The space between them tightened, charged. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. Saw her gaze flick to his mouth and back again, quick as a spark.
His own pulse shifted, sharp and unwelcome.
He forced himself to step back.
“This cannot happen again,” he said, voice controlled.
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. Her expression hardened. “Then make your rules clearer.”
“I have been clear,” he replied.
“You have been selective,” Eleanor shot back.
Silence stretched.
“Finally,” James spoke, his tone clipped. “Do not clean my study again.”
She bristled. “I will go where I please.”
James’s eyes went cold. “Then you will do so with consequence.”
Her gaze flashed. “Threats again. You are becoming quite predictable.”
“Not threats. Reality, my dear,” he corrected.
Eleanor exhaled, sharp. “You are impossible.”
James’s mouth tightened. “And yet you married me.”
She glared. “You gave me no choice.”
James stared at her. “You always have a choice. Do not insult us both by pretending otherwise.”
Eleanor’s hands clenched at her sides.
James held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded once, decisive. “You will meet with Mrs. Hargreaves this afternoon. She will begin instruction on household management. The steward will walk you through tenant ledgers.”
Eleanor blinked, surprised he was conceding at all.
James’s voice hardened slightly. “And if you want to please me, Duchess, you will stop trying to earn your place by humiliation.”
Her eyes flashed. “I was not humiliating myself.”
James’s gaze flicked over the immaculate room. “You were.”
Eleanor drew herself up, pride returning like armor. “Then perhaps I will humiliate myself in more creative ways.”
James’s lips pressed thin.
She swept past him toward the door, pausing only once with her hand on the knob. “I am not a doll, James.”
“Do not!”
She froze.
He clenched his jaw until it started to hurt.
“You shall not leave under these pretenses.”
