In the Brief Eternal Silence by Rebecca Melvin

horses. And I shall spend all of my
allowance on fancy hats, and luxurious furs, and eat sweetmeats all
day while I have a dozen or more servants to fetch me whatever I
care for.” She drew herself up, her worn gown and falling hair
taking nothing from her disdain. “Is that what you expected to
hear, milord? For if it is, you are wildly mistaken. If you think
that I am flattered by your choosing me to fulfill some cold motive
on your part, you are most decidedly wrong. When and if I am ever
chosen as a wife it will not be for some calculated reason, I
should hope, and I will certainly not agree to a marriage based on
a proposition that, among other things, offers your body as
something to be gained for my amusement.” Her face was flaming with
embarrassment but her outrage was such that she was not even aware
of it.
    “If you prefer the illusion of a romantic
wooing, Miss Murdock,” he countered, “then I am afraid I can not
accommodate you. For I can not and will not go into this marriage
with you believing there is a feeling there which can not be.
Neither do I wish for that feeling from you. It is precisely these
restrictions that have made me, yes, choose you!”
    His words hit her like a slap in the face.
Oh, she had always been plain, had accepted it long before, but to
be told outright that the very reason, now, that her hand was being
sought in marriage was because her unlikely suitor had determined
that she would never be a threat to his heart or his libido, and
for some unknown reason sought that sad state of affairs, was going
just a tad too far. “Then I suggest you travel on down the lane,
milord St. James, for although I am above calling any person ugly,
there is a lady just above a mile from here that would shock even
you.”
    Her words took him by surprise. “I am not
sure that I follow you, Miss Murdock.”
    “No? Well, it little matters. If you are
loathe to point out your own 'desirable' qualities, I am equally as
loathe to point out my own 'less than desirable' ones. I am going
to bed now, milord, for I have had quite enough of this ill-advised
conversation. Where you sleep, or how you spend your time before
your leaving, I really do not care.”
    With those words, she left the room,
half-afraid that he would make some retort that would stop her once
again in her tracks, so she turned a deaf ear when he called out
after her. Once in the hall, she moved quicker still, holding her
hurt hand in front of her and feeling a stinging in her eyes that
she tried hard to convince herself was from tiredness and her
injury, and she hurried up the stairs, and once she made her room,
she closed the door behind her and slumped against it. She blinked
back any tears that had the temerity to even think about falling,
swiped her hair from her face, when and how it had fallen there she
was not certain, and when she at last glanced out the window, she
saw that dawn had come after all, or was well on its way, for the
horizon was just beginning to lighten.
    She could have cried then with frustration
and fatigue, for instead of being able to throw herself on her bed,
sleep away the headache that odious man had given her, she would
only have time to bathe and dress, and then she would have to start
her day's work. Well, she certainly intended to dawdle, for her
father would not be up for hours yet at any rate, and she wanted to
give the duke plenty of time to clear out before she was forced to
once again go downstairs.
    With that thought, she removed her robe and
sleeping costume, bathed herself in the cold water she poured from
her pitcher and into her basin. She welcomed the iciness of it,
even in the chill of her room, feeling as though she were cleaning
off the filth that man had somehow heaped into her mind.
    She gave a slight shiver, toweled off more
quickly than she had bathed. As if she didn't have enough to worry
about, she thought with exasperation, without some fool of a fop
coming in and upsetting her for