Page 20 of The Duchess Debt

“I wanted to see you first thing,” she said.

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. God help her, she noticed everything about this man. “You’re here to say goodbye then.”

“Goodbye? Not at all! I’m here to say good morning.” She gave the sweetest laugh possible and placed her hand on his bicep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he returned a bit warily. “I didn’t expect to see you so early. I thought you’d be packing to leave as soon as possible.”

“I’m not leaving.” She feigned ignorance. “Why would I leave?”

“Because last night wasn’t exactly—”

“Last night was difficult, I’ll admit.” Inhaling a deep breath to steel herself, she gestured at the chair at the head of the tablefor him to return to his seat. She slid into place on the chair next to him. “But I promised to stay at least a month, so that’s what I plan to do.”

Helena looked down at his plate with the leftover bits of his breakfast that he hadn’t gulped down in his rush to dash from the house. She didn’t want to see his expression, fearing she wouldn’t note any relief in him at her announcement that she was staying.

So she focused her attention on his remaining strawberries and shrugged a shoulder. “What kind of fiancée would I be if I chased off so easily?”

He leaned back in his chair and leveled his gaze on her. “What are you scheming at?”

A second chance at our future.“Nothing,” she answered instead with a flit of her eyelashes and feigned insult that he would even suggest such a thing. “I only want the same thing you do—to give our marriage the best chance for success.”

He silently arched a brow.

“But since we spent yesterday outlining your stipulations for our marriage, I would like to spend this morning stating my rules for our engagement.”

She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pelisse pocket and slid it across the table to him.

He frowned at the paper. “What’s this?”

“My list of demands.” When she pulled her hand back, she snagged a leftover strawberry from his plate. She eased down into her chair and gestured at the list with the red berry. “If you’d feel more comfortable discussing them in front of Mr. Putnam, then we can certainly return to his office.” She brought the berry to her lips and frowned as she mumbled against it, “Although I daresay the poor man would most likely hide under his desk if he saw us coming.”

The corners of his mouth curled up slightly at Putnam’s expense, yet he didn’t give her the satisfaction of a full chuckle. But she knew to take her victories wherever she could, no matter how small, and a triumphant warmth blossomed low in her belly.

He unfolded the paper and scanned it. “Why do we need these? It’s a short engagement. It will be over in four weeks.”

Exactly.“Because I take issue with some of your stipulations, and I want my own. Consider this the marriage contract negotiations we didn’t have before.”

He shook his head. “Finances have been settled. There isn’t—”

“Not finances.” She nibbled at the berry. “But what really matters.”

His eyes flicked to her mouth. “Such as?”

“My wedding breakfast, for one.” She placed the rest of the berry on her tongue to finish it, then licked the juice from her lips. His stare turned burning. “How can it be a good start to a marriage if the bride isn’t allowed to plan her own wedding breakfast, for heaven’s sake? Guests might go hungry, and that wouldn’t make the manor house look at all respectable.”

As if to make her point, she lifted from her chair to reach again for his plate. This time she snatched up an orange slice.

He dropped his attention back to her list and mumbled, “I simply didn’t want any kind of misunderstanding on our wedding day.”

“Misunderstanding?” She paused in mid chew. “How would dictating the terms of my wedding breakfast—and my wedding dress”—she didn’t have to pretend anger at that—“prevent any kind of misunderstanding?”

“Because I’m the Duke of Thurston.” He tossed the list onto the table in front of him, then leaned back in his chair as she rose from her seat and moved to lean back against thecorner of the table to be closer to his plate. And to him. “And every merchant within a twenty-mile radius will be scrambling to figure out how to profit from my wedding. They’ll offer all kinds of goods and services they’ll claim are essential to your happiness that day. Dozens of ribbon streamers to dangle from the trees edging the drive and from the chandeliers inside the house, hundreds of lanterns to light the gardens and terraces once night falls, doves released as we leave the church, children paid to throw rose petals into the air as we leave in the carriage, an orchestra to accompany our breakfast…”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” No. It sounded like a fairytale.

“Until they charge you three times the true price. They’ll be hoping you’re too captivated by what they’re offering—or too kind—to say no. They’ll turn our wedding day into a circus if we let them.” In a pre-emptive move, he held up his plate to her so she could help herself to the last orange slice and grimaced. “Complete with rented elephant.”

She took the orange, bit off half, and mumbled around it, “You’re exaggerating.”