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“Good evening, Your Grace,” her mother said, but Tyrone wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he leaned over the table and reached for the bottle of wine sitting in the middle. His hand was shaking, and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

“My sisters Harriet, Sophie, and—”

Without letting Emily finish, he turned on his heel and stomped away.

There was a beat of silence as everyone around the table tried to process what had just happened until Sophie finally broke the silence. “I think I liked Bernard more.”

Emily tried for a polite smile before wiping her hands on the napkin and rounding the table. “Excuse me,” she mumbled under her breath as she left the room.

Emily flew through the house, entering the duke’s chamber on his heels.

He turned, a glimmer of surprise flickering in his eyes. “What do you want?” he barked.

“What do I want?” she seethed. “I want the world to stop treating my family with disdain. What do you want? Because if you want to be rude to me, that’s just fine. Perhaps, I deserve it. Perhaps, I should have expected it. But please, spare my family from your brutish behavior. They did nothing to earn your contempt and be the laughingstock of the ton!”

“This is my house,” he growled over her last few words, waving his hand in the air. It was shaking. He was shaking. “They are unwanted guests, and I can act around them any way I please!”

He stomped toward his bedside table and carefully sat down the bottle of wine he’d so unceremoniously snatched from their table. His back was to her, but she could feel the tension in his posture.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked with genuine curiosity. For the first time, she wondered if his behavior had nothing to do with her, nor did it have anything to do with her family. There were other demons he was battling. His own.

“What is wrong with me?” He scoffed and turned toward her. “You are what’s wrong with me! You barged into my life and turned it upside down. Forced me to marry you—”

“I didn’t force anything. You tracked me down, remember?”

“—poured away all my liquor, brought your chattering family under my roof, and you want me to be polite about it?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “I want you to act like a proper duke.”

He scoffed. “A duke. Of course.”

“Yes, a duke. That’s what you are. Why is it so difficult for you to accept? You keep asking what I want as if I am asking for something unattainable. What I want is basic respect toward my family and courtesy toward me as your wife. I am willing to do anything in order to be a perfect duchess. All I need from you is to be a duke. A man who cares for his lands and his family. I want to be a proper mistress, hostess, and wife, and to give you heirs. And I can be all that, if only you weren’t standing in my way.”

“Did you ever think there is a reason for that?” He took a slow step forward like a predator. “I don’t need a perfect duchess. I need you to stay away from my affairs.”

“You don’t need a duchess? If you’re content with the poor way your household is managed, and you have no need for me, then why marry me at all?”

He grimaced and ran both his hands through his hair. “I had my reasons, however ill-advised.”

Emily stepped back, her hands fisted by her sides, her face hot. “You are a beast.”

“And you’d do well to remember that,” he whispered menacingly. “It is best you leave now, Duchess.”

“No!” She raised a finger in warning. “If you don’t need a proper duchess, I have no need to pretend to be meek now, do I?”

“When have you ever been meek?” he asked with a swipe of his hand through the air.

“You refuse to show me respect, you refuse to share my bed, then guess what? I shall find someone else to fulfill those needs!”

There. She was letting her emotions get the better of her again. He wasn’t the only one who could dole out idle threats. She just wished that he cared enough for her words to hurt him.

She turned on her heel, her hands shaking, her breaths heaving out of her chest. But before she could reach the door handle, she was turned around in a whirlwind of heat and strength and trapped between the door and two hundred pounds of raw, angry male.

“Try it,” he snarled, his face so close to hers that his warm breath hit her cheek. “Any man who tries to so much as touch you will regret it before he succeeds.”

Well, she’d gotten her wish.

“I refuse to be disrespected in this marriage,” she breathed. “And if you don’t provide me with—”