The Inconvenient Duchess

carried it away to hang with the coat, feeling his eyes on her, as she walked. When she turned back to the bed, he’d moved to the centre, and was leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head in feigned nonchalance. She sighed and climbed on to the bed after him, undoing the elegant knot of his cravat and his shirt.
    He caught her hands, when she reached for the buttons on his breeches, and rolled, trapping her beneath him with her hands at her head. ‘What are you playing at?’ He stared down into her eyes, his expression hard.
    ‘It is past midnight, and you are sitting fully dressed in your bed. I assumed you needed assistance and am providing it.’
    ‘I’m not as drunk as all that. You make a most efficient valet, madam. Do you have much experience?’
    She glared back at him. ‘Yes, from dressing and undressing the infirm. I can undo a button as well as any of your servants, your Grace, although I’d not be able to tie as fine a cravat as your valet. But, that is not what you mean, is it? I came here tonight because I thought you meant for us to start fresh. Last night at the ball—’
    ‘I do not wish you to speak of it.’
    ‘No, but you plan to reproach me with it for an eternity without hearing a word in my defence. Last night at the ball, your brother requested that I meet him in the library, or he would reveal certain facts to you.’
    ‘And you went to the library…’
    ‘I did not know what else to do. I thought perhaps there would be a candlestick, or a letter opener, something that I could strike him with to make him leave me alone.’
    ‘And you found me there instead?’
    ‘And I quite forgot, for a moment, my reason for coming to the library in the first place. Your kisses are most…’ she paused, blushing ‘…distracting.’
    His eyes went dark and she heard his breath quicken. ‘And what are these facts that my brother knew and you were so afraid to tell me?’
    She closed her eyes and began. ‘While you were in London—’ she felt his body go tense against her ‘—I did not know where you were or when you would be back.’
    ‘But, in my letter—’
    Her eyes flew open. ‘What letter? I received none. I had no idea where you’d gone or why.’
    His body was still tense, but the grip on her wrists relaxed. ‘I think I begin to understand. Go on.’
    ‘Your brother befriended me. He was kind. I was flattered. And I didn’t notice at first that he was becoming too familiar.’
    ‘And just how familiar did he become?’
    She took a deep breath and felt the tension in him. ‘He touched my hair. My ankle. He kissed me.’ She hurried over the last bit, hoping that he might not notice. ‘And I locked myself in my room, and would not see him again. The next day you were back and he was gone.’
    ‘And this is what happened between you, that you were afraid to tell me.’
    ‘He said that you would believe the worst, and that you only wanted me for the child I could bring, so that it should not matter to me how you felt.’
    ‘He said that I did not desire you?’ He laughed again, and she looked up, startled.
    ‘He is your brother, and I am new to this house. How was I to know truth from lies?’
    ‘So my brother deceived you, and you put your honour at risk trying to conceal the fact. I asked you once, Miranda, to not lie to me about the contents of your heart. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?’
    She bit her lip. If the truth was too much for him to bear, then so be it. She began. ‘When I was ten, my mother died and my father lost the family home.’ She proceeded methodically through their fall in circumstances and told him everything, up to her arrival at his doorstep.
    And she felt his body relaxing against her, and her own nerves unknot as the truth came out and disaster did not strike.
    His voice was level, when he spoke again. ‘Now I charge you, tell me the truth. You were sent here against your will to make a match. And it is much the same to your family who your husband is, as long as you are settled. I find no pleasure in fighting to keep a woman who has given her heart elsewhere. If last night had not happened, if I had not touched you, if you were free to go and he would have you—would you go to St John?’
    ‘No.’ It was barely a whisper. ‘I was a fool and he took advantage of the fact. Turn me out if you must, Marcus, but don’t make me go to him. He is wicked and I would rather go to the workhouse than to your