Page 79 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“You mean, youaren’twriting plays under your friend Juncker’s name?”
He blinked. “Well, that is . . . what I’m doing, but I never meant . . . it wasn’t . . .”
Slyboots. He thought of her as some deceitful woman like Slyboots, always scheming for a husband. Oh, Lord! That was how he saw her? With a broken cry, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.
“No, no, no, no . . .” he chanted as he jumped up and came around the desk. “Damn it, Olivia—”
“Call meSlyboots. That’s who you think I am, isn’t it?” He caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm. “You’re not Slyboots, I swear.” When she shot him an arch look, he added, “Not anymore. You might have been at the beginning, but only because I was angry at what had happened, and I . . . I wanted to feel . . .”
“Powerful,” she snapped. “In control. The almighty Duke of Thornstock surveying his domain as people curtsy and bow to him. Instead of the young man just landed in London whom people might mock for his odd sayings or awkward behaviors.”
“Yes! You do understand.”
She shook her head. “I understand you decided to take your anger out on the two women you thought had treated you ill: me and Mama. I understand you made us into . . . caricatures for people to laugh at. What I don’t understand is whatIdid to deserve that.”
He just stared at her, a flush rising in his cheeks.
“You had a right to be angry at Mama. She blackmailed you, humiliated you by forcing you to offer for me.” Tears clogged her throat, and she swallowed them ruthlessly, determined not to let him see how badly he’d hurt her. “But allIdid was turn down the marriage proposal you didn’t even want to make! Why was that such an awful thing?”
“It’s . . . hard to explain.”
“No, it isn’t.” She choked down bile. “You’ve already admitted you weren’t ready for marriage. Well, neither was I. It was the wrong time for us, that’s all. Yet you made it into some vendetta I had against you. You mademeinto Slyboots. I—I didnothingto deserve that!”
“Olivia . . .” he murmured, and tugged on her shoulder as if intending to pull her into his arms.
“Oh, no, Your Grace,” she said, wriggling free of his grip. “You will not try to kiss this away. It’s unforgivable.”
“Surely not,” he said hoarsely. “I meant to tell you, but—”
“You had ample opportunity, yet you didn’t say a word.” Something occurred to her that made everything even worse. “I suppose this”—she flicked her hand toward the desk—“thisis what you meant when you said you had secret hobbies! No wonder you didn’t want me to know about it.”
“I didn’t wantanyoneto know about it. No one in my family does, not even my mother. Dukes aren’t supposed to write plays, as you well know.”
“Even so, I thought you and I . . . we were close enough that . . .” She shook her head. “I guess I was wrong.” A weight descended on her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. “Either that or you simply didn’t want me to catch on to your game.”
He scowled. “What game?”
“How you must havelaughedat me when I gushed about loving your plays. You must have found my . . . inability to see that Slyboots was based on me absolutely hilarious, especially when I said she and her mother were my favorite characters! Did you exult in the fact that as usual, I hadn’t even understood I was being m-mocked?”
His face now bore a stricken expression. “I did none of that, I swear. And I am sorrier than you could ever know that I didn’t tell you.”
“Only because you got caught.” She stared at him, her heart breaking, just as she’d known it would eventually. Better to have it happen now while she still had her pride. “How can I believe anything you say? You pretended not to be who you are. You let me go on and on about your plays like some dim-witted fool—”
“You arenota dim-witted fool. I never saw you as such, and I certainly don’t see you as such now.”
She ignored his claims. What else was he to say now that he’d been cornered? “If you can keep this secret, I have to wonder how many other secrets you’re keeping. For all I know, you have mistresses strewn across London! Oh, Lord, was . . . was your behavior toward me, your determination to bed me, just part of some larger scheme for revenge?”
“Certainly not,” he said brokenly. “How can you even think it?”
“I can think it because I don’t know you anymore, if I ever did.” She steadied her shoulders. “The wedding is off.”
“Come now, Olivia, don’t make a rash decision that will affect our whole lives. I ruined you!”
“For any other man, true. But not in the way you mean. You’ve ruined men for me. I don’t know . . . if I could trust one again.”
He winced. “At least take a day to consider the ramifications.”
“I don’t need a day,” she said softly. “I have already considered the ramifications. It’s clear I will never gain your respect, much less your love. And I find I require both of those for a marriage, after all.”
