The Duke Who Didn't (Wedgeford Trials, #1)

by Courtney Milan

He looked the way laughter sounded;

There had been a time, back when he’d focused on her so intently, seeking her out year after year, when she’d thought he was a story written just for her.

But here he was, against all expectations: back and looking at her the way he always had, as if she were the center of his considerable attention.

She was a bit more than two years his elder and had sported such a continual air of perfect competence that he’d wondered how it was possible for her to exist.

he’d known her for almost a decade and he’d adored her for approximately the same length of time.

I came here to convince you to marry me. Then to tell you who I am. And finally to convince you that you should still marry me anyway, after you realize what a bad bargain I would be.

But this was what love looked like between them—him cooking her food so perfect that she could cry, while he frowned at her and told her she was too skinny.

His cooking had always been excellent, but the addition of spite to every recipe had brought an extra level of brilliance.

“I plan to bask in the magnificence of her presence, to whatever degree I am allowed.”

“Right. Put that on the list for me. I want a wife who says exactly that to me. With those exact words. If she doesn’t say it at least once, I won’t marry her.”

For a moment, Chloe’s eyes met his. There was a second—just one second—where her nose flared and her shoulders fell in what looked like resignation, as if she actually expected him to keep on teasing her. And, well. That was fair. He loved teasing her. Just not like this.

his defense, he’d been fourteen—an age that had described the number of brain cells he had as well as the number of years he’d spent on the earth.

and that was the point when he realized that Chloe liked her lists, and he liked Chloe.

Stealing a list to make her pay attention to him was counterproductive. If he made her believe he didn’t like her lists, she’d think he didn’t like her, because one didn’t come without the other.

“This is why I can never finish everything on my list,” Chloe groused. “Because nobody ever lets me. It’s always ‘eat dinner, Chloe,’ or ‘go to sleep, Chloe’ or ‘take a break and talk to me, Chloe.’ Do you know how much I would get done if other people would just stop?”

chloe is a mood and a half

“By my recollection, I want a wife who makes me sign contracts to pay for lists, a wife who agrees to do too many things and then falls into a panic, and a wife who has at one point in her life told me to stick my head in a river and swallow. You must admit that those few items alone exclude a substantial number of women.”

My list has all your characteristics. Not just some of them. All of them. It does not differ from you in any particular. Not a single one.”

Even foods that have the regular amount of English in them are…not particularly appealing.”

really am prepared to give half my dukedom to you. But I should warn you—it’s no fun.

Here’s a secret: I always want you to kiss me.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. “I like you. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“You see?” he’d told the others. “She can’t resist me.” That had been it for her: the moment at which return had not been possible. It hadn’t been love. It had just been the knowledge that he’d seen her and done her a kindness.

“I am not cute,” she said between stamps, glaring at him. “I am mean and harsh and you will respect that.” “Yes. Absolutely. Anything you say.” He winked at her.

“I’m doing what on purpose now?” “You’re making me think that you’re making a list about me. It’s not about who your aunt will find.” “Clever girl,” Jeremy said. “It is on purpose, and I’m doing that for a reason. Now guess the reason.” “It’s not me, though. You don’t mean me.” Jeremy took his hands off the dough and gave her his best unimpressed look. She simply met his eyes and shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense for it to be me. Why would it be me?” “You make perfect sense to me.”

Soft. Like a bunny rabbit. Ha. Maybe like a feral rabbit wearing battle armor while manning a cannon.

“I left because I was trying to be serious for you.” She gave him a questioning look. “I’ll tell you about it sometime soon. I wanted to come back and tell you how serious I’d been. I didn’t become more serious, but I came back anyway because I missed you.”

His obligatory familial love didn’t feel enough, not when she wanted to give so much in return. She’d put everything into his sauce, to prove that maybe feathers could make noise. It hadn’t been enough. No amount of list making could fix what was never going to happen.

“Everyone needs help from time to time, Chloe. Especially women who want revenge through sauce empires. Even I’m aware you’re not perfect.”

“The question has never been who my list is about,” Jeremy told her. “It’s been about whether she’ll have me.”

“Please,” she said. “I know I’m not the best daughter. I’m too English. Too loud. I’m too—everything, getting in your way. But I am trying.

Unsuitable.’” She mimicked his word again; he could almost envision the look of distaste on her face. “What a terrible word to use for a human being.”

How many children are orphaned at such a young age, and brought up with so much love?”

“Chloe.” He wasn’t thinking properly; he needed to think. “I can’t say what you want me to say, and it’s all your fault because you made me promise not to seduce you.” “Oh, no.” She let out a choked noise. “I did. That was horrifically inconvenient of me.”

“I’m trying to be very serious about you, sweetheart.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t make lists. I don’t have rational explanations for everything. If you asked me why I wanted you, I wouldn’t be able to give a carefully thought-out account. I could only say that you make me feel like the home I want to live in.”

“That’s it then, for you. It’s a terrible choice, but you’ve made it and here I am.

“I’m not being shy.” He gingerly lay next to her. “I’m approaching you with the reverence that you deserve. It’s hardly the same thing.”

“Who can possibly do arithmetic at a time like this?” he muttered into her neck. “Lots. Lots multiplied by many years.” “I can do arithmetic. Give me the parameters.”

Easy enough to give her a moment when he wanted her to have the rest of his life. God, he loved her.

“Thank you for trusting me to be good to you.”

That had been teasing. He hadn’t even realized. If that had all been teasing…good God, the entirety of Wedgeford was hilarious, and he’d never given them credit for it.

“There’s nothing terrible about being loved,”

her body had been contemplating all day, and now that it was night, it remembered. It remembered the way he set off electricity in her veins. Her flesh remembered the pleasure of his touch, and she wanted him.

Did she not have lists? She had lists. She and Jeremy could make a truly excellent list together.

It had not been fate. It had not been magic. She was Chloe YiLin Fong. Her father’s bracelet sat on her arm; her mother’s earrings brushed against her neck. She had been named to rise on wings that made no sound, and so she would do so now.

“It’s embarrassing how much I adore you. It’s a good thing I have absolutely no shame, because someone has to tell you over and over how lovely you are so that you will know it hasn’t changed. And apparently this entire village is filled with louts who lack either courage or good sense.”

The first page was the list she’d just started this morning. What Duchesses Do, it said. He wrote beneath it in large, square capitals: WHATEVER DUCHESSES WANT.