“I’ll Marry the First Man Who Enters,” She Joked — Then the Duke Walked In
Chapter 13
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"700 feet straight down," Augustus said, his voice barely audible over the clatter of the chains. "The men work in tunnels three feet high. Sometimes they are waist-deep in freezing water. The roof could cave in; the gas could ignite. Every piece of silver on your dining table is bought with their sweat and my grandfather's greed."He looked at her, waiting for the disgust, waiting for the delicate aristocrat to recoil.Bella looked down into the black hole. She felt a wave of profound vertigo, but she locked her knees and kept her spine straight. "Then we must ensure they are paid well," she said simply. "And that the timber in the eastern tunnel is replaced by noon."Augustus let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh—a harsh, scraping sound. "You are a terrifying woman, Bella.""I am a realist," she corrected. "You have dirt on your face, Your Grace."Augustus pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and dragged it across his forehead, succeeding only in smearing the grease further. "Go back to the house, Bella. The air here will ruin your lungs. I will be home for dinner.""7:00," she told him. "Do not be late. The new cook makes an excellent roast, and I will not have it ruined."She turned and walked back to her horse. She didn't look back, but she could feel the heavy, oppressive weight of his gaze following her all the way to the gates.The house was quiet: the deep, isolating quiet of the moors, broken only by the wind rattling the narrow windowpanes.Bella sat at the vanity in her bedchamber. The room was warm for the first time in a decade, a roaring fire casting long, dancing shadows across the faded tapestries. She had dismissed her maid an hour ago. She wore a simple white linen nightgown, devoid of the lace and ribbons a bride might normally wear. She brushed her hair with slow, methodical strokes, counting the bristles to keep her mind from spinning.It was their eighth night in Yorkshire.A heavy knock sounded at the door. Bella set the brush down; the wooden handle clicked sharply against the glass top of the vanity."Come in."The door opened; Augustus stepped inside. He had bathed: the smell of sulfur and smoke was gone, replaced by the sharp, clean scent of lye soap and fresh linen. He wore a dark dressing gown over his trousers, his bare chest visible in the V of the collar. Without his heavy coats, she could see the sheer, terrifying density of his muscles. He looked too large for the room, like a bear forced into a cage.He closed the door. The heavy click of the latch sounded like a gavel falling.Augustus did not approach the bed; he stood by the door, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his dressing gown. "You are entirely too practical, Bella," he said quietly."I don't understand," she replied, her hands folded tightly in her lap."You didn't lock the door. You did not pretend to be asleep. Most women in your position would have found an excuse."