Page 16 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
“Yes, it is so.” She nodded emphatically.
He did not seem too pleased as he folded his arms over that broad chest of his. His gray eyes bored into her, a storm brewing in their depths.
He may be of a more considerable height and weight, but what she lacked in measurements, she would make up for with sheer will.
“I have not made up my mind about what rules to impose,” she added quickly. “But I shall let you know as soon as I have decided on them. I can assure you, however, Your Grace, that I do not intend to live my life in solitude.”
If he thought he could walk all over her, then she would have to disappoint him right now. She had promised him honesty earlier, and she had warned him that he might regret it.
He might as well get used to it starting today.I must remain firm. I will not be confined by so many rules this time, not when I am finally out of St. Agatha’s!
The Duke stared at her as if she were some novel mushroom that had just sprouted up amidst the pretty flowers in the garden.
She stared back.Hard.
His features softened… right before he raised his hand.
She did not even hear the words that left his lips. Did not eventhink. As soon as she saw the hand raised in her direction, she flinched, her body recoiling in that familiar defensive stance born of enduring years of harsh punishment in the nunnery.
But the impact never came. His features, however, hardened, his eyes like a storm in the vast, open sea.
“Get your things,” he bit out savagely. “We are leaving for Blackwell Manor at once.”
Theresa bit her lower lip, her cheeks coloring. “I… do not have much, Your Grace.”
“Not much what?”
She shrugged. “Things. But if you will permit it, I might be able to change into more appropriate clothes?—”
“Well then, get going,” he snapped.
A sliver of doubt wormed its way into her heart as she watched his back disappear into the tittering crowd. Had she been too brash with him? The Bible spoke of wives submitting to their husbands.
Then again, she had not exactly adhered to the principles inscribed in the Holy Book, much to the consternation of Mother Superior and Sister Mary.
But then again, everyone in London comported themselves in a manner that was quite different from the teachings at St. Agatha’s.
After the ceremony, she had spent the better part of the wedding breakfast observing the ladies amongst their guests out of genuine curiosity. She had been amused to note that most, if not all of them, conversed in a seemingly different language, talking with furtive glances, fluttering fans, and hushed voices, as if they were sharing secrets.
Perhaps the Duke expected her to comport herself in the same manner?
But Theresa’s education in that aspect was severely lacking. So perhaps she should have applied herself less to soften the impact of her statement.
A wife might have been more gentle with her husband, but Theresa had never expected to marry anyone other than the Lord, and certainly not at such short notice!
Rage, swift and undiluted, coursed through his very being like the fire that ripped through him so long ago. It set every nerve on edge, his fingers clenching into fists as he stalked away from his wide-eyed bride.
He had simply meant to reach out to touch her, to brush his fingers over her cheek in amusement and see for himself if her skin was as soft and smooth as it looked.
And her reaction had been purely instinctive. A swift response of self-preservation.
He was not blind. He had seen that flinch before on many different faces, each one of them sporting old and new bruises.
The question was, who the hell hurt her that she felt the need to steel herself against a mere raised hand?
His gaze swept over the guests, brutal in its judgment. Was it the Marquess of Wyndham? His wife?
Impossible. Theresa had said that she had only arrived at Wyndham Park the day prior.
