Page 58 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
He looked at her.
She wanted to reach for him. That was the thing she was not going to examine. Some instinct had moved in her, the instinct to place a hand on his arm, to say sorry, properly, to close the distance between them that she had been carefully maintaining, but she stopped herself. Pressed her hands together more firmly.
“I understand,” she continued, her voice gaining a sharp, defensive edge to mask her vulnerability. “But we would not be having this conversation now if you had simply talked to me when I asked you to on the stairs. We have not discussed our arrangement, Your Grace. I do not know what anything means in this house because you have spent the last two days hiding in your study.”
Theodore went to speak, but she pressed on, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I am trying to navigate this without tripping over your pride. I mean, technically, you never asked for any of this. You never asked for this marriage, or for a ready-made family, or for the burden of a wife, and a boy who is far too frail. I am simply trying to give you the space you surely must want.”
She didn't even realize her eyes were welling up until she felt the sudden, warm ghost of his touch. Theodore stepped into herspace, his fingers grazing her skin as he gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
Emily jerked back instinctively, taking a sharp step away and lowering her head. Her heart was a frantic drum in her ears. She had spent weeks convincing herself that he would want to live his life exactly as he had before, free, detached, and utterly unencumbered by the weight of a domestic life.
“Emily,” Theodore whispered.
She shook her head once.
“Look at me.”
She did not look at him. She was looking at the floorboards and thinking about Frederick asleep on the other side of the door.
Then she heard Theodore move.
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could see his feet on the floorboards beside hers. Close enough that when she breathed, she could smell the cedar of him.
“I did not want to get married,” he said. “That is true. That was my reputation, and it was an accurate one.” Theodore reached out, his touch so light it was almost a question. He curled two fingers beneath her chin, his fingers warm and slightly rough. Very slowly, he tilted her head upward.
Emily’s breath hitched as she was forced to follow the movement. A sharp, liquid tingle raced down her spine, making her knees weak. As her face was lifted, the world narrowed until there was nothing left but the steady, unwavering heat in his eyes. For all her efforts to keep him at a distance, he had already claimed the space between them.
“But do not for a single second think that you forced me into anything. If you remember correctly, it was I who got us caught in that library. I, who made the announcement in front of witnesses. I who went to your father.” He tilted his head slightly. “If anyone was put into a corner that night, Emily, it was you. Not me.”
She shut her eyes briefly, then opened them again.
“I am a stubborn man,” he continued. “Everyone who has ever met me for more than ten minutes knows this. There is not a person alive who has ever made me do something I did not want to do.” He paused. “I made a decision. I stand by my decisions. That is who I am.”
She felt her own breath, shallow and slightly too fast, and hoped very much that he could not tell.
“I thought,” she said, and her voice came out quieter than she intended. “I thought that you would want things to remain as they were. Before.” She held his gaze because he had put it there, and she had no choice. “That you would want your freedom. Your life, the way it was. That perhaps this arrangement would simply be a formality, and you would carry on as you alwayshad. I would manage the household and Frederick... we would simply exist alongside each other without any of it meaning —” She stopped.
His fingers were still under her chin.
“I thought,” she said again, more quietly. “That was what you wanted.”
Theodore looked at her for a moment. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
It was not quite a question. It was the kind of thing a person said when they were deciding whether to be offended or simply honest about it, and she could see him making that decision in real time.
“I did not mean it as an insult,” she said carefully. “I meant it as —”
“I know what you meant it as.” He was quiet for a moment. “I have never done anything badly in my life. I am many things, Emily. Reckless, occasionally. Irritating, frequently. Ask anyone, and they will confirm both.” The fingers under her chin moved, just slightly, and she felt it. “But I do not do things halfway. I never have. If I am going to be a husband, then I am going to be one. If Frederick is going to be in my house, then he is going to be in my house. Not at a distance. Not as a formality.” He held her gaze. “I will do my responsibilities.”
Emily swallowed hard, the warmth of his fingers still humming against her skin. “And those responsibilities,” she began, her voice gaining a thin layer of courage. “How far do they extend, Your Grace? What is it you truly expect from me in this arrangement?” She swallowed again. “Because there is quite a lot contained in that word, and we have not discussed any of it. What you expect from me. What I should expect from you. Whether…” She stopped. Started again. “…Whether you expect this marriage to be a full one.”
While she had been consumed with securing Frederick’s safety and carving out a strong foundation for them to exist, she had neglected the looming shadow of the ducal line, the necessity of an heir. Society would expect an heir. That was simply the reality of it: the unspoken expectation that sat beneath every title, every marriage contract, and every congratulatory smile from every person who had wished them well at the wedding.
She was the Duchess of Carrowell now, and the Duke of Carrowell would be expected to produce a successor, and by extension, she would be expected to provide one. She had not thought about it. She was thinking about it now, and she could not unthink it.
He had also told her, plainly and directly, that this would never be a love match. That he had not been looking for a wife and that even if he had, it would have nothing to do with love. She was not surprised by that. She had not come to this marriage expecting love from a man like Theodore Merrick, who had never been part of the arrangement, but it did make her wonder whether a man who had closed the door on love was also a man who had closed the door on everything that came with it. She did not need him tolove her. She was not asking for that. She simply wanted clarity. She wanted the lines drawn where she could see them.
Theodore’s expression shifted, the intensity in his gaze cooling. He let his hand drop from her face, the loss of his touch leaving her skin feeling suddenly, sharply cold.
