Page 29 of Wedded to the Beastly Duke
Her gaze held his, the flare of challenge only stoking his raging libido. “I enjoy a walk.”
“You—”
“I engaged a few of the charming people I met for dinner,” she interjected calmly. “I thought you would have no objection. They are your tenants, after all.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. And I thought it was poorly done that they had not been invited to the castle before now. Is that any way to treat your people? They rely on you, Adam.”
With a lurch, he realized she had used his first name, and by the startled look in her eyes, she realized it too.
“Very well,” was the only thing he could think to say, unsure whether he wanted to reach out and touch her or run far, far away. “When is this to take place?”
She beamed, clearly believing she had finally got one over him. “Tomorrow.”
ChapterNine
Emmeline could barely sleep in anticipation of the dinner that was to happen the next day. Finally, she would prove to the Duke once and for all that they were not a good match. After all, what great duke would want to associate with the lowly people who lived in tiny houses with straw roofs?
She had been inside those houses, had sat with worn-out mothers as they darned clothes and spoke about how grateful they were to the Duke—for little reason, as far as Emmeline could ascertain—and had spoken to the hard-working men in the fields.
Of everyone she spoke to, she had curated her invitation list carefully. There was Mrs. Bridges, a poor widow who was barely surviving and whom Emmeline had vowed to meet again. She had pledged to send the Duke’s carriage to pick her up.
Then there was Simon Smith, a farmer whom she had encountered on her way back through the village. His hands had been smeared with dirt—right up his fingernails—but he had touched his cap with such pleasant good manners that she had been unable to help herself.
Added to that, she had included the local blacksmith, who was revered by the local population, and the curate, a single man who was, by all accounts, looking for a wife.
It was an eclectic mix of guests, and ones she had hoped would discomfit the Duke.
As the day wore on, her excitement turned to jittery nerves, and she turned down several dresses until she found an informal blue taffeta day dress. Usually, she would wear an evening gown for a dinner such as this, but she didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.
To her surprise, when she left her bedchamber, it was to see the Duke also leaving his, and instead of formal breeches, he wore calfskins and a very plainly tied cravat.
She gaped at him. “What are you wearing?”
“You sound like my mother,” he said dryly.
“But—” She collected herself with difficulty. “I thought for certain you would be wearing…”
“You thought for certain I would be starched to high heaven, didn’t you? And you thought—nay, hoped—I would disgrace myself enough in front of our guests that they would regard me with dislike the whole dinner?”
Emmeline bit her lip. Hard. “Not at all.”
“You’re quite right,” he said, his tone milder now. “I should have made more of an effort to get to know my people. This is an excellent opportunity to do so.” He offered her his arm. “Thank you, wife.”
She took his proffered arm, her heart in her mouth and her brain fuzzy with disbelief.
Surely not.Surelythis man could not be serious. She had been so certain that he would be furious at her forwardness. But tothank her. If he was being genuine, then she had misjudged him entirely.
“You’re not wearing your diamonds,” he said to her as they descended the stairs in preparation for receiving their guests. “I’m surprised. This is a formal dinner.”
“You know why I’m not,” she hissed.
“For the same reason I have decided to forgo my formal attire, perhaps?”
She scowled. “I hate you.”
“Of that, I am quite aware.” There was a wry note in his voice. “You have not given me leave to forget.”
