Chapter 3
“You,” Caroline panted. “How did you—”
Damien’s hand moved swiftly, his long, strong fingers wrapping around her neck, cutting off her words even though his grip was not strangling.
Unlike the oily touch of the other man, his was warm, sending gooseflesh racing across her skin and her heart stuttering for an entirely different reason.
She realized, distantly, that it was the first time he had ever touched her.
“You thought you could just dress your stepsister up as a bride and I would simply marry her in your stead?” Damien asked. “You thought I could be fooled that easily?”
His fingers stroked down her throat, making Caroline’s lashes flutter.
This is wrong. This is not supposed to feel like this.
Yet even as she had the thought, even as she willed herself to stop enjoying it, her body betrayed her. Desire and warmth bloomed in her lower belly, eating away the knots of tension that had settled there. Even so, she forced herself to shake her head.
“I never agreed to this marriage,” she said forcefully, shoving his hand away from her throat. To her surprise, Damien let go, even though he was easily ten times stronger than she and could have kept his hold there if he wanted.
She chalked it up to him being surprised by her gumption, something she had not had in the past, and pressed on.
“You struck a deal with my stepmother, not me. I had no part in her plan, but I certainly did not refuse what she offered me after.”
“And that was?” Damien asked.
“Freedom,” Caroline bit out. “From my stepmother. From an unwanted marriage to you.”
She all but spat the last word out as she ducked under his arm and kept walking.
“I have made a new life for myself here, and I am not going back,” she said over her shoulder. “I quite enjoy my freedom.” She paused, her curiosity getting the best of her, and asked, “How did you even find me?”
“Freedom,” Damien said with a dark chuckle, pushing his hands off the wall. “You believe this is freedom?”
He ignored her question as, with long, casual strides, Damien caught up to her, increasing Caroline’s annoyance as several of her steps only required two or three of his.
“What that man was about to do to you... Is that the cost you are willing to pay for your freedom?”
Caroline’s footsteps faltered, the fear she had felt from the encounter shivering back into her bones.
“He... He is not the first man I have had to fight off,” she muttered as her stomach twisted. “It is not as if the ton is any safer.”
She was about to take another step, but Damien’s fingers curled around her upper arm and whirled her around. Now that they were closer to the street, the dim light of the oil street lamps cast over the rigid features of his face. Rage burned in his amber eyes, nearly making them red.
“What do you mean?” Damien demanded. “Did someone hurt you?”
Caroline blinked, taken aback by his questions. He almost sounded worried. She shook her head, banishing the thought as she wrenched her arm free from the grip.
“Do not act as if you care about me,” she snapped, taking another step away from him.
“We have been around one another for years, yet you have barely spoken to me. All you do is stare at me from afar, making me feel like a mouse being hunted by a lion. What does a lion want from a mouse other than to devour it?”
Another deep chuckle rumbled from Damien’s chest as he once more fell into step with her.
“Careful, little mouse, you speak of things you do not know,” he warned.
She scoffed, her annoyance turning to rage at how he seemed to find her refusal comical.
“Then tell me, Your Grace,” she taunted, feeling strangely bold with him by her side. “Why would you care to go to such lengths for me? If Lilian was at the altar for you, why not take her as your bride instead?”
“Lilian is not my responsibility,” Damien replied.
“And I am?” Caroline quipped.
“You are the first cousin of my friends. It is my duty to extend my protection to you just as much as I do to them,” Damien replied.
Caroline froze, heat prickling at the back of her neck. Slowly, she turned to look at him as they stood out in the quiet street.
“What would I need your protection for?” she asked carefully.
No one, not even Elara, knew what her life inside her house had turned into.
“I may not have spoken in the past, but that does not mean I did not see you,” Damien stated, capturing her chin as he took a step closer.
She bucked out of his touch, and again to her surprise, Damien let her.
“You have changed since your father died. Slowly. Subtly. But you have changed. I knew something was wrong inside that house, and I decided that if your cousins were not going to do anything about it, then I was.”
Discomfort quivered through her chest as she realized just how closely Damien had been watching her.
“Do not use my cousins to justify your actions,” she whispered hoarsely, walking away from him. “They do not know. Besides, I do not need their protection, and I certainly do not need yours.”
She turned, ready to lift up her skirts and flee, but something caught her foot less than two steps later, causing her to stumble forward.
She extended her hands, bracing for the pain and embarrassment of tripping in front of him—when his thick, muscular arm wrapped around her waist, fitting snugly beneath her ribcage, and she was pulled backward in an instant.
She felt the air rush out of her lungs as her back struck his chiseled, warm chest, and his muscular arm held her tight.
“Clearly you do,” Damien murmured against her ear.
A shuddered breath left Caroline’s lips as her mind and body clashed.
One side urged her to run and be afraid of the man holding her.
The other reveled in his touch, sinking into the warmth and strength of a grip she had never felt before.
She had hugged Elara. Occasionally, she had hugged Adrian, too.
But not like this. Not with their bodies pressed so tightly that their heartbeats matched.
Angry, confused, and a little embarrassed at having almost just fallen in front of him, Caroline pushed at his arm around her waist.
“Get off of me,” she commanded through gritted teeth, then fear began to creep up her spine as her breath became labored from another bout of anxiety. “Get off!” she shouted, shoving at his arm.
Once more, Damien let her go—but once again, he followed at her side as she walked the rest of the way to her small cottage on the outskirts of town.
“Would you desist?” she asked after several very palpable moments of silence. “I am not going to apologize for leaving, and I am certainly not going back. It was my stepmother’s trick that almost fooled you, not mine. I simply took advantage of the opportunity.”
“You misunderstand me,” Damien replied calmly. “I am not here to demand an apology or berate you for your choices. It is obvious that you had so few.”
Caroline cast a sideways glare at him, despising how perceptive he seemed to be.
“What are you here for then?” she asked coldly. “Surely you did not search for me for two whole months just to ensure my well-being.”
She laughed bitterly at the thought. He would not do such a thing. Would he?
“No,” he replied smoothly. “I came here to bring you back and make you my duchess.”
His truthfulness took her aback, and she spared him a curious glance.
“You cannot be serious. We barely know each other.”
“You are right,” he continued. “We do not know much about one another.”
Well, at least I do not know much about you. You seem to know a terrible lot about me.
“You are insane.”
“No, I am the sort of man who, when I set my sights on something, I do not let go that easily. An annoying habit even to myself, but you are who I have set my sights on, and I will be making you my duchess.”
Caroline fumed as they approached the overgrown path to her cottage.
Two months ago, she would have been too frightened to do anything but follow what he had just said.
If Agatha had not given her the option to leave, even though she did not want to, she probably would have ended up on the altar just as he wanted.
Not now, though. Life outside of Mayfair was tough, but she had endured it.
She had learned to survive, and it had made her stronger and more outspoken.
Yes, she still felt scared every day of what might happen, but now she could confront her fears.
“What are we doing here?” Damien asked as they walked up the steps to her cottage.
“I do not know what you are doing here,” she grumbled, pulling her key from her apron.
“But I live here. I have worked hard to live here, and I quite enjoy it, so I am sorry to disappoint you, Your Grace, but I will not be returning with you. I will not be marrying you. And I will certainly not be your duchess.”
Her words came out with an extra bite as she grew frustrated with the lock, which, as usual, fought her attempts to open easily.
“Why not?” Damien was simply watching her struggle with the lock, amused.
“Because I have made a life for myself I am satisfied with. I earn my own wages and rent my own house. I do not need a husband in my life. So thank you for the visit. And for chasing that man away, I suppose. Have a pleasant ride back to Mayfair.”
With a shove of her shoulder against the crooked door and a forceful yank of her key, the rusted padlock finally gave way.
She pulled it hastily from the two rusted metal loops that kept the door secure when she was away and stepped inside, putting her body against the door in preparation to shut it.
“Goodbye, Your Grace,” she bit out, closing the door.