Page 27 of Her Duke Next Door
She barely shut the door behind her before it was opened again. Hugh’s scent, disgusting and overpowering, like too much of one scent being dabbed onto his skin in an attempt to smell better than he naturally did, wafted through to her.
“Mary.”
“Hugh.” Her voice did not tremble.
He approached her and she stiffened, knowing she needed to not keep her back to him. But before she could turn, he was there, his hands on her shoulders. She stepped out of his touch but he pulled her back.
“Do you like your bed chambers, Mary?” he asked in a wheedling voice. “I assure you mine are far grander and more comfortable. You should get used to being in mine.”
“It is quite improper,” she said, her throat closing at the grasp he had on her. “At least before we are—” The word could not come out no matter how much she willed it.
Hugh laughed at her. “Until we are wed? My, my, Mary! You are rather eager.”
She grimaced, closing her eyes as she still struggled. Finally, he let her go, if only so she could turn and he could leer at her. His eyes fell to her chest and she wished to cover up.
“You will make a fine wife,” he said, still not looking at her face. “And we shall produce an heir in no time.”
Her heart pounded erratically as she took a step back. “Hugh, we should not talk in such ways until we are married.”
Hugh snorted, a disgusting thick sound in his throat. “Do not convince me you are prudish, Mary. You are a widow. I must say that I have not had a lot of experience bedding a woman who already knows her way into a man’s bed but?—”
“I wanted to produce an heir for my late husband,” Mary said, her voice tight. “As expected from my marriage.”
“And as shall be expected fromourmarriage, too.”
His eyebrows lifted as he ran his gaze over her, licking his lips. She shuddered in disgust.
“I—I wish to visit my sister. I shall call upon her this afternoon.”
With that, she made to leave but Hugh stepped into her path. “Splendid idea, my dear. I shall chaperone you.”
Mary stilled. “That is quite fine. It is only my family.”
“Nevertheless, you are an unmarried woman. I will be your chaperone forever now, Mary. There is not a place you will venture without me.”
The threat was there, clear as day, and she realized she was not only going to be an unhappy wife but a prisoner, too. She hesitated, not wanting to go anywhere with Hugh. Being trapped in the house with him would be awful enough—she did not want him insisting he accompany her to her parents’ house. No, the Yore family had done enough damage to the Hatsons already.
I can already see my brother-in-law’s reaction to another Yore man around, she thought. Alexander Dunst had grown rather protective of Mary since Patrick’s passing. He often came with Anne to visit, asking how she was faring. She often put it down to guilt. After all, in protection of Anne, Alexander was the one who had fought her husband. But it been Mary who had found out about her husband’s obsession with Anne and called the constables, leading to his death.
Her throat closed up. “I actually think it can perhaps wait for another day,” she said. “Besides, I would not want to impart myself onto my sister without notice and it has been quite a long day.”
At that, Hugh’s smile grew. “It has, indeed. Perhaps you would let me see you to your bedchamber, Mary.”
“That is quite fine,” she winced.
“I insist. Youarelooking rather pale. I would suggest you to lie down, Mary.”
“I am sure I can see myself to my own chamber,” she answered, ducking her head and trying to slip around Hugh. But he was there, catching her wrist in his fingers, yanking her closer. His breath smelt like heavy cigar smoke, sour and rotten on his tongue.
“I shall have my way with you soon enough, Mary,” he sneered. “Wewillmake an heir.”
Mary pulled away sharply. “Let us leave that for our wedding night, shall we?” She tried to sound suggestive in the hopes of appeasing him until she could escape his grip but her voice broke. She lifted her chin and stalked out of the room. She felt Hugh’s eyes on her retreating figure.
* * *
The following morning, Mary walked past her daughter’s open bedroom, pausing when she heard a mumbling, small voice inside.
“You are not going for breakfast, Eloise?” she asked.
