"I mean, if we're married, we're supposed to stay together, especially for the first few months." His eyes glinted with amusement. "So, yes, you'll be living with me. You'll be expected to play the role of my dutiful wife."
He leaned in closer, his voice taking on a sinister tone. "As for living your old life... Well, let's just say that I have certain expectations for your behavior during the period of our arrangement. I expect you'll follow my rules and terms while we're married. And well, if you don't..." He paused, letting the unspoken threat linger in the air. "Let's just say that I have ways of dealing with your disobedience."
She glowered at his challenge. He smirked, enjoying her dismay.
"So?" He smiled, taking her hands in his. "Will you marry me?"
She knew she had zero chances of getting out of this mess. Amber couldn't see any other way out of this. And he knew it; he had won. She sighed heavily, giving up, feeling stupid, helpless, and defeated. She forced herself to come to terms with the reality unfolding. Looking down at the polished concrete floor, Amber whispered, "Yes... I'll marry you..."
The Duke grinned triumphantly, then pressed a kiss to her hand. "Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Mrs. Henderson,the Duchess of Eston-Bridge." he grinned mischievously, trying to vex Amber, and he succeeded, for she eyed him with pure resentment.
Amber was still trying to wrap her head around what she had just agreed to. Was this going to mark the beginning of her downfall? Had she just succumbed to defeat so easily?"
"I have matters to attend to before we can finalize our agreement," he said in a business-like tone. He picked up his discarded cravat, preparing to head out. Just then, his Footman appeared at the door, as if on cue. A tall, hefty-looking man she had seen earlier in the building while working, he kept a straight, unreadable face, waiting for his master's orders.
"Steve, you will escort the miss to a secured room. We wouldn't want her leaving us so soon." The Duke spoke without looking in the man's direction, his head held high as he adjusted his carat and collar.
"Wait, what?!" Amber blurted out
"Steve, give us a minute," he said, waving his hand dismissively. The Footman left, closing the door behind him. The Duke continued speaking.
"Like I said earlier, you're not going anywhere. From now on, you'll be staying here, under very watchful eyes, lest you want to try something stupid."
"You're truly despicable," Amber said, feeling her anxiety rise. "Is this necessary?"
"I am simply making sure you hold up to your end of the bargain," he replied, his voice calm and collected. "But first..." He dragged on the words as he walked towards a desk, opening the bottom drawer. He brought out a brown envelope.
"Here," he said, tossing the envelope onto the desk. "This is a sample of the contract for you to go through when you're alone. It states the terms of the agreement and the rules we shall abide by."
She eyed it suspiciously, slowly walking towards the desk. "You just so happen to have it already drafted?"
"Yes," he replied. "Like I said, I was already searching for suitable candidates. But I don't believe any of them would commit fully to the plan."
"And you think I will?" She asked, surprised, as she picked up the sealed folder.
He shrugged. "You're already in a compromising position, and you have much to gain if this works out. And part of the contract states that we consummate the marriage."
Amber looked up to see the Duke staring coldly at her, his eyes expressionless, whereas hers were filled with horror.
She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again; the words wouldn't seem to come out. Then she tried again. "Consummate the marriage?"
"Yes," he replied. "I want my marriage to be as real and authentic as possible."
"Authentic as in love?" Amber asked incredulously. "And you think consummating it will make it real? You're out of your mind!" She scoffed, thinking to herself that this man must be a deranged lunatic.
"No. I am not looking for a romantic marriage, far from that. I have other... intentions," he said, producing another paper from beneath his desk. "Read it out loud," he commanded me.
Amber eyed the paper with suspicion, and began reading, but she froze, staring at the words boldly written in bold, black ink:
"PROCREATIVE MARRIAGE CONTRACT..."
Her eyes darted up in confusion, searching his eyes for answers, but he remained unmoved.
"What does that mean...?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze never leaving hers, his face unreadable, he spoke in a low, even tone.
"Congratulations, you're going to be a mother."