Her Brother Traded Her to an Aging Duke to Pay His Gambling Debts — But on Their Wedding Night, He Handed His Terrified Bride a Key, £40,000, and the One Thing Her Brother Had Taken From Her: A Choice.

 PART 2

He had discarded his formal coat and cravat, wearing only a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and a dark robe tied loosely around his waist. Without the structured suit he looked older, frailer. He leaned heavily on his cane, shutting the door behind him and locking it with a sharp metallic snap.

Josephine stopped breathing. She forced her eyes to stay open.

The Duke did not move toward the bed. He limped slowly toward two leather armchairs positioned in front of the roaring fire. He sank into one with a heavy, rattling sigh, resting his cane against the hearth. He rubbed a hand over his tired face, staring into the flames.

“Sit down, Josephine.”

She blinked, confused. She walked stiffly toward the fire and perched on the very edge of the second armchair, pulling the thin linen gown tightly around her knees.

The Duke reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a thick leather-bound portfolio. He placed it on the small table between them. He pushed it across the polished wood toward her.

“Open it,” he commanded quietly.

Her hands trembled. She reached out, unfastened the brass clasp, and flipped the heavy leather cover back. Inside was a stack of crisp legal documents.

“Turn to the second page.”

She did. Her eyes scanned the words.

Deed of trust. Sole beneficiary. Josephine Harding.

She frowned, her brow furrowing. She looked up at him, the cynical armor slipping just a fraction.

“I don’t understand. What is this?”

“It is a trust,” the Duke said, not looking at her, keeping his eyes on the fire. “Established in your name. It contains a principal sum of £40,000. The interest alone is enough to keep you comfortably for the rest of your life. It is entirely independent of my estate. Your brother cannot touch it. No future husband can touch it. It belongs solely to you.”

Josephine’s breath caught in her throat.

£40,000. It was a king’s ransom. It was impossible.

“Why?” she whispered.

The Duke finally turned his head to look at her. His pale blue eyes were devoid of pity, but they held a strange, hard respect.

“Because I am an old, tired man, Josephine. I have no son, and at seventy-one I will not have one now. The title passes to my nephew whether I wish it or not — the entail sees to that, and no signature of mine can undo it. Let him have the stones and the moors; I have never thought him fit to hold either, but the law does not ask my opinion. My extended family are a flock of vultures circling a dying horse. It was never the title they wanted. It is the money.” He tapped a blunt finger against the portfolio. “Beneath that trust document, you will find a letter of instruction, already signed and witnessed, authorizing my solicitor, Mr. Davies, to pursue an annulment on the grounds of non-consummation — a fact that will remain true for as long as this marriage stays what it is. If you ever wish to leave this house, you need only write to Davies. He will act on your word alone. You need never explain yourself to me, and you need never ask my permission.”

Josephine felt the room spin slightly. She gripped the arms of the chair.

“I don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

“I want a barricade,” the Duke said bluntly. “I want a duchess to stand between me and the vultures. I need a woman to run this massive, dreary house, to sit at the opposite end of my table, to manage the servants, and to host the obligatory dinners so the local gentry leave me in peace. In return, I offer you complete financial independence — and absolute safety from your brother.”

He reached out and picked up a heavy iron key from the table, dropping it on top of the legal papers.

“That is the key to this room. From the inside.” His voice softened just a fraction. “You are nineteen years old. You have your whole life ahead of you. I did not buy you to ruin it. I bought you so no one else could.”

Josephine stared at the key. The iron was cold. But as she reached out and closed her fingers around it, it felt like the warmest thing she had ever held.