Page 9 of The Duchess Audition

No matter.

“Miss Longman,” he said, deciding to get straight to the point.

She lifted her gaze, and the breeze brushed away the drape of hair that covered her left side, revealing a dappling of scars. No ordinary scars, either, but a distortion of the skin that traveled from just below her cheekbone to the ridge of her jaw… as if she had been burned.

He frowned, for though he had not expected it, he did not think it was something that needed to be hidden.

“What?” she said flatly, as she hurried to brush the wavy locks back into place, across that scarring.

Anthony took a breath. “Miss Longman, I think we should get married.”

“Pardon?” Marina’s mouth fell open, all hopes of remembering the dance crumbling away. She did not even attempt the next step, she just stood there staring at this… madman in front of her.

Surely, she had heard him wrong.

“You and I should marry,” he repeated. “Soon, if possible.”

She staggered back, and though she vaguely recalled some rule about it being the height of rudeness to abandon a partner on the dance floor, she could not help it. Her feet were moving backward without her say-so, taking her to the edge of the dance floor, and further still, until she was back beside the pillar.

Anthony followed her, a baffling smile upon his face. “It cannot be such a shock, can it? You were at the audition.”

She blinked until her vision began to flash. “No.”

“No? You mean, it is a shock?”

“No… I mean, no,” she croaked. “No, I will not marry you.”

The duke raised an eyebrow. “If I may, why not?”

“Because… well, I…” She took a second to gather herself. “I know you were unaware of the audition, just as I know that I would be woefully unsuitable as your duchess. You should… simply court a lady of your liking; that would be best.”

Why would he just blurt out a proposal like that? He did not know her, had not said a word to her before today, and had not seemed too happy about her presence in his manor.

Is this why Uncle told me to attend this party?

She had wondered at his insistence. Maybe the answer was standing right in front of her, asking her to give up her freedoms in holy matrimony.

The duke’s eyebrows knitted together, a muscle twitching in his jaw. She had irritated him; she could sense it, radiating off him.

Marina supposed he was unaccustomed to rejection, being as handsome as he was, as wealthy as he was, as well-stationed as he was; the sort of man who had drawn such a crowd of women to his manor with his name and title alone.

“It does not matter if I knew about the audition or not,” he said crisply. “You were there, which means you were seeking a husband. You cannot have just wandered into Knotgill by accident: it is a country manor, far from everything, and your name was on the list.”

He had a point.

“I did not get the feeling that you were in want of a wife,” she countered, remembering how he had clenched the invitation in his hand, and how soundly he had told everyone to get out.

Not the actions of someone who had been glad of the opportunity.

“I was surprised, that is all,” he said, his frown deepening. “But that does not answer my question to you.”

She straightened up. “My answer is no, so I do not know why you need any further explanation.”

Her uncle would surely be devastated if he found out that she had just rejected one of the most eligible gentlemen in society, but it was all such a shock that she could not bring herself to accept. She was not destined to be a duchess. How could she be? She had no training, no education in how to be a lady, how to run a household properly, none of it. If she were to be his wife, it would be a catastrophe.

The duke expelled a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his wavy dark hair, his green eyes pinched as if he were trying to solve a difficult problem.

“Very well,” he muttered, bowing his head. “If you will excuse me, Miss Longman.”