Free The Devil Duke Takes a Bride by Rachel van Dyken Page A

laughing. “Truly, a man can’t hear that enough. It is akin to a woman confessing that she only has days to live and has never been with a man, or when the proprietor suddenly announces that the whiskey is free.”
    “You don’t love me.”
    He paused.
    Saints alive, why was he pausing?
    The air in the carriage swam with tension.
    “No?” The word hung as a question between them. H e blinked his eyes a few times as if trying to ascertain that they were still functioning, a side effect of the dust no doubt.
    “No.” She nodded and leaned forward. “But, your grace. We are stuck. Let us think nothing more of crying off or trying to best one another. Can we not simply be friends?”
    “Marriage and friendship?” He looked skeptical as his eyebrows drew together.
    She nodded.
    “I guess this means you won’t try to be boring.”
    “I cannot be what I am not.”
    His eyes narrowed.
    She cleared her throat and patted his hand. “Just like you cannot help but be disagreeable and grumpy with a nasty habit of forgetting to smile.”
    Banbury opened his mouth to speak, but she kept talking.
    “And let us not forget your horrid talent at telling a fib. Gracious, my three-year-old niece could do it better. Dust? Really?”
    “In my defense, I am allergic.”
    She grinned. “Remind me to bring dust to our ceremony.”
    “Wouldn’t shock me at all if you arrived with pistols firing, let alone dust.”
    “It would be less than you deserve,” she added.
    “Minx.” He tapped the roof of the carriage and sighed. “Friends?” His hand was outstretched in a manner signaling a peace of sorts. So why, when her gloved hand touched his, did she feel that she had just made a deal with the devil?
    He smiled.
    She gulped. Because the truth hit her full force . S he didn’t feel like she had made a deal with the devil. The deal was already done, and the devil looked quite pleased.

 
Chapter Eleven
    What’s a Devil to Do?
     
    He was worse than a woman. His own mood swings were driving him mad; he could only imagine how Katherine felt, that is, if he was one to care about others ’ feelings, which of course , he didn’t.
    He was the devil after all.
    It was morning, precisely two days since the dreaded ball where his life changed forever, and less than twenty-four hours since his last erotic kiss with the woman that was to be his wife. By his calculations, he had less than two weeks before the Kringle Ball. The very same ball that sealed his fate as a leg - shackled duke.
    When had he lost control of his life?
    Was it the day he stepped into Agatha’s house? Or perhaps the very second he decided to accept her invitation?
    And now, he was stuck.
    With a wife he didn’t want, well , that is to say he didn’t emotionally want her. Wanting her physically was quite another topic entirely. His body replayed images of her responsive kiss over and over again until his only solace was whiskey.
    He finished half the bottle. Not a proud moment since he wasn’t one to normally drink alone.
    The problem was he saw no way out of this predicament. Contrary to popular notion , he truly did possess a heart, though it was small , and at times he did wonder if it worked properly. Especially considering he rarely felt guilty for ruining women left and right. It had always been a sport , a way to pass time, an entertaining amusement.
    But now, he had one woman. One irritatingly attractive woman who was depending on him to make one right decision amidst all the bad ones.
    He swallowed, suddenly wishing he wasn’t nursing a headache or nausea, for the whiskey called out to him again.
    There was no way out of the mess.
    It would be helpful if the chit would at least be agreeable. His demands were straightforward and honest, but in the end , it wouldn’t have mattered if she tried to be boring. Her eyes shone with intelligence.
    Nor if she tried to be indifferent, her mouth often curved into a mischievous smile when she thought nobody was