Chapter 23
DISSOLUTION
A few days later…
Brandon was sitting in his office at the House of Lords, gazing at the window.
Despite being in the midst of passing a very important law, he was still wrapped around Marigold’s honey body, still tasting her essence in his mouth, her gasps in his ears.
It was all he could ever think about after that night they spent together.
No, that was not true. There was something else gnawing at his brain.
“I am supposed to provide you with an heir.”
She had said those words so casually, but he couldn’t even be mad with her because it was he who put this transaction between them.
It was he who regarded her as a means to an end and nothing more.
But Marigold was more. She was brave, resilient, brilliant, beautiful, and kind despite all that had happened to her. And he had reduced her to less.
Right when he was ready to despair more, dropping everything and going back home, the door of his office in the House of Lords opened without a single knock. Owen stepped in with his bright smile and his shining eyes.
Brandon got up and poured himself a large glass of whiskey. Owen walked in and made himself comfortable on the chair on the other side of the desk.
“I see you started without me,” Owen commented and demanded a drink for himself.
Brandon said nothing and looked ahead. And still, all he could think of was Marigold.
“I know this is boring, but we have to do this to help.” Owen misunderstood his silence. “A little figurative arm-twisting never hurt. It’s part of our job as the Lords in the House.”
“It’s not about that.”
Owen raised his eyebrow and turned to him with a sly smile on his face. Brandon knew that he was being unfair, calling his friend a simple rake. He knew well that Owen was much more than he hid under his charming smile.
“Marigold got under your skin,” Owen said, proving Brandon’s assumptions correct.
“This was supposed to be a simple deal,” Brandon hissed, almost angry. “A simple transaction for both of us. I thought it would be better this way.”
“And let me guess,” Owen seemed too happy about this. “You married Marigold for information and a convenient heir, but she effortlessly became so much more. And instead of telling her this, you have been brooding in your study for the past few days. Stop me when I lie.”
Brandon pinned Owen with a harsh look that only said that his friend had correctly read the situation.
“That is an oversimplification,” Brandon said.
“And yet absolutely accurate.”
Brandon emptied his glass and got up to fill it more. He knew that saying some things out loud would make them more real, yet it would be childish of him to deny the current truth of the situation.
“What do you want, Brandon?” Owen asked in a more sympathetic tone.
Brandon hadn’t thought about it for a long time. He thought he knew what he wanted. Avenge Greta. Destroy Johnny. It was a simple one-track life, emotionless and silent.
And then he had to walk into that alley and meet the one person who would overturn everything he knew as normal. Marigold uprooted his old life the same way she uprooted that corner of his garden. And in her own marvelous way, she planted something beautiful.
“Brandon?”
“I want her.”
“Finally!” Owen was overjoyed.
“Can you please stop doing this?” Brandon growled at him.
“I am just celebrating the fact that my best friend has finally come to his senses.”
“I sincerely hope you do the same.”
“We are talking about you now,” Owen said with a wide smile. “And frankly, I do not see the problem.”
“I have put this transaction between us.”
“So? Tell her that the transaction is over.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is, in fact, easy and simple,” Owen gleamed. “You go to your beautiful wife and tell her you want her not for the information, not for the heir, but for herself.”
Brandon tightened his hands around the glass. It was, in fact, that easy. He could just tell her how he felt, be honest about his thoughts and his emotions. And yet it was the most terrifying thing that he had ever come upon.
“What if she doesn’t want the same thing?” Brandon asked.
Owen scoffed and drank from his glass.
“I always thought that you were quite clever, but I see I’ve overestimated you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Brandon took his seat across from him, glaring openly.
“Nothing,” Owen laughed into his glass. “Well, even if she doesn’t want the same thing, you will have your answer, and you would have been honest. That’s the least you can do.”
“That might drive her away from me.”
“So, the better option is to put her in a cage made of transactions and deals? She’s not one of our missions, Brandon,” Owen said seriously for the first time in his life. “She’s your wife.”
Brandon flinched at the thought. It had been too long since he had let anyone in. It was somewhat easier to push people away.
“I do not know if I remember how to do this,” Brandon admitted. “Let someone in.”
“You let me in.” Owen raised his glass at him.
“You gave me the same choice on the matter as a battering ram,” Brandon raised his eyebrow.
Owen smiled a sincere smile of his, not the charming one, not the one for the mask, but one Brandon learned as they were both kids—sons of the most prominent families, and yet alone. It was the same smile he had when they finally found each other.
“I believe it’s the same thing that Marigold did,” Owen said with conviction. “Tenacious little thing, isn’t she?”
Brandon chuckled. Owen only knew half of it. Marigold was as stubborn as she was sweet, loyal, and caring, and she was growing so well. He, the cold Duke everyone feared, was now smiling like a little kid just because he was so proud of his Duchess.
Now, Brandon was facing a dilemma. Be sincere and open to the one person who had pushed through his defenses or keep hiding to protect himself by keeping her at arm’s length.
Brandon set down his glass and stood up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Owen said with a smile.
“I have more important business,” Brandon said.
“But the bill…”
“I am sure you will manage without me,” Brandon threw at him as he was putting on his coat. “I am going home to my wife.”
Owen chuckled and raised his glass.
“Good luck, my friend.”
* * *
Brandon had never estimated the time he needed to ride in a carriage from the House of Lords to his own residence. But now, he found himself wishing he did because he could not wait to go back home. He was determined to end this misunderstanding once and for all this day.
He finally saw Verdant House rise into the skyline of London, and he realized that this might be the first time he had seen this place as a home because he knew that behind those elegant doors was the one person who had managed to make everything better.
The butler was quite surprised to see him enter the house in such a hurry, and Brandon gave him his hat and his gloves while looking around the house.
“Where is Her Grace?” he asked agitatedly.
“She’s usually out in the garden at this hour.”
Brandon made his way through the French doors and went out into his gardens.
He knew that Marigold was not just walking around idling, so he made his way to that little patch she had claimed as hers.
He smiled at the memory of her asking so cutely for that particular favor. He could give her so much more.
He reached the turn around the hedges and saw her.
She was kneeling in the vegetable patch.
Her dress was gathered over her thighs with a ribbon so that it wouldn’t bother her, and instead of elegant slippers, she was wearing boots that she had probably ordered to her size.
Her hands were covered in soil. A few strands of hair had escaped the pins and curled around her face.
Brandon felt his breath catch just because he was looking at his wife tending to the earth. But how could he not? She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, his heart restricted, unable to process the vision before him.
Right at this moment, Duck, who was lying nearby, yelped and barked happily, getting up to greet him. Marigold looked up. Her face was flushed from the sun. There was a bit of soil on her cheeks—such an undignified sight for a duchess and yet so perfect for her.
“Brandon!”
She smiled at him, getting up to greet him. That smile pierced through all of his doubts and obliterated them like the small particles he could see in the rays of sun that fell upon her. It was a wide, open, unguarded smile that made his chest ache.
“You’re back early,” she said as he came closer.
She tried to clean her face with the back of her hand, making things worse, but he just smiled. She was so beautiful—covered in sun, dirt, sweat, and happiness. Even if he had any doubts, he didn’t anymore.
“I had to see you, Marigold. We need to talk.”
Her smile faltered a little, and she awkwardly dusted her hands off on her skirt, untying the ribbon to let it pool around her legs.
Brandon lamented being deprived of that sight.
He had half a mind to pull her to him, his hand on the back of her thighs, pushing her against the wall of the shed behind her, turning her insecurity into loud gasps of pleasure.
Yet he reined himself in. Tempting as it was, letting his desire take over, it was not the kind of conversation he wanted to have with her.
“Nothing is wrong. I just needed to talk to you about something.”
“Oh,” Marigold said, still looking apprehensive. “Then let’s go back and allow me some time to clean myself up, and I will come to your study.”
Brandon nodded, and they made their way back through the garden, Duck following close behind, absolutely ecstatic that she had both of them there.
He realized as they were walking that his life had changed so much that he found himself enjoying that simple thing, walking with her through the garden, just being close in the sun.
Once inside, she went up to her room, and he made his way to his study.
The staff had already put on the fire. Brandon found himself agitated, almost nervous for the first time in many years.
But then again, he realized perhaps this was one of the most important things he had done in the past few years.
Not long after, Marigold knocked on his door.
“Please come in,” Brandon said and turned to face her.
Marigold entered, having changed and cleaned up very quickly. And he saw that she looked nervous, her hands twisting, her lips pressed tight.
“Is everything in order?” she asked as she closed the door. “Does this have to do with Johnny?”
It stung a little hearing her think that the only reason he would invite her into his study was to talk about the mission. It showed the damage that he had done, making her feel either an informant or a breeder.
“No, this has nothing to do with Johnny. This is about us,” he said and came close.
“About us?” she said, her voice trembling.
“Yes, Marigold. About us.”
He took one step closer, and his hands were itching to touch her. Truth be told, he was not sure what he was doing or how to convey what he wanted to say. It was true that he was trying muscles that he hadn’t used for a while.
“I just wanted to inform you,” Brandon almost blurted out, “that I want to annul our deal.”