Duchess by Chance(2)

“No, your Grace.”

Wife, he thought in disgust. Lord, how he hated her bloody heathen family. But most of all, he reserved a special seething rage for his own father and prayed daily the man was now residing in the hottest part of hell with Lucifer himself as a roommate.

“I…I, um…”

“Yes?” Daniel kept his eyes on the window as she stuttered. If she didn’t have the decency to look at him when she spoke, then neither did he.

“Tis nothing, your Grace.”

“It obviously is something, madam.”

He watched her reflection in the glass as her grey, gloved hands curled into tight fists in her lap, but still she kept her eyes averted.

“I have need of a rest break, your Grace.”

Looking at the landscape, Daniel searched for a landmark. “There is a small inn ten minutes from here. We will stop there.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel fought the cold knot of fury in his chest and the sudden urge to roar something foul at her. He was not his father and never would be; he kept his temper firmly leashed.

Spencer Winchcomb had tied him neatly to his only daughter, binding the contract so tight; Daniel would never have been able to escape even if he’d known of his impending doom before his father’s death. Well, now they had a title in their family but that was all they would get; he refused to have anything further to do with any of them, including his wife.

His friends had laughed when he’d told them he was leaving London during the height of the season to get married. No one had believed him - and indeed why would they have? Daniel had had trouble believing it himself.

“I have arranged for you to marry Miss Winchcomb.”

Daniel could still hear his father’s words echoing in his head. He had loathed his sire since he was old enough to realize the man who conceived him was a monster. The old duke had been a tyrant who had never bothered much with his only child unless it was to mete out punishment. Theirs had not been a relationship based on the bonds of love; they had basically ignored each other until the Duke of Stratton had summoned his son to his bedside to say his final farewell before he departed these fair if slightly chilly lands for the glories of heaven. Or, as Daniel now liked to believe, the eternal fires of hell.

“It was a promise made at her birth, a promise you must now honor.”

And with those fateful words, the duke had finally succumbed to an inflammation of the chest. There was no wife to mourn him or daughters to weep and rather than the relief Daniel had believed he would feel, he had instead been filled with burning rage. Even in death, it seemed, the old bastard would play a hand in his life.#p#分页标题#e#

“I shall be but a moment, your Grace.”

Realizing the carriage had stopped, Daniel opened the door and stepped down. He then turned to hold one hand out toward his duchess.

“Hurry!” he snapped when she did not move quickly enough. Grabbing her waist, he lifted her down. “I have no wish for my day to deteriorate any further. Run!” he added loudly as the heavens opened in earnest, although after what they had endured already today, a few seconds in the rain could do them little harm.

The proprietor met them at the door and ushered them inside.

“Tis my belief it’s setting in,” he said, to which Daniel grunted something in reply. After handing his wife over to a woman who came to assist her, he followed the proprietor to a small parlor where he slumped into a chair before the fire.

“Tis mulled to my own special recipe, my lord.”

Daniel nodded to the man as he took the proffered mug. Pushing his nose into the vessel, he inhaled the spicy scent. Taking a large mouthful, he held it briefly in his mouth, enjoying the taste of cloves and cinnamon before he swallowed and the warmth slowly filled his body.

Dear God, I’m married. His mind kept repeating the words over and over again.

“I-I am ready to leave, your Grace.”

Daniel looked to the doorway where his wife stood with her head lowered.

“Would you care for a drink, Duchess?” Squinting, Daniel tried to get a look at her eyes as her head shot up. Damn, still too far away. Why had he not looked closer when he helped her from the carriage?

“No, thank you,” she said, unmoving.

“However, I wish to finish mine,” Daniel added in a steady voice that took a great deal of effort. Just looking at the woman made him furious. How the hell he was supposed to dredge up some degree of passion to consummate their marriage before he left for London, he could not fathom. He had told Winchcomb he would not bed her, yet his father had given his word the marriage would be consummated, and so Daniel would oblige. The old duke had never kept his word on anything; this was one more thing he would do to ensure he was nothing like the man who had sired him.