Page 22 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

Marigold realized what she had said and looked up at him.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, I just⁠—”

Perhaps her mother was right. Perhaps she was not worthy of good things or a good life. And when her thoughts returned to Claire, she remembered how her mother had demanded to stay with them in the Verdant House. How was she supposed to ask such a thing while the Duke was already being so accommodating? What if he grew angry and retracted the arrangement he had offered her? That would leave her ruined and still in debt.

“Speak,” the Duke ordered.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

The Duke slowed his pace and demanded her full attention. She craned her neck to look into those unnervingly dark eyes. They settled on her with such force that Marigold felt the world blur into insignificance around them.

Her pulse stumbled violently. Heat spread beneath her skin despite the cool spring breeze, and her gloved hands tightened into fists.

“Whatever it is that you have to say, speak,” he commanded.

“I…” She struggled to find the words.

“We are here to take a pleasant walk to convince the ton, as well as the Crown that granted me the marriage certificate and is watching my marriage like a hawk, that this is a love match.”

Marigold nodded though her eyes kept darting toward the people observing them.

“Right now,” the Duke leaned closer to her with a false smile, “all people see is a fidgeting, panicked woman at my side instead of a blushing, excited bride.”

“I apologize, Your Grace.”

“I have no need for apologies, sweetheart.” His expression darkened further. “What I need is efficiency. And the girl who managed to deal with street gangs while feeding them is quite efficient. Act accordingly and tell me what you have to say.”

Without waiting for her reply, he offered his elbow once more, and they resumed walking.

“I would like to renegotiate our understanding,” Marigold finally muttered.

The Duke chuckled coldly though one eyebrow rose in interest.

“Is that so, Lady Marigold?”

Marigold fidgeted with her worn gloves before petting Duck for a little courage.

“My mother needs to come and stay with us after the wedding.”

“Absolutely not,” the Duke answered without missing a beat.

“But Your Grace⁠—”

“Your mother is one of the worst people I have ever met,” he said bluntly. “Even so, she is still your mother, so tell me, is this something that you wish?”

Marigold knew she was supposed to defend her mother and say she would otherwise be alone and that she wished to care for her, but for the life of her, she could not say it.

“I am going to ask you one more time, Lady Marigold,” he said, his voice lowering into a growl. “Is this your wish?”

Marigold realized, perhaps instinctively, that this was a defining moment in her life. This man, who was supposed to become her husband, and he was doing something no one else had ever done before—giving her a choice.

And yet years beneath her mother’s thumb had disciplined her into submission. She was still struggling to breathe as they wandered into a copse of trees where fewer people lingered. Marigold took a deep breath.

“No. It is not my wish. It is my mother who demands it.”

The Duke stopped and turned toward her fully. There was a flash of anger in his eyes that Marigold knew was not directed at her. Then he took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. When she complied, he gave a low sound of approval.

“I will say this once, and I do not enjoy repeating myself. You are my bride, and you are My Duchess. Not your mother. She is entitled to no demands and no privileges,” the Duke said as he leaned closer. “If there is something you wish for, I promise I will hear it.”