Page 23 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
Well, she could hardly deny that, but although he had been occasionally rude, and almost cruel, he had not been overtly unkind. And he had not forced himself on her even when he had said he would do so.
“Perhaps not,” she said, “but?—”
“I will not have these creatures in my house, Emmeline.”
The sound of her name on his tongue gave her an odd, little thrill. “I happen to like cats,” she said, folding her arms.
“Be that as it may?—”
“And I have no intention of getting rid of them. They have made a home here.”
“Becauseyouhave given them a home here, and against my wishes.”
“It is hardly as though you spend time in this side of the house. Keep away from the library, and you will not have to be terrified of the poor darlings.” She reached out a hand and scratched the head of the tabby, which purred.
In the time it had been with her, they had bonded, finally.
“Now listen here,” he said fiercely.
But Keaton came to the door and knocked twice to attract their attention. “Your Grace,” he said formally. “There is someone here to see you. The Viscount Sarron.”
The Duke stiffened, frowning as though this interruption was unwelcome but not wholly so. “Show Sarron into the drawing room,” he said. “I will be there in a moment.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Emmeline lifted her chin as the Duke returned his attention to her. “Do something about these cats,” he instructed coldly. “I will not have them in my house.”
“The household is my responsibility.”
He took two strides toward her, tipping her chin and staring into her face with an intensity that made her breath hitch. “You forget, Emmeline, that this is my house.”
“Would you be really so cruel to move the kittens?” she demanded. “Look at them. Would you have them killed? Is that your true nature?”
He glanced past her at the kittens. “What do you intend to do with them when they are grown?”
“I am certain they’ll be helpful mousers.”
His jaw clenched, and she could almost see that she had won. “Very well. Just keep them out of my sight.”
If he had not been on his way to greet a guest, she might have fought some more, just to reiterate how much he was sacrificing by sharing his house with her—she might have attempted to dig her claws into him a little deeper—but now was not the moment.
There would be other occasions for that, she was certain.
She gave him an insincere smile. “Yes, My Lord Duke.”
“And stop calling me by that ridiculous title,” he snapped as he left the room.
* * *
Adam strode toward the drawing room, both glad for the interruption and frustrated that he was not more able to assert his authority. In truth, he had no desire to drown the cats—an unnecessary cruelty, in his opinion—and he hardly knew what the other solutions were to his problem. All he knew was that in leaving the way he had, Emmeline would no doubt think she had won that particular battle.
Theirs, it seemed, would always be a battle of wills. She was more fiery than he could ever have known upon marrying her, and that was a problem he would have to sort out at a later date.
Nicholas Wallace, the Viscount Sarron, was waiting for him by the window, a silhouette against the light.
Nicholas, William, and Adam had all been friends as boys, and the grin splitting Nicholas’s face was yet another proof of their longstanding relationship.
“Adam,” he said, coming to clap him on the shoulder. “By the devil, it’s good to see you.”
