Page 72 of The Duchess He Couldn’t Resist

“Excuse me, you did what?” he asked very inelegantly.

“I told her that if she wanted to come at me, she should try, but we are not at the same station, and she should mind her behavior.”

“So in the middle of London on this lovely day, you walked down the street, met your mother, and chose violence. Very bold of you, Your Grace.”

“I just needed to remind my mother that the fact that I am the Duchess, the fact she so eagerly tries to exploit, is also the one that is making me more powerful than her.”

Brandon felt his chest swelling. Sure, there was pride, he had already established that, but there was something that felt dangerously close to awe. This girl, who was tormented for years by her own mother, threatened by street gangs to be turned into nothing but a common woman, faced down her oppressor, looked her in the eyes, and won.

“You are formidable, Your Grace,” he said in a low tone.

“I was magnificent!” Marigold smiled.

He took one step closer and took her hand in his, his thumb tracing circles.

“You are full of surprises, Marigold.”

“I try to keep you on your toes, Your Grace,” Marigold teased.

“Is that so?”

“It is precisely so,” Marigold smirked. “Am I succeeding?”

Brandon took a step closer and took her chin between his thumb and finger. Their eyes met, playful and deep.

“You are doing a remarkable job,” he said.

“Good.” Marigold tilted her head. “It would have been terrible to see your mind grow dull.”

“My mind,” Brandon laughed softly, “has not had one single moment of peace since I married you.”

“That sounds suspiciously close to a complaint, Your Grace.”

“It is merely an observation.”

Marigold shook her head, and Brandon tightened his hand around hers.

“You,” he admitted, “have become a persistent distraction.”

“That is unfortunate. I was striving for mere annoyance,” Marigold said, her eyes shining.

“You have managed to become more of a menace.”

“A menace? How severe.”

“Catastrophic.”

Marigold laughed, that gurgling, golden thing that filled his study and somehow his life.

“Oh, Brandon. I merely stood up to my mother, and you are making it sound as if I conquered France.”

“I suspect France would surrender faster to you.”

“And here I was,” Marigold replied, “worrying that marriage had made you impossible to impress.”

Brandon drifted closer, his body almost flush against hers.

“You never fail to impress me, sweetheart.”