Page 7 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place
"Why are you willing to do this?"
Because I cannot bear the thought of him touching you.Because I have spent far too many years pretending I do not care for you. Because I should have married you long before I ever married another woman.
Max’s jaw tightened. Those reasons, truthful as they were, could never be uttered to her. Instead, he said, "Because I refuse to let that lecherous bastard think he can take whatever he wants… and because however much we might verbally spar with one another, I do consider you a friend, Violet, and friends look after one another.”
Violet let out a slow breath, her gaze searching his.
For a moment, he feared she might refuse—that her infuriating stubbornness would somehow outweigh her own well-being.
Then, reluctantly, she nodded.
"Fine."
Max did not allow himself to feel relief.
Instead, he merely inclined his head, as if they had just negotiated a particularly tedious land dispute.
"Good. We leave for York at first light. We will marry by common license before noon."
Violet exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face.
And then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, she muttered something under her breath that he almost didn’t catch.
Almost.
"I should have known it would come to this."
Max arched a brow. "Oh? Have you always imagined yourself a duchess, then?"
She shot him a glare so fierce it could have felled a lesser man.
"Absolutely not," she snapped. "I have, however, spent the last seven years convincing myself that I hated you."
Max stilled.
Seven years.
Seven years since he had married another woman.
Seven years since he’d taken to treating Violet Honeywell as if she had become nothing more than a thorn in his side—a woman he could not touch, could not claim, and had therefore kept at arm’s length with arguments and irritation. Seven years of this—this ridiculous, infuriating, unbearable dance. Because that was the only way he’d been able to hide the truth of his attraction for her—his best friend’s younger sister.
His throat felt suddenly dry.
"Well," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, "I hope the effort was worth it."
She let out a soft, humorless laugh. "It wasn’t."
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door.
Max watched her go, his fists clenching at his sides.
Tomorrow, she would be his wife.
And for the first time since proposing, he was terrified of what that truly meant.
Chapter Four
The Road to York
