The man is an absolute beast, Caroline thought as she stalked across the lawn, blinking furiously against the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. And it’s no wonder he asked me to marry him. Why, I bet no one else was brainless enough to have him!

Marrying a duke was every debutante’s dream come true. But not when the duke in question was an arrogant cad who cared more about his horses than his own wife! Maybe he should have left her to be trampled. At least then she would not have to deal with his general insufferableness.

Dashing her handkerchief against her cheeks where a few tears had managed to escape, she stopped short and forced herself to draw a deep breath. No matter what her husband said – or did – she refused to become the sort of wife who burst into tears at every little provocation. Contrary to what Eric, she was not prone to dramatic airs.

If she was going to find some semblance of happiness in her new life then she needed to start by working on her own backbone. Maybe then her husband’s insults, instead of stinging like nettles, would merely slide right off her back like water from a duck.

What had he called her in the church? A field mouse, she recalled with a frown. Well, perhaps it was time she stopped being a mouse and started being a cat.

She was given a chance to test her claws the next evening when she stumbled across Eric reading in the library. Her first instinct was to mumble an apology and duck right back out again, but instead she forced herself to square her shoulders and select a thin volume of poetry from one of the shelves.

 “What are you reading?” she asked as she sat down next to him in an oversized leather chair that dwarfed her small frame. It was so large that her feet did not even touch the bearskin rug laid out in front of the fireplace and after several moments of trying to make herself comfortable she finally gave up and tucked one slender leg underneath her hip. It certainly was not the most ladylike of positions, but it wasn’t as if her husband was looking at her, so what did it matter?

“A book,” he grunted without so much as a glance in her direction. Firelight bathed one side of his face in a warm orange glow, illuminating the rigid line of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth. His brows were drawn together as he read, his gaze intent on the page before him. He might as well have been wearing a sign round his neck that said ‘Do Not Speak to Me’. Unfortunately for him – and for her – that was precisely what she intended on doing.

You’re a cat, she reminded herself. Not a mouse that is going to run scurrying under the nearest sofa at the first sign of trouble.

Setting aside the volume of poems she had been pretending to read, she took a deep, bracing breath. And then, before her newfound courage had time to desert her, she blurted the one question that had been plaguing her since they’d exchanged their vows in the church.

“Why did you marry me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked without bothering to look up.

Caroline blinked. “I – I thought I was rather clear.”

For a moment the only sound was the merry crackling of the fire, and then came Eric’s heavy sigh. “Do you really wish to discuss this right now?” he said, dragging his gaze away from his book with obvious reluctance. “Or can it wait until morning?”

She gripped the armrests so tightly that her nails made small crescent indentations in the buttery soft leather. “I – I suppose it could wait, but I would rather discuss it–”

“Very well.” He snapped the book closed with so much force that she jumped. “I married you because I needed a wife. There. Does that answer your question?”

She blinked again. “Well…no. No, I am afraid that doesn’t answer it at all. Why – why did you pick me in particular? There were a hundred, mayhap even a thousand other women who were more eligible to be a duchess.”

“A thousand may be overstating things a bit. Did you see the latest crop of debutantes?” Eric shuddered. “The one poor girl’s face was so long she would have fit right in with my horses.”

She frowned. “That’s a very cruel thing to say.”

“It’s not cruel, it’s the truth,” he corrected. “And the truth is rarely kind.”

“Be that as it may, I believe you understand what I am trying to say. We were strangers when you proposed.”

“I don’t know if I would have called us strangers,” he said, rubbing a hand across his jaw where a day’s worth of stubble had grown.

“We had only danced once. You called me Catherine when you asked me to be your wife.” The embarrassing memory still caused her cheeks to flush. “I believe that is the very definition of strangers.”

“I did not call you Catherine.” His brow furrowed. “Did I?”

“You did,” she confirmed. “You got down on one knee and took my hand and said, ‘Dear Catherine, will you do me the honor of being my wife’?”

“Hmm.” One shoulder lifted in a careless shrug. “I suppose I did, then. And what did you say?”

Caroline stared at him in disbelief. “I said yes, of course! Why else would I be here?” 

“Ah,” he said, the faint tracing of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “But why did you say yes? You yourself just admitted we were strangers. I didn’t even know your name. Why would you ever accept such a proposal?”

Why indeed?

“Because – because I felt obligated, I suppose. One does not say no to a duke.”

“No, one does not,” he agreed. “And there you have it. The reason why I married you.”

“I…I am afraid I do not understand.”

“To be quite blunt, I need an heir. You see, my brother is the rather unscrupulous sort. Were he to inherit the ducal title I fear he would squander the estates and drain the coffers in a fortnight. Quicker if he could manage it. But in order to produce an heir, I need–”

“A wife,” Caroline whispered.

“Precisely,” he said with a nod, looking pleased that she’d finally caught on.

“But that…that still does not answer my original question. Was there something you saw in me?” she asked hopefully. “Something that drew you to me?” 

He thought about it for a moment. “Well, I do like blondes.” 

“Blondes,” she echoed hollowly.

“Indeed. Although I’ve nothing against brunettes. Or redheads, come to think of it. My first mistress was a redhead. Lovely woman.” His eyes narrowed. “And she never asked questions. Of course, I did not marry you just because of your hair color.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. You see I rather hoped, with time, that we might come to care for–”

“I needed a young, obedient, malleable lady from good breeding stock. You fit the bill quite nicely on all accounts.”

Malleable?

Is that how he saw her? Something to be twisted and kneaded and formed into whatever shape he wished? Caroline felt the color drain from her cheeks as she untucked her leg from beneath her hip and stood up. Her foot tingled from being bent at an unnatural angle for so long but she ignored the uncomfortable sensation, too incensed by her husband’s words to even notice the pain.

“That – that is a horrible reason to marry someone!” she sputtered.

“Really?” Eric drawled, a hint of amusement glinting in his cool blue gaze. “Pray tell, what do you think is a good reason for marriage?”

“Friendship. Affection. Understanding.” She was tempted to say love, but her newfound courage only extended so far.

“Interesting,” he said softly. “Should I tell you why I think people marry?”

“Actually, I really do not–”

“Convenience. Nothing more and nothing less than the convenience of being with someone who can give you what you want. I want an heir. You want wealth and social standing. No need to make it more complicated than it has to be.” He stood up. “This conversation has lost its appeal. I bid you goodnight.” Something flickered in his gaze as he glanced down at her. Something that made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle. Something almost…possessive. A trick of the light, she told herself. Eric wasn’t possessive of her. Truth be told he didn’t even seem to like her all that much.

She waited until he’d left to sink back down into the leather chair and draw both knees to her chin. It was clear now that she had made a horrible mistake by marrying the duke. She should have refused his suit when he first approached her, but she had been so dazzled at the prospect of being courted by one of the most powerful men in all of England that she had never considered what the repercussions might be.

I should have known it was too good to be true, she thought bitterly as she gazed into the smoldering fire. He hadn’t chosen to court her because he fancied her or found her witty or charming. He’d courted her because he thought she was weak and easily controlled. And she was. As much as it pained her to admit it, she was weak and malleable and obedient. She always had been.

But that did not mean she always had to be.

“I’ll show him,” she told the empty room. “Just wait and see.”