Page 2 of Project Duke

“What was the disagreement about, if you don’t mind my asking?” asked Preston.

William’s warm brown eyes felt icy cold when they landed on Calliope once again. He didn’t reply, eyeing her, trapping her in the torturous memory of the day that had changed the trajectory of her entire life.

The day when long curtains had swayed as a warm summer breeze flowed between the open French doors in the library. The day when she had felt the smooth leather cover of the book she wasn’t supposed to go near at the age of twelve. The first day in her life when she had felt that way—burning, aching, and touching herself in the most intimate place as she imagined the brown-eyed boy doing things to her that she was reading about…

And then two strong hands had ripped the book out of her fingers… And the brown eyes staring at her weren’t only in her imagination anymore. Two fingers had stroked her neck, making her quiver in a wonderful surprise—

And then a hard, painful pinch at the base of her neck had wiped it all out in a cold, prickly shock. And the eyes had turned from warm to angry, disgusted.

And he’d uttered a single word that made her soul shrink and shrivel in upon itself.

“Whore.”

Calliope shuddered with the memory, clutching the skirt of her pastel-green muslin gown.

“The disagreement…” said William King slowly, his gaze like sharp claws digging under her skin. “I can’t recall. Can you, Lady Calliope?”

For the first time he addressed her, and her throat clenched tightly, her lips so rigid she couldn’t move them. This wasn’t her. No one did that to her. She was a strong, intelligent woman who planned to become an investigator, to fight crime and look for lost people. How could one person make her feel so dirty and insignificant?

And yet, the place at the base of her neck where William had pinched her burned. It was as though she was in shackles she couldn’t break.

He likely sensed her distress, the corners of his thin lips moving up in a barely noticeable, satisfied smile.

“I can’t recall, either,” she said finally. Her voice had never sounded so quiet.

William nodded, his shoulders dipping as he visibly relaxed. A triumphant look on his face showed her he knew he owned her. One word of what he’d witnessed, one word and he’d cause a scandal that would forever blacken her name and the name of her family.

“Must have been a simple misunderstanding,” William concluded. “What does it matter, anyway? I believe our families can be friends again like we once were. In fact, I wonder if our families can be bound by ties deeper than friendship.”

Silence fell on the room. Calliope could hear the clock ticking in the hallway. From behind the open windows, a horse trotted, and the wheels of a carriage rattled against the cobblestones. Grandmama stilled, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. Penelope’s hand stopped, her teacup midway to her mouth. Miss Furrington raised her head, her ears erect and directed at William. Preston’s dark eyes widened in an expression of pleasant surprise. He’d been searching for a husband for her for weeks.

Preston straightened in his chair, his lips stretching in a smile. “I quite wonder the same. The line of the Marquess of Huntingham is old and respectable. Sister, don’t you agree?”

A husband was the last thing Calliope wanted. Any husband would completely disapprove of the plans she had for her life. Even her brothers were convinced that starting a sleuth agency was dangerous and had to be stopped.

But William was worse than just any husband. If he had pinched her for reading a dirty book, what would he do to her when he owned her as a husband?

She had to defend herself. She couldn’t let herself be trapped into marriage with someone like him.

Calliope’s throat felt as dry as paper. She swallowed what felt like a rock and tried to force herself to speak. Losing control for the first time since seeing William, she shifted her leg, knocked the tea table, and her teacup and the saucer went flying to the floor. William made a sharp movement towards her to grab it.

The teacup shattered with a tinkling crash.

Miss Furrington leapt to her feet, arched her back, and hissed fiercely at William, then sprang at his hand—the very same hand that had pinched Calliope—biting it, digging her sharp claws into it.

He jumped up and screamed, waving his hand, Miss Furrington’s white coat and tail swaying like a large fluffy muff.

“Miss Furrington!” cried Grandmama, darting forward to retrieve the cat.

“Oh no!” cried Penelope, jumping to her feet, as well.

“Damnation!” muttered Preston. He grabbed the cat, who clung tighter to William’s hand, still hissing. When Miss Furrington was finally coaxed to release her claws, bloody scratches covered William’s hand, and he clutched it to his chest, his brown eyes wide and dark. With a guilty satisfaction, Calliope thought he looked quite as he had back then, after Spencer had beat him up.

Miss Furrington leapt from Preston’s arms, leaving white fur on his pristine dark coat, and curled up on Calliope’s lap, watching William with a warning.

“I am ever so sorry, Huntingham,” Grandmama said as she rummaged in her reticule and retrieved a handkerchief. “Miss Furrington is never like this. She must be in distress as Sumhall is her new, temporary home until Lady Calliope marries.”

When Richard—Calliope and Preston’s brother who had been living at Sumhall with Calliope—had married and left for his honeymoon two days ago, Grandmama and Miss Furrington had moved in to ensure propriety for an unmarried young lady.