My Uncle Sold Me to the Most Dangerous Man in England to Cover His Debts — He Didn’t Realize What He Unleashed
Part 2
His grip was instantly firm, entirely engulfing my hand in a hold that felt simultaneously like a lifeline and a shackle.
His skin was shockingly warm against my freezing fingers, a sharp contrast to the sheer, terrifying coldness of his demeanor.
The physical contact sent a jolt up my arm, a sudden, terrifying awareness of the man I had just pledged my entire existence to.
I believe, Brian said, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles in a startlingly intimate gesture that made my breath catch.
We have an arrangement.
Less than a week later, the interior of the ducal carriage was deeply upholstered in dark blue velvet, smelling strongly of polished leather and beeswax.
It was luxurious, heavily sprung to absorb the shock of the cobblestones, and agonizingly claustrophobic.
I sat stiffly in the forward-facing seat, my hands folded tightly in my lap, my thumb instinctively rubbing the unfamiliar weight of the gold band on my finger.
Rain lashed violently against the glass window, blurring the passing gray streets of London into streaks of mud and misery.
Brian sat opposite me, his long legs stretched out, his muddy boots resting casually on the floorboards.
He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched, seemingly lost in his own dark thoughts.
Water dripped steadily from the brim of his hat onto the velvet seat.
He did not seem to care.
The silence stretched for ten miles, then twenty.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the drone of the rain became a maddening percussion in my aching head.
You are shivering, Brian stated suddenly, his voice cutting through the gloom without him ever looking away from the window.
I stiffened, drawing my damp woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders.
I am perfectly fine.
He finally turned his head, his pale eyes scanning my face, seeing right through the fragile lie.
He reached into the deep pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a silver hip flask, unscrewing the cap and holding it across the small space between us.
Drink, he ordered softly.
I looked at the flask, then up at his scarred, impassive face.
What is it?
Whiskey.
It will stop your teeth from chattering.
The sound is distracting.
My pride flared, hot and sharp.
I wanted to refuse.
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I was freezing, my damp dress clinging miserably to my legs.
I snatched the flask from his hand, my fingers brushing roughly against his, and took a large swallow.
The liquor burned a fiery path down my throat, hitting my empty stomach like a lit match.
Why Derbyshire? I asked, the whiskey unraveling the tight spool of fear just enough to let the anger peek through.
If this is a business arrangement, why drag me to the middle of nowhere?
Could I not have stayed in the London house?
Because my business is in Derbyshire, and as my wife, your place is where I dictate it to be, he replied, his eyes catching the dim light.
We agreed to a partnership, I bristled.
Partners communicate.
They do not dictate.
We agreed you would not be a silent ornament, he corrected, his voice dropping to that dangerous gravelly register.
And you are currently proving you are anything but silent.
But make no mistake, Megan.
The estate I am fighting to keep is in Derbyshire.
The people trying to take it from me are circling the borders.
I need you there, visible, establishing a household.
Who is trying to take it? I demanded, refusing to back down from his stare.
My cousin, Tyler, Brian finally said, his voice flat, stripped of all emotion.
And the creditors he has bought off.
They believe I am unstable, unfit to manage the dukedom.
Are you?
The question slipped out before I could catch it, raw and unedited.
Brian did not flinch, leaning forward and closing the distance between us until I could smell the sharp tang of the whiskey on his breath.
I am entirely ruthless, he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.
I am violent when necessary, but I am not mad.
If you plan to survive this marriage, you would do well to learn the difference.
When the carriage finally lurched to a halt in front of a fortress slowly succumbing to a siege of moss and neglect, I stared at the dark, unyielding millstone grit.
Would I let this arrogant interloper steal the only home I had ever fought for?
