Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I t was likely not what the other guests were expecting (being awoken in the middle of the night by a scream), but that is likely what happened to many of them.

Samantha could not help it, and she certainly wished that she were able to as she stumbled out of the bed and landed on the floor on her stomach. She kept her forehead pressed against the floor for a moment, willing herself to wake up and find herself in her own bed once more, but it did not happen.

She was in a gentleman's room, in his bed , and now…

"What are you doing?" she ordered, and though she could not see anything, she heard him sitting up and then lighting a candle, and in the warm glow of it, she could see the most unmistakable pair of blue eyes looking back at her.

"You," she breathed. "Where is Diana?"

"Who is Diana? Lady Samantha, are you well?"

Samantha knew that she was not thinking correctly, but she was still so sure that this was her sister's room, and there was a gentleman that was in there that was not her sister, nor was he her sister's husband. He shouldn't have been there.

"What are you doing here?"

"It is my room," he whispered pointedly. "What are you doing here?"

She froze for a moment. His room. Suddenly, everything began to make more sense. Yes, it was his room. He was the Duke of Gloryfield, and this was not her home. It was Lord Drowshire's, and she had no right or purpose being in that room in that moment.

She had misjudged the situation. She was wrong, and she hated the Duke for that. She chastised herself, but only slightly, because she knew that it was not his fault. Then again, he had been arrogant since the moment they had met, and so it was easier to blame him.

"I am… I am —"

"In my room, yes," he repeated. "Why?"

"Because — because I am," she snapped. "Now you should quieten down before someone hears the two of us!"

"My voice is not raised, Lady Samantha. Yours is."

He was right once more. She could not stand how right he was, but what was even worse was how he was no longer looking at her with the same awful smirk that he had before. Now, he seemed almost genuinely concerned for her, and she loathed it. It was not genuine. He was mocking her still.

"Very well," she whispered. "But that does not mean that you are any more correct in what you have done."

"And what exactly might that be? I was asleep, you entered my room and climbed into my bed, and somehow, I am to blame for that? What more could I do, bolt my door closed?"

"That might have helped," she sighed. "What you did was take advantage of a young girl in a very vulnerable state. That is shameful."

"If I wished to take advantage of you, you would know about it. And believe me, you would then know how it felt to do something shameful."

Samantha told herself that the burning in her cheeks was from the candle, nothing more.

"That is quite a nice nightgown you have on," he continued, almost as though he was trying to lighten the conversation.

It was a nice nightgown, too, a gift from her aunt. It had been a strange gift, but Samantha told her that she did not want jewels or a ballgown, and so it was the only other thing that her aunt saw fit for her. She had needed new clothes, too, and so it was the perfect thing to receive when all was said and done.

Samantha cast her eye over the gentleman, wondering why he was not sending her away. She was not supposed to be there, and he had every right to throw her out, but he was not doing it. Then she began to look at his own bedclothes or lack thereof.

He was only half dressed, and as she cast her eye down his chest and dared to look slightly lower, she froze. This was most unbecoming, asking for trouble, and even though she had never strayed from trouble if it meant learning more, this was one lesson that she could do without.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Regardless of the situation, she needed to steady herself. There was no hope in helping herself if she was erratic. She had thought herself to have calmed down, but once she opened her eyes to see him watching her with that stupid grin once more, she felt all her rage flood back.

"What is it?" she demanded. "Why is it that you have been looking at me like that since I arrived?"

"I find you amusing, that is all."

"Why?"

"Because you are exactly as I imagined. No refinement and an ability to do everything that you should not if it means achieving your goal."

"My goal is none of your concern. I have already told you as much. Even if I wished to marry, which I most certainly do not, I would never lower myself to being your wife. Look at you!"

"You certainly seem to enjoy looking at me. You were doing it all evening."

"Because you — "

She stopped herself. He had been trying to get a reaction out of her, and once more, she had allowed him to. It was infuriating; her father had been so awful to her for the parts of her life that he was present that she had thought herself immune to terrible men, but the Duke was something else entirely.

"If you loathe my very existence so much," she sighed, "then it would be best if you refrained from looking at me at all. I do not see what is so difficult about that."

"But I take far more pleasure in being irritable."

"That much is clear. It certainly appears to me that Lord Drowshire keeps dreadful company, given the both of us."

"You believe yourself to be dreadful?"

"You quite clearly believe me to be. I am merely agreeing with you. One would think you would be glad about that."

"I think you are an opportunist, but I do not think you're dreadful because of it," he replied quietly, stepping towards her. "I cannot even say that I blame you. Plenty of young ladies in your situation would behave similarly if they were placed in a household with many unmarried men of high status."

"For the last time, I am not here looking for a husband!" she snapped. "I am here because my father is. I do not wish to marry at all which is why I have already turned a duke away."

"I shall believe that when I see it for myself."

Should you ever cross paths with my sister, you can ask, she thought, but she did not say it.

"I am not asking you to believe me. I do not care whether or not you do. However, I will remind you that you are a duke with a dukedom to tend to. Part of your role is to find a wife and have children, yet you have no wife to speak of. Even if I were here to ensnare a man into marriage, at least I would be doing my supposed societal duty which is more than can be said for you."

At last, she seemed to have said something that hurt him as much as his own words had hurt her. Usually, she would feel regret about hurting another person, but she could not bring herself to. He had been against her from the moment he laid eyes on her, and she decided that he deserved to feel as terribly as she had.

"Now," she continued, trying to push her smirk away, "do you still truly believe that I could possibly want to marry you?"

"I never said you wanted to marry me. "

Samantha paused, racking her brain, trying to think of a time when he had indeed said that, but he had not. He had only accused her of trying to find a match, not that the match would be with him.

"I do not care what you did and did not say. You have been nothing but odious since my arrival because you see me as a threat of some kind, and I am nothing of the sort. If you wish to misjudge me, then that is perfectly fine. If you wish to sit with those friends of yours and stare at me and make comments about my upbringing, then that is fine too. I cannot control that, nor would I ever dream of doing so because I do not see myself as so far above others that I can."

"I do not wish to control you."

"Because you cannot, but you would if you could. You would have me leave, would you not?"

He did not answer. He simply did what he had done all evening and stared at her, as if that was an answer in and of itself.

"Are you going to say anything?" she asked, exasperated.

He did not speak any further.

"Very well," she sighed, nodding her head. "I shall take matters into my own hands, and if you do not have it in you to tell me to leave, then I shall simply leave myself."

She turned to leave, and still, he did not say anything to her. She wondered if he was doing this on purpose, to prove that he could have his own way without even needing to speak, but she no longer cared about whatever game he wished to play with her. She was too old to engage in childlike behavior, and she had been for a while.

"Goodnight," she said curtly. "I do not suppose that I need to tell you this, but of course, you are not to tell anyone about tonight."

When he did not respond to that, even to bid her goodnight in return, she took that as her sign to leave without another word. She left quickly and quietly, surprised to see that nobody was waiting for her in the hallway, eager to ruin her. It was far too fortunate, too much good luck for her to receive. She had not been in the least bit fortunate in her whole life. Perhaps, she wondered, that was precisely why she was leaving the situation unscathed; she had twenty years of good luck owed to her.

She tried to think, as she stumbled into her room, about how she would act around the Duke now. Surely, she would be capable of acting as if nothing were amiss? She was intelligent, when capable of thinking at least, and she knew how to keep up a facade. It would be easy enough to pretend when they were around others.

Then again, how would she even pretend to feel? If she were too kind, she would be seen as wanting him to be her husband. If she were too unkind, she would be seen as exactly that which would not be a fair judgment of her.

With a sigh, she crawled once more into bed. She had had to step over some parchment on her way in, but she had not paid much attention to it, partly because of her condition and partly because she was simply so preoccupied by her own thoughts, let alone the fact that she was exhausted.

She looked at the ceiling.

That was simply a blip, she told herself. Yes, a silly thing to do that shall never happen again, but at least now, I can get through this week and then return home, and then…

And then she did not know what would become of her.

This time, when she awoke, it was morning. Usually, she loved the way the sun warmed her skin and lit up the room, but this morning she only wanted it to go away. It hurt. Everywhere on her body was filled with a dull ache, except for her head. Her head throbbed. She wondered if she had taken ill, caught some terrible disease from being so close to the Duke hours prior, but she laughed at herself gingerly and dressed herself slowly, wincing as she did so.

She was in pain, but it could have been far worse, given the circumstances. Then, she saw the paper once more. Now that she could think more clearly, she knew that it was not hers. She did not recall writing anything, nor receiving anything, and so she knew that it was new to her. She picked it up, intending to put it to one side and read it later, but it was only a short note, and she read it immediately.

"You have done an unforgivable thing. Enjoy your ruin."

Her heart pounded even harder than it had been doing. Someone had heard her in the Duke's bedchambers, someone that clearly despised her, and now, she had gotten exactly what she had always wanted although now, she was unsure of whether or not she had ever been right to wish for such.

She had been ruined by the Duke.

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The Unwanted Duchess

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