Page 106 of How Not to Marry a Duke

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and rubbed her forearm. Anger bubbled inside her. “How dare you!”

“I dare because I have every right as the earl and as your kin. If not a fraud, then why isn’t there a reading of the banns announcing your betrothal to the duke?”

Despite her anger at his high-handed behavior, she was aware he spoke the truth. His position as the Earl of Foster gave him power. She chose her words carefully. “Some courtships take time.”

His cold chuckle made her blood run cold. “Or is it because your mother was a commoner, a woman of mixed blood? It doesn’t matter that our father was an earl.” His gaze flickered over her with distaste. “Who would want you as their wife?”

“You cannot be serious.”

He leaned close, his sour breath brushing her cheek. “A duke, no less! He must marry a blue-blooded heiress.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Our father found my mother worthy of marriage.”

“That was a mistake the duke will not make. Warwick will find a true lady who will birth him sons with an impeccable pedigree.”

Insecurities rose in Adeline at his cruel words—deep-rooted insecurities that crawled inside her chest like pestilence. The insecurities had begun after she’d first witnessed the prejudice her mother had faced from some of the beau monde. Prejudice that had been reinforced later. In fact, Adeline had experienced it only weeks ago in a Mayfair bookshop.

Warwick had stood up for her then, but when it came to the perpetuation of the dukedom, of the bloodlines of his children, Adeline knew convictions changed. The duke had made love to her twice, and not once had the topic of marriage even arisen. Worse, she’d fallen madly in love with him.

Was Edwin right? Was she not good enough for the Duke of Warwick? Were her mother’s Arab roots distasteful to, or inferior for a duke? And why was she even thinking such thoughts when she had never intended to marry him anyway?

Warwick had never proposed. Never professed his love. Oh, she knew he desired her. But lust was far from love. She longed for that emotion. An old Armenian saying sprang to mind.

May you grow old on the same pillow.

If Warwick didn’t love her, she would find another who would cherish her. She deserved love, no matter what Edwin claimed.

Edwin folded his arms across his chest. “The only man who will have you, Adeline, is Mr. Stan Slade. He is determined to marry into the aristocracy. A smart woman would use it to her advantage.”

Frustration and anguish seared her chest. She faced him; her chin lifted. “Too bad the Season is almost over. Mr. Slade must find another woman. Meanwhile, you should leave, my lord.”

Rather than leave, he shut the door behind him and faced her. “You leave me little choice. I had hoped to talk sense into you, but I now realize there is no reasoning with you. Pack your bags. There is a wedding you will need to attend.”

Her fingers fisted at her sides. His stubbornness was infuriating. “Edwin—”

“It isn’t your wedding I speak of this time.”

“Pardon?” Her anger ebbed. The way he looked at her made the hair on her nape stand on end. “Who’s?”

“Mary’s.”

She knew before he could explain. A savage gnawing clawed up her throat and made her nauseous. “You wouldn’t.”

“After I explained the financial loss and the devastation to her, she was receptive to the suggestion.”

“How dare you! Mary is innocent. She doesn’t understand.”

“Quite the contrary. She fully understands. I followed your suggestion. I realized keeping her in the dark about the earldom’s coffers was not advantageous. Once I informed her of the loss from the shipping endeavor and the debt incurred, she understood the consequences. I had hoped you would cooperate after Warwick failed to act, but now I am taking different measures. Mary is more malleable, and the debt must be paid, or Slade will retaliate. ”

Adeline was horrified that he would sacrifice Mary to the moneylender. “It is no secret you dislike me, have disliked me for as long as I can remember, but not Mary. Sweet, innocent Mary. She has her own dreams.” Adeline bit her lip to prevent her revealing the truth about Mary’s writing. She wouldn’t betray her sister.

“You are sending a lamb to slaughter,” she spat.

“If you had agreed, then there would be no need. Meanwhile, I am staying in Chilham at the local inn. I’ll give you a day to pack your bags.” His razor-like gaze scanned the cottage, and his lip curled in distaste. “From the number of your belongings, I’m being generous. Until then, you know where to reach me.”

As he rode away, his spine stiff in his saddle, Adeline stood frozen on the porch. Her world had changed in an instant, and he’d devastated her life with one swooping tactical move.

She would do what she had to do. What she always did—look after others and, in this instance, she’d sacrifice everything to protect her sister.