Page 11 of When the Duke Met His Match

His father sipped from his wine, then released a pensive sigh. “It was entirely his idea. He couldn’t stand the thought of sitting idle while other sons and fathers were sent off to fight. I tried to talk him out of it, but he couldn’t be persuaded. He claimed that fighting for his country was far nobler than staying home and preparing to be a duke. If he hoped to lead our family, he ought to learn how to fight real wars.”

Lady Ariana sighed at the thought with glistening eyes. “What a beautiful sentiment.”

“If only I had tried more diligently to reason with him,” his father murmured, looking down at his plate. “Then he’d be here with us for this meal and many others. Yet, I have the sneaking suspicion Harold would have resented me for it. I would’ve been wrong to deny him the noble journey he desired.”

The dream-like haze that cloaked Lady Ariana’s eyes made the sprout of hope within Theophilus’ chest that she would make a good match for him whither down to nothing. He could feel the distance grow between them, and he found no interest in his heart for her.

It was his father’s expectation and his alone for them to be wed. He wanted no part in it.

When the meal was finished, his father proposed they move to the sitting room, but Theophilus stood and adjusted his uniform with the ghost of a pleasant smile on his lips.

“Please excuse me, I find myself weary from the day. I should see myself to bed.”

While the initial response from their guests was a polite objection, they seemed to understand. His father and mother didn’t say anything, for they were likely too consumed by their thoughts of Harold to mind.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord and Lady Bordeaux,” Theophilus murmured with a bow of his head. He did the same toward their daughter. “And you, Miss Bordeaux, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, enjoy your evening.”

He received polite farewells as he left the table, relieved to be away from them the moment he reached his bedroom.

Alone at last, he breathed deeply, kicked off his boots, and then peeled the uniform away from his body. He leaned his hands against the washbasin and gazed at his exhausted reflection in the mirror.

While he saw parts of Harold in his features, he knew it wasn’t enough to turn him into the duke his brother was meant to be. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t will himself to be the man his family wanted. Even if his father drilled those stories of Harold’s bravery into his mind, it wouldn’t change anything.

The familiar embers of envy sparked inside his chest. He had spent most of his life trying to be just like his brother, but even that hadn’t been enough.

There could only be one Harold, and Theophilus could only be his broken, disappointing brother—the duke who wasn’t supposed to be.

Pushing away from the basin, he dropped himself onto the bed and gazed at the ceiling. The moon’s rays spilled into the room, reminding him that his prisoner didn’t have the luxury of seeing its beauty.

Odette’s face rushed into his mind, and he allowed himself only the briefest moment to contemplate her beauty.

She had looked at him with fire in her eyes, daring him to try and break her resolve. She seemed to be made of iron and ready to defend her country, no matter the cost. A part of him admired her determination, even if he should discourage it.

She was technically his enemy. She was a traitor to the crown and a criminal.

He tried to push her from his mind, but even the thought of her seemed too stubborn to let it happen.

Many other women caught his eye over the years, but none of them felt quite like Odette. None of them made him feel so captivated after one meeting.

Was it her burning determination to fight for what she believed in or simply her beauty that enraptured me? he wondered to himself, stuck on the image of her in his head.

Each possibility seemed to have a hand in it, and it was in his best interest to forget about her outside of work. He had a job to do, and his reputation among his superiors depended on it.

With his head in the pillows, Theophilus closed his eyes and prepared himself for what was ahead.

There was a French rebel he needed to break, even if she was painfully breathtaking.

Chapter Seven

ODETTE

The wall felt cool against Odette’s back as she leaned against it, arms crossed over her chest. She eyed the young soldier, scoffing to herself while he entered the room.

Even if it was only his second time joining her in that room, she grew tired of being interrogated and trapped. Above all, she was tired of the Englishman who seemed to enjoy their verbal sparring matches.

She wondered what he gained from it, seeing as she refused to give any of the names he was after. No matter how exhausted she was, she wouldn’t give him anything.

“Have you come for a second round?” Odette asked, her tone bitter with sarcasm.