She turned away and resumed her packing. “Is that an attempt at humor?”
Ambrose shrugged. “You’d have to remain in residence to find out.”
A snort answered him. “If there is anything to slay, it’s arrogance itself.”
He clucked his tongue. “Fair point. However, running is not the answer.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Then run if you must. Attempt to make it past the front door.”
“Oh, I will make it much farther than that,” she said without sparing him the slightest glance.
“Not with me on your heels,” he countered.
She shot him a glare over her shoulder before fully facing him.
Ah, now we come to the heart of it.
“How dare you forbid me to see my sister?”
“I did not forbid you to see your sister, I forbade you going for ices,” he pointed out, his attention drawn to her lips and their soft, sensual arch.
“That,” she spluttered, “might even be worse, I cannot rightly decide. But if you refuse me my family, I am leaving.”
The words had an odd effect on Ambrose. Instead of being angry at her threat, he found himself softening. That alone caused his heart to slam against his chest with punishing thuds. He found himself drawn to her like nothing before.
“I will never refuse you your family, Willow. I, better than anyone, know how it feels to live without one of them.” His gaze traveled over the scattered dresses before settling back on her. “Your home is here, with me.”
She took a furious step toward him, high in indignation. Christ, she was beautiful—especially when she was spitting fire at him. She pointed to the crumbled piece of paper on the floor. He grimaced. Not his finest moment, penning that note.
“I get that your father forced marriage on you and I suppose I can even understand your controlling nature given some of your past. What I cannot accept is your note. If you forbid me the delights of ices, then you can at least forbid me in person. Which, by the by, is ridiculous.”
“Not after you were drenched to the bone this morning. Not if you can catch a cold.” His words were clipped.
“I’m much sturdier than that,” she said, holding his dark gaze. “And if that was your concern, why not tell me in your note?”
Ambrose dragged an exaggerated hand through his hair. “My first reaction is to order. Demand. Command. Relinquishing control does not come easy to me.”
“I’m astonished you can admit that.”
So was he.Speaking of admissions. “Answer me this: why did you marry me?”
She blinked, her mouth parting and closing again. “You know why.”
“Refresh my memory,” Ambrose drawled.
Her brows puckered. “To save my family’s reputation.”
“And yet your sister showed no interest in saving your family’s name from scandal.”
“As you can imagine, we are quite different,” she pointed out.
Ambrose took a moment to absorb his wife’s response. Anger colored her features, but not enough to rile a real answer from her. He ought to just kiss her and pry the answers from her with his tongue. But she would probably not appreciate the effort at the moment, so he resisted.
“You are different,” Ambrose agreed. “There is no disputing that—but you married me aware of the reasons your sister ran off. What did you hope to gain, other than saving your family? Am I to believe you are a martyr?”
“I became a duchess. The perks of my title are enough.”
