Chapter Nine

Natalie's eyes flew open, the hazy warmth of the wine vanishing in an instant. The name—the wrong name—slapped her back into reality, and before she could think, her hands shot out, shoving him hard. He barely rocked back, but the sheer force of her own reaction startled her. Not as much, however, as the fury flooding her veins, hot and violent. She immediately got off his lap and sat as far away from him as possible

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling from anger and something far worse—shame. Not at him. At herself. For what she had allowed him to do to her—or rather, with her.

Her cheeks burned. The heat of his mouth, the press of his tongue against hers—it replayed with sickening clarity. She yanked up her sleeve and scrubbed at her lips, as though she could erase the taste of him, the memory of his touch.

He blinked, his expression flickering with surprise and a bit of concern. "What? What is wrong? Did I hurt you?"

She ignored the foolish question. Of course, he hadn't hurt her. Not in the way he meant.

"What are you doing?" she repeated, louder this time, her voice laced with venom.

His smirk returned, lazy and unbothered. "What did it look like?"

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence in a way that made her fists itch.

"That thing you did to me with your mouth!" she snapped.

"Kiss you?"

"Yes, that!"

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "But you enjoyed it."

"I didn't!" It was a lie, and they both knew it. But she forced herself to meet his gaze, willing him to see only her anger, not the treacherous confusion roiling inside her.

"Fine." He shrugged, like it was of no importance. "If you're not interested in that, we can skip it. There are other things we can do". His expression turned to one of mischief. "Or you can do. "

Her stomach twisted. "Other things?"

His gaze dropped to her lips again, his voice lowering to something insidious, something honeyed and dark. "Of course."

A strong hand lifted, his fingers grazing her cheek. She recoiled. The touch sent a sharp jolt through her—not of pleasure, but of something far colder.

She slapped his hand away. The sound cracked through the carriage. "Don't touch me."

His brows twitched, a flicker of irritation breaking through his mask of amusement. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong is your behavior!" she shot back. "I am not your plaything, Your Grace. I am your maid."

A humorless laugh escaped him, cold and cutting. "A maid who lets a man kiss her in a darkened carriage?"

The heat in her cheeks was unbearable, but she refused to cower. "A mistake. One that will never happen again."

His smirk vanished. His gaze turned sharp, assessing. "Is this a game? Do you want me to beg?" He leaned in, his breath fanning against her face. "Because I won't. I never have, and I certainly won't start now for someone like you."

"Good," she said, her breath shaking, her chest tight. "Because I wouldn't want it. Now leave me be."

His face darkened. The casual cruelty in his gaze hardened into something worse. "You forget yourself. I am a duke."

"A duke with no morals, clearly".

"Morals?" His eyes flashed. "You speak to me about morals?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin, ignoring the way her heart pounded. "Since you clearly did not receive the lecture when you were young."

She regretted it the moment she said it. She saw it—the briefest flicker of something in his expression. But before she could force an apology past her lips, his own curled into something vicious.

"You do not get to lecture me." His voice was sharp as a blade. "You are nothing but a whore—worse than me, because even I know where to draw the line."

The word lashed across her like a whip.

Her hands curled into fists. "What did you just call me?"

He leaned back, leisurely, smug. "A whore."

Her blood roared in her ears. "Don't you dare call me that. Just because I refuse to soil myself by associating with you does not make me a whore."

"Soil yourself?" His voice dropped to something dangerous. "How dare you? Many would kill to have me soil them."

"Then go to them," she said coldly.

His lips pressed into a thin line. "You will not speak to me like that again."

"And what will you do?" she asked, her voice steady. "We are not on your estate. Your power means nothing here."

He let out a slow breath. "Let's cut to the chase. What do you want?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Yes. Payment. For the services you wish to offer."

The insinuation struck like a dagger. She recoiled, eyes widening. "You're vile."

"So I have been told." He tilted his head. "Tell me, what did the coachman—"

"Matthew."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"His name is Matthew," she said, her voice tight. "Like the rest of us, he has a name."

He exhaled, as though it pained him to humor her. "Fine. What did Matthew give you? I will triple whatever he gave you."

"Give me?"

"Don't play dumb." His tone sharpened. "This is the only time I will offer this."

Her stomach lurched. "Why would he—?"

"For your services in the forest."

Her breath caught. A sharp, horrified silence fell between them. Then—

"You think… that me and Matthew—" Her words broke, revulsion curling her tongue. "God, you are disgusting. He is old enough to be my father. "

He smiled. "And yet, whom am I to preach?"

"You really are delusional."

"Enough." His tone snapped like a whip. "If you wish to be treated like a whore, fine. Name your price."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms. "Don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I wish," he said smoothly. "Because that's what you are, is it not?"

Her chest heaved. "You do not define me."

He laughed, scornful and cruel. "You think yourself above me? With your morals?" He said sarcastically. His gaze raked over her. "Don't flatter yourself. You are nothing but a servant."

"And you," she said evenly, "are nothing but a man playing duke."

His jaw tensed. "Many would kill to have my attention."

"Yes," she agreed. "But don't forget, all they see is your title. Strip it away, and you are nothing."

Something flickered in his eyes. She saw it—hesitation.

Encouraged, she pressed on. "Even I was tempted," she admitted. "By the title. But no title can disguise what you are—a nasty man. If another took your place, perhaps I'd be tempted."

"Like Matthew?"

She smirked. "Matthew does not need a title for that."

His face darkened. "I will make you pay for your words."

"Yes, yes. As always, you try to impose fear with a title you don't deserve."

Her voice dripped with defiance, her breath coming fast as anger coiled in her chest.

"Careful," he murmured, his tone soft but laced with warning. "What you just said is an act of treason and you might lose your head for that."

She laughed, bitter and sharp. "I don't care because I will be very happy if I clear your delusions before dying." She stared at him dead in the eyes. "You are just a man born into the dukedom, one of many mistakes. You are nothing without that title, just a shallow, petty man. You can never be a quarter of the man your father was."

The words cut deeper than she intended. She immediately felt remorse at her cruel words.

A flicker of something—hurt, anger—crossed his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by an expression so unreadable it sent a chill up her spine. She wanted to apologise but then he raised his hand.

Natalie flinched violently using her arms to cover her face. When she didn't feel the hit, she peeped at him. His hand was still raised but he didn't attempt to hit her.

A silence settled between them. He looked at her for a moment. Not with anger, not even with disgust, but with something far worse—nothing at all.

Without a word, he turned toward the window, his hand knocking sharply against the it. The sound was loud that Natalie felt that he had probably woken everything in the woods with it.

The carriage jolted to a stop. His voice was calm and cold.

"Get out."