terms?”
“No, thank you…” She took a step back and turned, crossing the room quickly. When she reached the door, she turned back and raised her eyebrow at him a final time. “As I see it, you ought to get used to eating alone. Once we are wed, I certainly won’t be joining you.” And then she left.
It wasn’t until she was outside and climbing back into her carriage that Margot breathed a sigh of relief for what had happened. Yes, she was annoyed that things had come to this, and she wondered if she had not just made the biggest mistake of her life. But it was for the best, needed, and she took some resolve from the good it would do.
Besides… as the carriage pulled out and she gazed out the window, she pictured the duke at the table, she imagined that smile, those eyes, and the feel of his hands around her body. A tingle spread up her limbs and toward her thighs, and a part of her could not help but wonder if this marriage might not be nearly as bad as she thought.
Five
“And look who has finally chosen to grace us with his presence,” Cassian, the Duke of (Blackmoor?), jeered the moment Sebastian wandered into the den. “We were concerned for you, Eastmoor. I do not think I have ever seen Ravencourt so worried.”
Sitting beside Cassian was Alaric, the Duke of Ravencourt, and he scoffed with derision. “More curious. It’s not like you to be late.”
“I wasn’t surprised.” The third man seated was named Ronan, the Duke of Westmere. He had a full tankard of ale before him, and he chugged it and then wiped the foam from his scarred chin. “As I guessed, you arrived twenty minutes ago, likely waiting outside because we all know you take joy from the theatrics.”
Sebastian offered his friends a courteous smile as he walked across the empty tavern, indicating as he did to the barkeep tobring him a tankard of his own. “I had forgotten how much you each relied on me,” he said then as he sat himself down at the table. “The weight of expectation, borne from being the glue that holds this little group together.”
“Ha!” Cassian cried. “Is that what you think of yourself? Very rich.”
“If I hadn’t before, I do now,” Sebastian said with a coy smirk. “Who knew that being twenty minutes late would cause such an uproar?”
“It was more your rudeness that upset us,” Alaric noted. “Although why we’re surprised by this point…”
“How many times can a dog bite its master’s hand before you stop blaming the dog?” Ronan grumbled. “And wipe that smirk off your face,” he then snapped at Sebastian. “Arrogant whelp.”
If anyone were to stumble upon this little gathering of men, they would be hard pressed to anoint them as friends, which technically they were not, even if the terminology was used by each of them, more for convenience than anything else. What they were were companions and peers, brought together in this way for the simple reason that there was nobody else in the ton who might be willing to find themselves in their presence. At least not by choice.
Each man was a duke, and therefore an equal… although Sebastian had always seen himself as the main force that led them. After all, he was the one who had founded what was nowdubbed the Wicked Duke’s Society, bringing these men together where no one else might have been able. Years ago it was, and since then, having turned it into a tradition that would see them meet in this way every few weeks to discuss their lives and complain, as was the most common form of conversation.
Even their meeting location, a tavern in London, had been rented out so that it was just the four of them.A more exclusive club does not exist in the country, albeit not the type of club most would wish to find themselves a member of.
“Come on then,” Alaric sighed as he took a swig of ale. “What kept you? Or would you rather make us beg?” Alaric was the most respected of the four men, the wealthiest, the most levelheaded, and easiest to get along with. And since his recent marriage, he had transformed into a man who some would dare to call friendly.
“Beg, you say?” Sebastian’s tankard of ale landed before him, and he scooped it up, raising his eyebrows at the three men as he took a long sip. “I don’t mind the sound of that.”
“How about we pull out a few fingernails,” Ronan grumbled. “See who it is that does the begging.” Ronan was an old war hero, his face scarred horribly from his time on the front, and with a sullen mood to match. Constantly grumpy. A dark sense of humor. He was not the type one would wish to find themselves alone in a dark alley with.
“Good idea,” Cassian chortled. “I’ll hold him down – did anyone think to bring a pair of pliers?” Cassian was perhaps the mostdangerous of them all. Devilishly handsome, too charming for his own good, he had a way about him that made people fawn for his attention and brighten when they got it. The thing was, Cassian was a cold, calculating sociopath –at least that is how I have always viewed him –and everything he did and said was for show and purpose. His own purpose, that was.
“Yes, yes, very droll,” Sebastian said with a sneer. “But I rather like my fingernails where they are, thank you very much.”
