CHAPTER 22: CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Marissa smiled, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark, curly hair from Ryan’s forehead. The little boy looked up at her, his wide, serious eyes filled with a question that was clearly a great weight on his small shoulders.

"Will you love me?" he asked, his voice a soft, sad whisper. "Like... like a real mother?"

The quiet vulnerability in his question tugged at Marissa’s heart. This was the Duke’s son, the young heir, yet he spoke with the deep loneliness of a child who had lost too much. She stroked his soft cheek, her touch gentle and reassuring.

"Of course I will," she replied, her voice equally soft. "Why wouldn’t I?" She leaned in and lightly pinched his cheek, a playful, affectionate gesture. "You are so adorable."

A slow, radiant smile spread across Ryan’s face, chasing away the sadness in his eyes. For the first time since she had arrived at this cold, imposing estate, Marissa felt a flicker of genuine, uncomplicated warmth.

"Are you only going to thank Ryan?"

The voice, deep and laced with a dry amusement, came from behind them. They both turned to see Derek standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Ryan," Derek said, his tone softening slightly as he looked at his son. "Your tutor is waiting for you in the library. I need to have a word with your mother."

The word "mother" sounded strange and new on his lips, but Ryan accepted it with the simple trust of a child. He nodded obediently and, after giving Marissa another happy smile, he ran to Derek and gave his father’s leg a tight, affectionate hug. It was a brief, almost clumsy gesture, but it spoke of a deep, familiar bond.

"Watch your step, Ryan," Marissa called out as he let go and scampered away, his small shoes kicking up dust on the gravel path. She stood up, her smile widening as she watched him disappear around a corner.

The moment he was gone, however, the warmth in the courtyard vanished. Marissa turned back to face Derek, and her smile disappeared completely, replaced by a cool, guarded expression.

"If I recall correctly, Your Grace," she began, her voice crisp and formal, "just this morning, you were suggesting a divorce."

A smirk played on Derek’s lips. "That was before you single-handedly defeated my grandmother’s most trusted servant and terrified the entire household," he retorted. "You have only been a resident of this estate for two full days, and yet you have caused more trouble than a small army. I confess, I’m curious."

He took a slow step forward, then another, closing the gap between them until he was standing so close she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He bent low, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"What other surprises does this clever little shrew have hidden up her sleeve?"

Marissa let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "If His Grace is looking for fun and games, he should go and find Miss Senna," she said, her voice sharp. "I am sure she is far more entertaining. Don’t waste your precious time on me."

She turned, intending to walk past him and end the conversation. But before she could take a step, he stretched out his arms to either side, his hands resting on the high stone wall of the fountain behind her, effectively caging her in.

"On our wedding day," he said, his voice losing its mocking tone and becoming serious, "you made me promise you something in exchange for Senna’s life. You said the time wasn’t right to tell me what it was." He leaned in closer, his dark eyes searching her face. "What schemes are you playing, Marissa?"

She held his gaze, her heart beating a little faster at their proximity, but she refused to show it. "The time still isn’t right," she said, her voice steady. "So I can’t tell His Grace."

Derek let out a long, feigned sigh of weariness. He retracted his arms, stepping back and giving her space. The sudden release of pressure was disarming. "Very well," he said, his tone deceptively casual. "Since you are so capable, so full of secrets and schemes, then my presence at tomorrow’s homecoming celebration will surely not be needed."

Marissa’s composure finally cracked. Her eyes widened, and she felt a jolt of pure panic. The homecoming was a vital, tradition she needed to uphold where she, as the new Duchess, was to visit her home. It was a declaration of her status. If the Duke, her husband, did not attend, it would be a catastrophic humiliation at her family manor. It would signal to everyone that she was a duchess in name only, a powerless figurehead her husband did not respect. All the ground she had gained in the ancestral hall would be lost in an instant.

He had found her weakness.

"That’s not..." she started, turning back to him, her voice a little too sharp. She took a breath, forcing herself to be calm, to think strategically. Anger would not work with this man. An appeal to his ego, however, just might.

"The Grand Duke’s promise is a very valuable thing," she said, her voice now smooth and measured. "I would not waste it on trivial matters like begging my husband to uphold traditional values." She looked him directly in the eye, her expression serious. "But so you know, your attendance tomorrow is not a trivial matter. It is a matter of the dignity of the Thompson name. To abandon your new wife at her own welcome, to invite the gossip and scorn of the entire kingdom... that would be a petty act." She paused, letting the word hang in the air between them. "And pettiness, Your Grace, does not suit a man of your standing.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a final, formal curtsy and walked away, her back straight, not waiting for his reply. She did not let him see how much his threat had truly shaken her.

Derek stood alone in the sunlit courtyard, watching her leave. He watched the graceful sway of her dress, the proud, unbending set of her shoulders. A strange, conflicted feeling churned within him. She had defied him, insulted him, and then cleverly appealed to his pride, all in the space of a minute. He was annoyed, intrigued, and utterly unwilling to admit that she had gotten the better of him once again. He was the Duke. He would decide whether to attend or not. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do.