Chapter 10
INTENTIONAL CRUELTY
Brandon was sitting alone in his carriage as it rolled through the empty London streets. He knew exactly what time it was because he had just passed the Abbey, striking midnight.
“Blast it!”
He didn’t know that doing this would take so long, but it couldn’t be avoided. If he wanted Marigold’s debts to Johnny’s people paid, he had to use a middleman, and that was not an easy commodity to find. And yet he had to. He had no intention of showing his face and revealing his hand so soon.
But again, why did it have to take this long?
Brandon knew it was absolutely unforgivable to leave his new bride alone on their wedding night.
It wasn’t just society’s expectations. It was the mere fact that this was her first day in a new environment with a new role.
And for better or for worse, he was the only point of reference for her.
The carriage turned onto the street, and finally, he had eyes on Verdant House. Most of the windows were dark. The carriage left him at the main entrance, and he was greeted by Mr. Hodgins.
“Your room is prepared, Your Grace,” the butler said. “Would you like me to draw you a bath?”
“Do not disturb the staff at this hour,” he said and made his way to his room. “I can change myself. Thank you.”
He went up the stairs through the gallery, undoing his cravat.
He passed by the gallery and turned to the private wing of the Duke and Duchess.
He was taking off his cufflinks when he passed by her room.
He looked at the opening under the door.
Dark. Of course, she was sleeping. Why would she wait up for him?
After all, the message he left instructed her to do so.
Brandon tightened his jaw outside the room, realizing that he didn’t even have the decency to tell her he would be out himself.
He could rationalize it all he wanted by saying he was striking down a trusted agent to carry out the payments to the gang, but if he were a decent human being, he would have spared a moment to excuse himself.
With one last look at the dark room, he proceeded to his own. He was opening the buttons of his shirt as he opened the door. And stopped.
There on his bed was Marigold. The firelight caught her face as she was propped against his pillows. The shock was so great that Brandon forgot to breathe for a moment.
Marigold was wearing a nightgown that was clearly old if he were to judge by the faded linen and the mends he could clearly see. And yet this used nightgown was surprisingly flimsy, so much so that the firelight turned the thin fabric almost translucent.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Marigold said.
He could tell that she was trying to keep her nerves under control, but her fingers twisted in the bedsheet, and her breath came a little bit fast. Brandon overcame his surprise and closed the door behind him. But he could not take his eyes off her.
Marigold looked positively beautiful in this light.
The fire traced the line of her jaw, her high cheekbones, and made those amber eyes glow like a tiger’s.
He tried, he really tried, to keep his eyes on her face, but they betrayed him and went down that old gown to the shadow between her breasts, to the curve of her shoulder, the way the fabric swelled around her thighs.
A simple desire came over him, overpowering his logic, contract, decision, and arrangement. He wanted to rip that old gown off her. Feast on her naked body and then buy her ten new ones, so he could tear those too. It took every inkling of restraint that Brandon possessed to stop himself.
“Good evening to you too, Your Grace,” he finally responded. “May I inquire regarding the reason for your visit?”
Marigold sat up straighter in an attempt to gather her nerves, but she fisted the sheets almost in despair. Brandon did not like that he was not comforting her, instead causing her more uneasiness, but he knew this was for the best.
“I…” Marigold stammered. “I am doing as a wife should, Your Grace.”
Her words landed somewhere in his chest like a bullet, and he took one little step back. There were many things he could do right this moment when miracles were handed to him, but he decided the best course of action was to intimidate her and drive her away. It was by far the safest choice.
So, Brandon stalked towards the bed. He continued opening the top buttons of his shirt, thinking that if he could frighten her, she would simply leave and make his decision easier between choosing to be a duke or a husband.
He stopped at the edge of the bed, and he looked down on her.
He was internally counting to see how fast she would look away or perhaps jump out of the bed.
And yet she did none of those things. She looked up at him, her chin lifted slightly.
A flicker of something close to defiance and that stubborn spine he had admired in the alley flashed in her eyes.
It would take a little bit more to scare Marigold.
He leaned down, placing his hands on either side of her. He did not touch her. Frankly, he didn’t trust himself touching her.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he asked, his voice low, “did you come here to offer yourself to me? Do you have any idea what that means?”
It gave him a dark satisfaction to see her swallow, but it was his eyes that watched her throat move. Any moment now. She would have to give up any moment now.
Instead, Marigold managed to find herself once more. Some of her confidence had withered, but she was not crying, not panicking, and certainly not fleeing his bed.
“We are married now.” Her voice was steady as the truth of her words hit him hard. “I do not need to offer myself to you. I am already yours.”
Yours. That simple word undid something in him that he didn’t know was tightened fast. His plan was not working, so he had only two solutions: either double down or kick her out downright.
Brandon climbed onto the bed, and Marigold instinctively fell onto her elbows.
He positioned himself over her, his weight supported by his hands, his body hovering just above hers.
He was careful not to touch her anywhere except the air between them.
The heat from her body rose towards his, for a moment, confusing him.
With satisfaction, he saw the effect immediately.
The steadiness of her breath was gone. Marigold could only take quick, shallow breaths, almost panting.
He thought he had taught her a lesson not to provoke him from now on.
His eyes drifted to her face, ready to see fear, to see those big amber eyes of hers wide open with terror, the same one she had when Donny threatened her in that alley.
But as his dark black eyes met her golden ones, there was no fear in them. She was regarding him with something more akin to curiosity. No, it was not curiosity, curiosity he would have handled. But that look of anticipation, even need, was the most dangerous thing he had ever faced.
Half committed to the plan, half losing the little control he had, he ran one hand lightly from her hip to the deep of her waist and then out to the side of her breast swelling under the thin linen.
It was just a whisper of a touch, his fingers just sliding over her curves.
Just a stark reminder that this was real.
He let his hand linger on her breast as it grew heavier.
She didn’t flinch or recoil from his touch.
If anything, her body arched just slightly, barely, towards his hand, while her breath caught.
If Brandon thought that he was in danger before, now, he was behind enemy lines.
This was not going according to plan, and for the life of him, he didn’t know if he was pleased or confused.
Brandon pulled his hand back and decided that he needed to end this, and end this quickly before it got out of hand completely.
“I did not know,” he said, forcing his voice to go harsh, “that I had married such a wanton woman.”
He immediately saw her eyes widen. Finally, a reaction that was closer to fear, something that he could work with.
“But then again, I don’t know why I am so surprised. I still remember the night I met you.” He took the knife and decided to press it deep. “You were trying to seduce me back then. Talking of repayment and bartering with your body?”
He watched her face as he spoke. He knew he was being deliberately harsh, but that was exactly the point.
He expected some outburst, her pushing him away and calling him some name, or even a dignified silent exit.
And yet he couldn’t tell what Marigold was thinking as she looked up at him.
Perhaps the knife hadn’t reached a vital organ.
“What is going on now?” he almost growled. “The gang cannot sell you now, so you are doing it yourself?”
Now he was beyond harsh, he was being cruel, and he almost felt ashamed for the words that came out of his mouth, but he needed her to leave. He was ready for the accusation, and he tried to mentally prepare for tears.
But if there was one thing that Marigold was good at, it was surprising him.
So instead of all the reactions she could have manifested against such malice, she giggled.
Brandon froze. Not only was his plan not working, but it was now turning against him.
Because now, he was the one confused and feeling the need to flee this situation by running.
“Your Grace, you are absolutely right,” she said, looking up at him with glee. “I did sell myself, didn’t I? I never thought of it that way.”
Brandon simply looked down at her for a moment.
The room had gone absolutely still, and he could register everything from the fire crackling to the clock ticking.
He was recalibrating reality around him while she smiled at him.
A real smile, like the one that he had never mastered, soft and strange and utterly disarming.
“We had a negotiation, Your Grace,” she said simply.
Then she did something completely unexpected and unthinkable. She raised her hand softly and placed it on his chest.
“I am very lucky it was you that bought me, then,” Marigold said, her hand still over his beating heart.
For a moment there, he was stunned, his mind blank, empty, ready to be rewritten, all because a woman touched him.
But this was not just a woman. It was she, and she was his wife now, his duchess.
And then that void was filled with what he recognized as need.
But there were two emotions that were so overwhelming that they drowned that need.
Rage and shame rose inside him at the same moment.
Her saying that so innocently, so simply, clarified everything for him.
He was no different from Donny and his gang.
They, too, had threatened to sell her. He had used her as a product that had a price.
He just purchased her at a higher price for her information and her womb, telling her so shamefully.
He got up from the bed instantly and moved to the other side of the room, putting distance between them. He was no better than them. And she needed to be protected from him.
Marigold sat up on the bed, sensing the shift, and that made her distraught.
“Your Grace, I was merely jesting, I am sure you—-”
Brandon forced his expression to go cold, as if she meant nothing to him, and that was enough to stop her in her tracks.
“I realized that what you said was true,” he said, each word deliberate. “I indeed bought you. And you said it yourself: you are mine. So, I believe I get to choose when I want to play with my new toy, can I not?”
Marigold flinched. That was the reaction he had wanted all along, so that was good. Then why did it feel like a wound? He ground his jaw and decided to keep his mind in the game.
“And tonight, I do not feel like playing with you, so leave me.”
Marigold swallowed this time to hide her pain.
Her body straightened even more. She climbed off the bed, her old nightgown clinging to her legs.
Her eyes fluttered as if she were trying to control whatever tears were welling up inside them.
She made her way to the connecting door, and she stopped, her hand on the latch.
“Have a good night, Your Grace,” she said, and somehow her voice did not break.
She left. The door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the room.
For a few moments, he just stood there, the fire burning low and the bed still unsettled by her body.
Then he walked to the table in the corner.
He always had a decanter of whiskey there.
He poured himself a drink. He drained it in one gulp and then poured another, looking down at his glass and then staring at the closed door.
He made his way to the armchair closer to the fireplace and sat down with a deep sigh. The room was silent, and the door was still closed.
“Blast it!” he hissed into the silence of the night, but it was too late for regrets.