Angry, confused, and a little embarrassed at having almost just fallen in front of him, Caroline pushed at his arm around her waist.
“Get off of me,” she commanded through gritted teeth, then fear began to creep up her spine as her breath became labored from another bout of anxiety. “Get off!” she shouted, shoving at his arm.
Once more, Damien let her go—but once again, he followed at her side as she walked the rest of the way to her small cottage on the outskirts of town.
“Would you desist?” she asked after severalverypalpable moments of silence. “I am not going to apologize for leaving, and I amcertainlynot going back. It was my stepmother’s trick that almost fooled you, not mine. I simply took advantage of the opportunity.”
“You misunderstand me,” Damien replied calmly. “I am not here to demand an apology or berate you for your choices. It isobvious that you had so few.”
Caroline cast a sideways glare at him, despising how perceptive he seemed to be.
“What are you here for then?” she asked coldly. “Surely you did not search for me for two whole months just to ensure my well-being.”
She laughed bitterly at the thought. He would not do such a thing. Would he?
“No,” he replied smoothly. “I came here to bring you back and make you my duchess.”
His truthfulness took her aback, and she spared him a curious glance.
“You cannot be serious. We barely know each other.”
“You are right,” he continued. “We donotknow much about one another.”
Well, at least I do not know much about you. You seem to know a terrible lot about me.
“You are insane.”
“No, I am the sort of man who, when I set my sights on something, I do not let go that easily. An annoying habit even to myself, butyouare who I have set my sights on, and Iwillbe making you my duchess.”
Caroline fumed as they approached the overgrown path to her cottage. Two months ago, she would have been too frightened to do anything but follow what he had just said. If Agatha had not given her the option to leave, even though she did not want to, she probably would have ended up on the altar just as hewanted. Not now, though. Life outside of Mayfair was tough, but she had endured it. She had learned to survive, and it had made her stronger and more outspoken. Yes, she still felt scared every day of what might happen, but now she could confront her fears.
“What are we doing here?” Damien asked as they walked up the steps to her cottage.
“I do not know whatyouare doing here,” she grumbled, pulling her key from her apron. “But I live here. I have worked hard to live here, and I quite enjoy it, so I am sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but I will not be returning with you. I will not be marrying you. And I will certainly not be your duchess.”
Her words came out with an extra bite as she grew frustrated with the lock, which, as usual, fought her attempts to open easily.
“Why not?” Damien was simply watching her struggle with the lock, amused.
“Because I have made a life for myself I am satisfied with. I earn my own wages and rent my own house. I do not need a husband in my life. So thank you for the visit. And for chasing that man away, I suppose. Have a pleasant ride back to Mayfair.”
With a shove of her shoulder against the crooked door and a forceful yank of her key, the rusted padlock finally gave way. She pulled it hastily from the two rusted metal loops that kept the door secure when she was away and stepped inside, putting her body against the door in preparation to shut it.
“Goodbye, Your Grace,” she bit out, closing the door.
She moved to place the padlock on the inside metal loops, locking herself in, when she heard Damien scoff from the otherside of the door just moments before she and the door were pushed. She held the door tighter, bent her knees to resist the push, but her feet slid on the floor as if it were ice, and Damien stepped into the open doorframe.
“What do you think you are doing!” she shouted, scrambling from her place at the door.
“This is where you live?” Damien asked, ignoring her. His nose scrunched with aversion as he looked around the small space.
Caroline felt heat bloom in her cheeks as she moved away toward the fireplace. Even she had to admit that the place was a bit... lacking. There were holes in the thatched roof, and the stone walls kept in the damp and cold as if they enjoyed the sensations. The floorboards were old, with several lifted and warped from rain seeping in. The furniture was sparse and secondhand, with tears in the upholstery and chips in the wood—but it was hers, and that made it all special.
“I am quite aware it is not a castle,” she begrudgingly admitted. “But I like it here.”
She crouched down by the cold, stone fireplace, wanting to light a fire and cast off the chill in the air. Yet as her fingers brushed the floor where she usually stacked the wood, she let out a weary sigh. She had meant to ask one of her neighbors to loan her some before going to the orphanage, but Mrs. Parks had kept her late, and she had completely forgotten.
“Are you sure you like it here?” Damien asked. It was dark, but she was certain he was wearing a cocky, smug look.
