Storm Reawakened

The Villainess Is A Fake Wife

The heat that emanates from Duke Hawthorne's touch dissipates. Or so, I'd like to trick myself into believing after what Winston just divulged but there's no denying the attraction.

Instead, I turn my head and stare with screwed eyes. Really? Hate? Evara hated him? I guess what they say is true—there's a very fine line between love and hate. Toss obsessiveness into the mix, and the two congeal into being one and the same.

The Duke for his part, mirrors my actions and bores into me. "Hate, is it?" he whispered sharply, weaving his fingers through mine.

Damn. I think this stoic, cold Duke is a touchy-feely type. Not that I'm complaining, but it's obvious the physicality is a display meant for Winston.

It's a facade I'm actually willing to go along with. The man says that he's a part of my personal guard, but if that's the case then why is he so inconsequential? Wouldn't he be in Evara's memories, in crystal clarity?

Evara has clearly made him recede into the background. And as nice as he is, surely, there must be something off? This line of thinking arrives back to Hawthorne who stiffens under the scrutiny I subject him to.

"Regardless of what you think, Winston. Evara is now my wife."

"Allegedly," I grumbled, but it's loud enough for Winston to catch and grin as the Duke tightens his grip on my hand.

"Indefinitely," replied Hawthorne.

I give Hawthorne a false sweet smile and turn to Winston fleetingly and rise. "Will you excuse us, Winston. The Duke and I have something to discuss."

I give Hawthorne an arched brow as we return to the room we came from. "What's your game, Hawthorne?"

If Winston has been shoved to the corners of Evara's memory then why is Hawthorne—the object of her scorn, not running to the forefront of her extracted memories? Basically, if she detests the man, then why don't I see red whenever I'm with him?

He leans casually against the door, relaxed in the midst of the storm I'm about unleash. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Meaning, I never slept with you. So why are you lying? And no. I don't mean just last night. I mean the morning of the hunting competition too. You used the accident to your advantage. Someone obviously has a knife to your throat to marry me, but you're willing to toss my reputation under the bus—Err, carriage in order to achieve your aim. Or theirs, I should say."

Crossing my arms, I give Hawthorne a menacing look. I want, need answers.

There's a lengthy pause before Hawthorne sighs, his face taught. "If you agree to this contractual relationship that you had in mind—it was your idea, then I'll reveal everything to you in time. That of course, means I intend to find the person who tried to end your life."

"So, I'm right? We didn't do anything in bed together?" I asked pointedly. On the inside though, I'm pleased. Ain't no way, that Evara or I could ever forget sleeping with a man like him.

"No, but it doesn't take much to convince people of the fact. Create certain conditions—the right conditions, and the rumours that circulate do all the damage for you."

"So you set this up. You planned for my ruin?"

"You're status as a lady is still intact. We're married after all."

"Uh huh. Hold still so I can murder you in cold blood will you? I'm starting to recall why I hated your abominable being, after all."

"You wouldn't be able to do much damage."

"Fantastic. Then you won't mind if I try to gauge your eyes out and hit you where it hurts most? You know, so you don't sire cunning children like yourself into this world."

"Evara."

"Hawthorne. Or should I call you an asshole of a husband?" I bit back.

"Look, if you agree to this then I'll convince Duke Storm to let you live on one of his estates towards the edge of the province."

I'm shoving the fabric of my dress sleeves up in order to punch the man dramatically but abruptly pause. "How far away from the capital is it?"

"It would take over a week to arrive to the shore city of Inisia. So, do we have a deal?" he asked.

Huffing, I cross my arms and turn away from his outstretched hand with disgust. "I have zero trust and faith in you. I'll need everything written in ink and signed with your seal before I agree to anything."

Retracting the hand proffered, his demeanour turns icy. "Then let's get this over with. However, in the meantime, you'll still have to play the part of my wife. Duke Storm thinks I'm being a noble of high regard who is marrying you out of sympathy. Everyone else thinks I've ruined you—or that you've entrapped me. Like I said, there's no running away. Not with the marriage documents we both signed last night."

"Did you stage that too?" I questioned narrowly, anger evident in my tone.

"No, that was just luck or bad luck rather. Your friends expedited the process, but I didn't plan for you to run into them or for your dinner to be all over me."

"You know what? All things considered, I'm not even sorry."

Sighing in exasperation, he squares his shoulders. "Are you going to be that difficult?"

Gasping theatrically, I place a delicate hand against my chest. "Why, Duke. I'm your wife. It's my duty to be difficult. Till death do us part."

If I wasn't a villainess before then I will be in the near foreseeable future. I intend to exclusively give Eli Hawthorne hell.

"All right, Eli Hawthorne. I'll be your fake wife. And you'll regret every minute of it."

"And you think, I don't?" he snapped.

"Did I ruin your reputation? Am I the one who dragged you drunk and senseless into a tavern? Am I the one who said—and I quote—don't resist? Hmm?" The latter makes him wince, and I smile devilishly while inspecting my nails.

"Oh and dear husband! Since I loathe your guts, don't go falling in love with me," I added for good measure.

The Duke remains silent, a secretive smirk his only reaction.

Now, what does that mean?