“Before you issue threats, make certain you have the ballocks to uphold them,” he counseled his almost-wife.
His almost-wifeat last.
Impossible to believe he had been moldering in the monkery for three bloody weeks, waiting to wed this stubborn chit. He was a Bedlamite. Had to be. She was hardly worth the trouble.
Yes, countered a voice within him,she is, you arse. She will give you everything you need to defeat the Suttons.
Well, mayhap she was.
There was also the matter of how much he wanted her. Brother dearest had done everything aside from place an armed guard outside her chamber door to keep Dom from his intended. Being so near to her and having to spend each evening fucking his hand had decidedly lost its luster. He could not wait to be inside her. And he intended to be so, just as soon as this godforsaken ceremony was through.
Devil and Blade had best be managing in his absence. He had never been gone from London for this long. He had not dared.
“Do you think I do not have the courage to stand up to you?” she demanded.
Damn, she was fierce. It was making him hard.
He adjusted his stance. No sense tenting his breeches before a man of the cloth. In a church. He was vile, but he had some sense of right and wrong. Or, at least, he once had. Over the years, that understanding had grown decidedly murkier and murkier.
Until he had forced a duke’s daughter into marrying him, the bastard son of a Covent Garden doxy and a coldhearted merchant.
“I think your courage is admirable, Duchess,” he said then, stroking his jaw. “If misplaced. I am not your enemy. I will be your husband.”
“I do not understand why a man like you would want to wed.” She shook her head, as if the motion would somehow force clarity upon her. “Marrying me will not gain youentréein society.”
He laughed. “Do you think I give a fuck about twirling around ballrooms and bowing and scraping to a gaggle of preening, pompous lords and their arrogant wives, sons, and daughters?”
She flinched at his coarse language. “I am sure I do not know anything youdocare about, Mr. Winter.”
To spite him, she had refused to refer to him as his given name for the entirety of their betrothal. Never mind that. He fully intended to make her moan it later.
“I care about marrying you, else I would not have traveled to the midst of nowhere and suffered the reluctant hospitality of an arsehole for three weeks.”
That much was true.
Hedidcare about marrying her. But the reason why was his affair and not hers.
“Mr. Winter was kind in allowing us to remain after the manner in which you interrupted the Duke and Duchess of Coventry’s wedding breakfast and the…disgrace which happened thereafter.” She was frowning at him again.
And pale. Her complexion matched her dress.
“Are you feeling well, Duchess?” he asked, concern for her swirling through him.
A new sensation, that. He had never cared about anyone other than his siblings before, had he? Ruthlessly, he tamped it down. There was no room for weakness in his world.
“I am fine, aside from the fact that I am being forced to marry a criminal against my will,” she said sweetly.
“Are you certain?” he prodded, ignoring her insult for the moment. “You look as if you are going to be sick.”
Her lips compressed. “Perfectly.”
“I ain’t a criminal these days, Duchess,” he could not resist pointing out then. Her poor opinion of him rather nettled. “And nor is anyone forcing you into this marriage. You made the decision, all on your own.”
Her nostrils flared. “Just because you pay others to commit crimes on your behalf does not mean you are not a criminal yourself. As for making the decision to marry you, you made certain I was left without a choice. If I do not marry you, I am not just ruined, but my brother will be harmed by you and your vicious minions.”
Sundenbury again, that twat. At least he had proven useful, in the end.
“I encouraged you to make the right choice.” Dom raised his hands, as if to show her his munificence. “There is no evidence I pay anyone to commit crimes on my behalf.”
