Page 16 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
“The Duke of Alstead wed her yesterday morning,” the butler continued, voice deliberately neutral. “They are, by all accounts, now man and wife.”
Nigel, who had paled significantly, ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Well, that’s it then. Eddington will have my hide.”
Ethella ignored him, her mind racing.
“No,” she said, voice dangerously low. “This is not over.”
Nigel blinked. “What do you mean, not over? The girl is married to a duke, Mother. She is well beyond our reach now.”
Ethella’s lips curled.
“Nonsense,” she said. “There is always another way. I will not be impoverished, Nigel. Whatever it takes.”
Nigel swallowed thickly, watching as his mother’s expression darkened with something that could only be described as determination laced with cold-blooded menace.
And suddenly, he was very, very afraid.
Chapter Eight
Violet had expected many things upon embarking on her first full day as the new Duchess of Alstead. Some lingering awkwardness with her husband, for one. Perhaps even some biting remarks exchanged over breakfast, as was their custom. What she had not expected, however, was to be fussed over by the household staff like some treasured jewel.
Mrs. Rutledge, the cook, was practically glowing as she oversaw the setting of the breakfast table, her usual no-nonsense demeanor replaced by something almost giddy.
“Such a grand occasion,” she said, beaming at Violet. “A duchess in the house at last. And to think, we all saw it coming long before the two of you did.”
Violet, who had just lifted her teacup to her lips, choked.
Max, seated at the head of the table, raised a brow over the rim of his own teacup. “Is that so, Mrs. Rutledge?”
“Oh, aye,” the housekeeper said, giving him an indulgent look. “No two people have ever bickered quite like the pair of you do without a bit of fondness underneath it. You might have fooled yourselves, but you never fooled us.”
Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You presume much, Mrs. Rutledge.”
“Do I?” she asked, arching a brow. “And yet here you are, married to the one woman who’s been keeping you on your toes since you were naught but a wee lad.”
“I didn’t realize ‘keeping me on my toes’ was synonymous with making me miserable,” Max replied.
Violet, having finally regained control of her breathing, set her teacup down with great delicacy. “If I were truly intent on making your life miserable, I’d have found far more creative ways of doing so by now.”
Mrs. Rutledge chuckled, nudging one of the footmen to bring out another dish. “Aye, no doubt about that, Your Grace.”
Violet could feel the servants watching them, some of them openly grinning as if they were observing a play in which they already knew the ending.
Good heavens. Did everyone in the county think they were meant for each other?
She stole a glance at Max, who was looking far too comfortable, sipping his tea like a man utterly unbothered by the household’s meddling. But then he caught her looking. Their gazes locked and suddenly there was this strange tension between them. For a moment it seemed as though there was something between them beyond just their endless needling of one another. Nervously, she licked her lips and she felt his eyes tracking the movement of her tongue, focusing intently on her mouth. A strong heat bloomed in her belly and she had to fight the urge to squirm in her seat. Abruptly, she looked away.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“It’s torment,” he admitted. “Of the sweetest variety.”
Before she could gather herself to deliver a truly cutting response, the Harris appeared in the doorway. It was clear the man was displeased about something.
“Your Grace,” he said, addressing Max. “There are visitors.”
Max barely lifted a brow. “At this hour?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Mr. Cavender and Mrs. Cavender have arrived.”
