She Was Sold to an Old Duke — But His Wedding Night Gift Changed Everything
Chapter 2
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Thomas Ashbourne filled the doorway. He was not a cartoonish villain; he was simply a man eroded by time. His hair was completely white, cropped close to his scalp. His face was a topography of deep lines and heavy jowls. He leaned on a thick silver-tipped cane, his left leg stiff. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored wool suit that absorbed the dim light of the room. His eyes were pale blue, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth.He did not look at Josephine; he looked at Charles."Your Grace," Charles stammered, bowing so deeply he nearly spilled his gin. "Welcome. Please, come in. The roads must be dreadful.""The roads are passable," the Duke said. His voice was gravel—low, resonant, and tired.He stepped into the room, leaning heavily on the cane, and withdrew a folded document from his breast pocket. He placed it on the small mahogany table in the center of the room."The bankers have been satisfied. The drafts are drawn. Sign the document, Harding, and my solicitors will release the funds."Charles practically dove toward the table. He did not read the terms; he did not check the clauses. He simply seized the quill, jammed it into the inkwell, and scratched his name across the bottom of the parchment.The Duke finally turned his pale eyes toward Josephine. She forced herself to meet his gaze. She would not cower: if she was to be property, she would be expensive property."Stand up," he said. It wasn't a request.Josephine stood, the stiff silk of her mother's dress rustling aggressively in the quiet room.The Duke assessed her: he looked at her collarbone, her pale face, her clenched fists. There was no lust in his eyes; there was only the cold calculation of a man inspecting a horse before a purchase."You have a coat?" he asked."I do, Your Grace," she replied."Fetch it. My carriage is waiting. We have a long drive to Yorkshire."Charles let out a loud, nervous laugh. "Will you not stay for a drink, Your Grace, to toast the union?""I do not drink gin, Harding," the Duke said without looking back at him. "And I do not toast with fools. If you ever contact this young woman again, I will have my men burn this rotting house to the ground with you inside it."Charles choked on his breath, stumbling backward. Josephine felt a strange, sharp jolt in her chest—not hope (hope was dangerous), just a cold satisfaction at seeing her brother humiliated.She walked past Charles without a word, grabbed her heavy wool traveling cloak from the hall, and followed the Duke out into the driving rain.The carriage was waiting. It was massive, black, and crested with the Clydesdale arms. A footman opened the door, and she climbed inside. The leather seats were soft, smelling of beeswax and expensive tobacco. The Duke hauled himself in after her, wincing slightly as he adjusted his stiff leg. The door shut with a heavy, definitive thud. The lock engaged. The carriage lurched forward.Josephine stared out the window as the decaying Harding estate disappeared into the fog. She belonged to the old man across from her now; the transaction was complete.