My Ruthless Duke

Chapter One

“Have you seen my Mama?”

Cordelia Farrington felt as if she were undertaking an impossible task. Though given that she was hunting down a woman so predisposed to theatrics, she ought not to be having such a difficult time. Normally, her mother, the Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury, had the sort of voice that could fill theaters with its resonance.

Except for tonight. The older woman being silent was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it meant that she had likely not yet gotten herself into trouble. On the other hand, she could not be located, which could mean she was being scandalous behind a closed door somewhere. Cordelia’s nerves could not handle either option.

Marina Marner, Cordelia’s dear friend, clutched her wine glass and looked around herself. “She was just here a moment ago…”

“That is what I was afraid of.” Cordelia sighed.

“I saw her at the refreshments table, but now… surely, she cannot have gotten too far?”

If only that were true.

“Alas, she is a slippery woman, Marina; do not underestimate her,” Cordelia answered.

At least Marina had the decency to cover her mouth with the back of her hand instead of openly laughing at Cordelia. “Cordelia, dearest, relax. She cannot be into anything terrible in such a short amount of time!”

Cordelia’s head whipped around; her search momentarily paused as her eyes widened. “Do not jinx me!”

Marina pushed at her shoulders, urging her to continue. She spoke with a laugh, for she knew too well just how embarrassing Cordelia’s mother could be from time to time. Given the quality of the wine served tonight, Cordelia’s concern was well-founded. “Then you better hurry.”

At the last ball she had attended with her mother, the woman had taken it upon herself to declare the quartet inept and chose to host a one-woman opera show. Loudly and sorely off-key. Lavinia had spent the entire afternoon moping around their house, lamenting the loss of her husband and complaining that her life was not supposed to be the way that it was. Mother liked to blame all their woes and misfortunes on the premature loss of her husband. Though Cordelia personally did not see how missing a shoe or misplacing a teacup could have anything to do with her father’s death.

It was Cordelia’s fourth unsuccessful season in the marriage mart, so her mother’s embarrassing behavior was unlikely to be the reason she did not take a husband for another summer—but that did not mean that the humiliation would be any easier to endure.

Slowly, casually, Cordelia wove through the socializing bodies without paying much attention to whom she passed or to whatever gossip they were sharing with one another. Such things were of very little interest to her on a good day and even less so now.

Her mother was wearing a blue dress; she could remember that much. But nearly everybody, including herself, had chosen to wear some shade of blue this evening. The hour was growing late, and whatever the Blithe family had planned for their grand end-of-ball celebration was bound to begin at any moment.

Glass shattered on the opposite side of the ballroom, and Cordelia’s heart plummeted into her stomach. “Not again.”

Every possible worst-case scenario of her mother being an irritating lush ran through her mind at double speed as Cordelia gathered her skirts in her hands and started for the commotion as quickly as she possibly could. She wove through the people while attempting to make her slight frame smaller so that she would not draw unwanted attention to herself. There was nothing that she hated more than being the center of attention.

I suppose I have to thank Mama for that.

In her haste, she did not account for those around her­—nor the man who stepped into her path. Cordelia stumbled, her ankle threatening to roll as her knees buckled. The man gasped, nearly fumbling his wine glass all down his shirt, and had to drop it entirely. His arm caught her about the waist, steadying her.

“I am so sorry, my lord!” Cordelia gushed, attempting to smooth down her dress and bend to grab the wine goblet—and the man did the same, causing their foreheads to bump together painfully. She recoiled, pressing the heel of her palm into her forehead and hissing in discomfort.

“It would seem that clumsiness is not a thing that one grows out of, after all,” the man said kindly, a smile in his voice.

Only then did she realize that she knew him, fortunate indeed. “Matthew?” Cordelia squinted through one eye, ensuring that she was not seeing things. He stood, holding out his hand to help her up with a grin. “Oh, Cousin! I thought that you were still in the country! I had no idea that we were to expect you this Season! What happy news!”

“It would be, but it seems that just as in childhood, our bumbling is worse around one another.” He laughed, putting her more at ease about the faux pas.

“It would seem so! Though, I do not know how many times I can possibly apologize for the accident that ended in you breaking your arm.”

“The ground came out of nowhere; I still maintain that.” Matthew grinned and placed his empty goblet on a passing footman’s tray. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, might I ask? If it can wait, I would be sorely tempted to test fate by asking you to dance.”

Cordelia could not help but laugh. “Sir, I fear your feet shall never recover from being trampled!”

Her cousin was such a kind man. It would bring her joy to dance with him, and she knew it. Were her mother somebody else, were they in a less influential setting, then perhaps she could have allowed herself to be a touch more indulgent. Cordelia answered with a sigh. “How about we leave this for a different time? I am my mother’s keeper this evening, it would seem.”

“How do you mean?”

It was a perfectly logical question to ask her, and yet she found herself hesitating. How was she supposed to explain the shift in her mother’s behavior? Before their father passed, they were a beloved and well-respected couple. How was she supposed to tell him that her mother was falling into a drinking stupor? The habit was bad enough, but actually voicing it out loud? She was not sure she could do that.

Matthew’s smile softened, his eyes impossibly kind as he easily shifted the conversation. “Perhaps we have a good deal more to catch up on than I originally assumed?”

“That… is one way of putting it.” Cordelia smiled softly. She was beyond grateful that he was not pressing the issue further.

“You will agree that there is no time like the present? You shall give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like this all the time, Cousin.” Matthew reached up, rubbing two fingers into the lines on her forehead as he urged her to calm down. “You deserve to have a little fun as well. Whatever tragedy that your mother is concocting can surely wait a few moments?”

As if on cue, a loud crash resounded from the other end of the room. Cordelia cast her cousin a pitying look, and he released her hand, nodding in understanding as she hurried toward the sound. There was a collective gasp from those around them, the crowd of gossiping busybodies moving to circle around the spectacle that filled Cordelia with shame and dread the moment it came into focus.

There her mother was, her hand on Lord Blithe’s chest, their host, as she slurred her words. “You know, my lord, I have always wondered what it might be like should you let your guard down.” Lavinia’s hands moved up to his collar, running a finger brazenly along his skin as if to loosen the fabric right there in front of all of these people. “I think that we could make this evening a good deal more fun. Interested?” Her cheeks were wine-reddened as she grinned. Lavinia’s eyes were half-lidded as she ran her tongue over her lips.

Shame curled low in Cordelia’s belly as the crowd noticed her, glancing from her to her mother and then hiding behind their fans.

We should have stayed home.

“Lady Salisbury! What do you think you are doing?” Lady Blithe gasped, using her closed fan to smack at Lavinia’s shoulders and arms as she lavished seemingly unwanted attention on the woman’s husband. Lady Blithe was ashen and paling as she glanced at the gawkers around them. This was going to be in every gossip sheet come morning. Both that Lavinia, the embarrassment of the ton, could not contain herself—and that Lady Blithe could no longer keep an eye on her own husband in their home. It would be disastrous.

“Lady Salisbury! Get off of him!” Lady Blithe protested once more; her teeth clenched. She glared daggers at Cordelia’s apologetic and sheepish smile as she moved forward to extricate her mother from the man who was not protesting half as vehemently as he ought to.

“I am so sorry! My mother is too deep in her cups… she is still very bereaved…” The words felt hollow as they left her mouth. She had said them so many times that it was so highly unlikely that anybody was going to believe them anymore.

“Do not speak for me!” Lavinia slurred as she attempted to push her daughter’s steady hands away from her. “I was merely jesting. It is not my fault that Lady Blithe is too self-absorbed to see that her husband is miserable.” She practically sneered at the hostess’ name as she waved her hands in a grand, dismissive gesture.

“Mama, please,” Cordelia hissed, hoping that her mother would take the hint. However, her gut told her that would not be the case.

“Get out. I knew that I never should have invited you. I thought that I was doing you and your mother a favor by inviting you! This is the thanks that I get?” Lady Blithe hissed.

It might have been kinder had she simply slapped her.

“Lord Blithe does not wish me to leave, does he?” Lavinia continued shamelessly winking at the hostess’ husband—who was not protesting nearly enough to satisfy his wife’s outrage.

“Of course, we are leaving! I… apologize once more, my lady,” Cordelia muttered lamely, her face burning as she half-dragged her mother through the ballroom, who giggled like a mad woman.

Cool night air wrapped around them the moment they were outside, and Cordelia shuddered against the assault on her senses. Lavinia curled into her daughter’s arms.

“Cordi… It is so cold…” Lavinia muttered, attempting to siphon warmth from her daughter. “Where is your father? If only… if only he had not left me, then he could have been here to keep me warm…”

“Father is gone, Mama. You know this,” Cordelia whispered, attempting to keep her temper in line as she waited for their carriage to be brought around to take them home.

“Selfish…” Lavinia hiccupped. “Selfish bastard. He left me all alone!”

She ought not to be angry with her mother. It was not her fault that her husband had killed himself. Their fortune had practically dried up overnight. Year after year, Cordelia had failed to secure a suitable husband who might have aided in their misfortunes. She knew that the fake tears were coming next. Lady Salisbury, when this drunk, tended to follow a predictable pattern.

A single hot tear rolled down Cordelia’s cheek but she quickly wiped it away.

When was it going to be her turn to mourn? Was this truly going to be her fate? A spinster forever destined to run after her mother, cleaning up all of her messes?

“I will have my revenge, Cordi, I will. That worthless man never should have left me!” Lavinia wailed, her voice carrying through the night and drawing the attention of the various footmen standing by their carriages.

“Could you cease, please? Just for a moment? You are the selfish one here!” Cordelia whispered sternly.

Lavinia turned, ready to fuss at her daughter, before seeing the look on her face. One solemn enough to sober her for just a moment.

“You are humiliating me. You are humiliating yourself, and you do not seem to care! I cannot fix this, Mama, you are ruining…” She paused, wiping another tear from her eye. “It is bad enough to insist on coming where we are so clearly not wanted. But, to drag me down with you?”

Lavinia’s mouth floundered as she struggled for words. She tried to stand on her own without leaning on her daughter for support and failed. No doubt she was ready to give another long-winded, blubbering excuse about how her actions were justified and that Cordelia simply could not understand what it was like to have to live with such a broken heart.

“No man shall ever wish to marry into such a disgraced family. What man will tolerate such belligerent behavior at all social events, Mama? You… you are hurting me with this behavior,” Cordelia said. There was no telling how much her mother was going to understand. There was no way to know if she would even remember their conversation in the morning after.

Cordelia dared to glance down at her mother, hoping for some flicker of understanding in the shorter woman’s eyes—but only defiance reflected there.

“Take me home at once! You cannot speak to me like this! I am your mother!” Lavinia started, her short burst of anger and indignation fading into child-like whines. “I am tired, Cordelia.”

The crunch of wheels on gravel was like a lifeline to her as their carriage was pulled around. They did not have much staff left to them as their estate was bordering disrepair, but at least their horses were still healthy enough to lead a carriage. For now, at least. Panic and dread overcame her—as it always did when she allowed herself to think about the future. Something her mother seemed to have wholly and utterly given up on.

With the assistance of their footman, she helped her mother into the carriage like a dutiful daughter.

She longed to go back inside and pretend that this was all some bad dream. But she was becoming less and less welcome among her peers with every passing week. Even her friends could not show their support for her in the ton anymore. Soon, she and her mother would be all alone—destitute.

As the carriage pulled away, her mother’s head hit the side of the carriage wall, her eyes already closed. Sleep would hold Lavinia for a day or two, Cordelia hoped.

We cannot go on like this.

Chapter Two

“Do you realize your crime?”

The only sound in the room apart from the crackle of the fireplace was the governess’ soft sobs. Dorian Hashen, Duke of Davenport, understood what it was that she was hoping to accomplish. Every few moments, she would glance up at him from her position on the floor with overly widened eyes, hoping to appeal to his better nature and be released with an inferior punishment.

Unfortunately for her, he did not have a better nature.

“P-please, Your Grace… I did not… I shall never do this again!” The woman blustered, fat tears making tracks down her red face. He would not be moved. Least of all by pathetic displays of emotion.

“What should your punishment be, hm?” Dorian mused, easing back into his chair. He plucked at the worn leather of the armrest idly, not even bothering to look at her as he spoke. “Flogging? Imprisonment? Or, perhaps, you would rather share the late duke’s fate?”

Only then did he look at her. He enjoyed the way her face paled, the fear entering her eyes.

Dorian’s reputation for patricide was renowned. Everybody in the ton assumed that the only reason he inherited his title at such a young age was because he murdered his father in cold blood to get it. The governess in front of him was well aware of that same reputation, judging by the sheer panic on her features. She ought to have known better than to cross him. Knowing that his reputation preceded him, why anyone would dare to test him was beyond him.

“I shall never do it again, Your Grace, please, I beg of your—show mercy!”

“I do not think that you have earned any mercy. Your acts were willful and deliberate,” Dorian answered, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees.

“Your Grace, perhaps if we asked—”

Dorian’s gaze cut sideways over to where his butler stood on the side of the room. His hands were respectfully clasped in front of him, and the moment he realized Dorian was looking at him, he stopped speaking immediately. Dorian’s hand lifted, two fingers gesturing to the butler to stop speaking. This quarrel was not with him, and while he sympathized with the older man’s conscience, it would not serve him here. The butler’s mouth snapped shut, and it only took half a moment before the governess seemed to understand that her only possible ally in this interrogation feared the duke just as much as she did. The woman fell forward, her body bowed in front of her, her hands clasped together in some form of prayer as she muttered her apology over and over again.

If nothing else, he hoped that her fear would cause her to think twice before ever harming another child again.

Dorian’s lip curled upward, derision clear on his face as he leaned back in his chair. He flicked his wrist for the butler to collect her. “Get her out of my sight. Don’t you ever set foot on my lands again.”

The relief was instant as the governess started to utter words of gratitude and praise the moment the butler lifted her off of the ground, half dragging her. The moment that she was on her feet, she scrambled so quickly out of the room, that Dorian was certain that it was not going to occur to her that she had left all of her belongings until she had run off of his grounds entirely.

The butler stood silent for a long moment, staring at the open drawing-room door and the wake of the terrified woman.

“Your Grace, did you have to be so hard on her?”

Dorian’s brow arched as he looked at the man who had served his family for longer than he cared to remember. It was the only reason that he was allowed to say such things to him. He did not care for his judgment or choices to be called into question.

Not even a beat later, his youngest footman came running into the room so swiftly that his shoes squeaked against the polished floor. “Your Grace! You were right about her! We have recovered two golden gilded candlesticks from the governess’ bag!”

Dorian’s lips wore the ghost of a smirk as he waved his hand at the butler as if to say, ‘see?’.

“Your Grace, she must have had her reasons… she…” The butler appealed, but Dorian was in no mood to be heard.

He rose from his seat fluidly and started toward the front door. “Summon the constables. Have the horse master ride out and catch her. I will not allow her transgression to be dismissed now that the evidence is right in front of us.”

“Your Grace­–” The butler started once more, and Dorian rounded on him.

“If it were your grandson, Monty, would you allow a worm of a woman to lay a hand upon him? To steal from him?” Dorian hissed through clenched teeth. “I think not.”

His words were practically a snarl as the footman walked backward slowly to carry out his orders.

“Dorian, I think you have done more than enough already!”

Dorian paused in the foyer, his sister’s voice giving him pause as she hurried down the main staircase, her slippers a soft whisper against the carpet runner. Dorian’s tongue ran over his teeth.

“George is your son, Mary, and you wish to allow this woman to harm him and get away with it?”

“He is all right, Dorian. You can just let her go, firing her without a recommendation should be enough of a punishment.”

“She beat my nephew, Mary!”

Of all the people in the world, his sister and nephew were the only ones not afraid of him. Mary was the only one who did not shrink or recoil when his voice was raised. Perhaps the only one who could stand toe to toe with him, yelling back, that would not invoke his particular ire.

A fact she was currently exploiting.

“It was but a few lashes, Dorian! He is all right!”

“I will not tolerate such abuse under my roof!” Dorian shouted, his face only inches from hers. “That cycle shall not be repeated in this home, Mary! I told you when we buried Father, there shall be no more pain in this home. The walls have seen enough violence! Or do you not remember?”

Mary flinched.

Of course, she remembered. He could see it in her face. The pair of them wore more than their share of scars over the battered and ruined skin of their backs and thighs from their father’s sadistic whippings. Georgie was but a six-year-old child, and no child deserved to be harmed for their transgressions. He did not care what his crime might have been.

“Our father ruled by fear. He demanded blind obedience, or he beat it into us. How is that any different than the tactics that you are employing today, Brother? You ought to be careful lest you become more like him than you realize.” Mary finished, turning sharply on her heel and starting to head back upstairs.

“You are mistaken. I shall never become like that bastard, and I certainly shall never have children. This bloodline ends with me.”

Mary paused on the stairs, her hand delicately resting on the banister. “You should not say such things.” She turned slowly, her chin angled over her shoulder. “Normally, when you are in better control of your temper, you are a wonderful uncle to Georgie. You would be a good father, Dorian.”

Dorian scoffed. “What man in his right mind would be willing to risk passing on this madness gene to a poor child? That would be true cruelty.”

“There is no such thing as a madness gene, do you even hear yourself?” Mary said, brandishing her arm in his direction. “Our father was a cruel man, Dorian. But he was just a man. You need to find something to channel this…” she gestured to his chest. “Energy. Or, perhaps, I do not know… take a wife. Perhaps that would give you something to occupy your time with and thaw out that frozen heart of yours.”

“Oh, do not mistake my issues, sister. It is not that I have a heart of ice. It is that I possess no heart at all.”

***

Dorian had already indulged deeply in his cups well before he arrived at White’s. It was perhaps a poor choice of location, given the sheer amount of people that had chosen this evening to frequent the club. It was such a rare thing that Dorian actually wished to be around people. Tonight, it was not so much a desire to be social that motivated his actions, but rather, a need not to be idle. He could not stay in that house for a moment longer, listening to his sister’s needling comments. She was already cross enough with him for refusing to attend the Blithe’s ball. The last thing he needed was to spend his night being performative and false in his actions and words.

No, he needed to drink at least until his mind had found a healthy numb to level him out.

“Whiskey,” Dorian ordered as he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the attendant near the door. “And keep them coming.”

He did not pause to hear the words of greeting or welcome. He merely wandered into the main room, where men gathered around small tables, playing cards or conversing softly. There was a layer of smoke in the air from the pipe tobacco, and the lighting was mercifully dim. It made the roaring inside of his skull softer and easier to manage.

“Your Grace! Over here!” Patrick Hislop rose from his seat to motion him over to the table where he was surrounded by Dorian’s acquaintances. Rhysand, Duke of Huxton, and Xander Harrison, Duke of Larsen.

Dorian did not consider himself the sort of man to have friends, but these gentlemen were some recent acquaintances at White’s. As Dorian joined them, an attendant brought his glass of whiskey to the table on a small napkin. It appeared that Xander and Patrick were in the middle of a heated debate about something that he could not find the energy to care about as he nodded to Rhysand in greeting.

“Long time no see, Davenport.” Rhysand seemed unaffected by the lack of answer as he began collecting the cards from their table and shuffling them so that they could start a new round that would include Dorian as well.

“Have they been squawking all night?” Dorian asked, his voice low as he nodded his head toward the arguing couple.

No sooner had he commented than the argument paused. Xander blinked at him as if seeing a ghost.

“He speaks?” He reached out and grabbed Dorian’s shoulder, which Dorian swiftly pulled away from. “I had no idea that you were capable, Davenport. I thought that your emotional range was limited to brooding and staring judgmentally.”

Dorian’s brow arched as he sipped his whiskey. “If that is what you think, why do you think teasing such a man would be a wise choice?”

“Perhaps I simply enjoy the thrill of walking such a dangerous line,” Xander continued.

Dorian noted that Xander’s glass was empty. “Do not push your luck. There are a great many things that you do not know about me.”

Xander shook his head with a laugh before speaking sarcastically. “Color me intimidated.”

Drunk or not, there was no reason to mock him. Dorian paused, waiting for the man to apologize.

Xander sighed, his hand raking down his face. “Normally, I would be glad to take this outside. But I promised my wife that I would be on my best behavior. Eleanor has forbidden me from fighting.”

Dorian snorted. He could not fathom allowing a woman to have that sort of control over his life.

“Perhaps we ought to return to more interesting topics of conversation? Hm?” Patrick interjected, motioning for Rhysand to hurry up and deal the cards already. “I was speculating as to Lady Salisbury’s motivations for her conduct at the ball earlier.”

Salisbury? The name was so familiar to him. He tried for a moment to summon the image of a face to his mind but was drawing a blank.

“To whom do you refer?” Dorian asked, unable to help himself despite not normally bothering with such gossip.

“Lady Salisbury? Quite the fall from grace. She and her daughter both. I cannot imagine my wife or child attending ball after ball if I were to have died and left them on the brink of ruin like her husband has. No amount of misfortune can excuse her conduct though, that much is for certain…” Patrick commented as he took his hand of cards.

The pieces clicked into place, and Dorian sobered nearly instantly.

Bile rose in the back of his throat as guilt gripped him. Of course, he remembered that man.

Lord Salisbury.

Dorian was the one responsible for the Marquess’ death.

And apparently, for his family’s misfortune.

Chapter Three

“My lady? I apologize for interrupting your work, but we have a visitor.”

A visitor?

Cordelia sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Her dress was covered in soil. Her brunette hair was unkempt and messy. The very last thing she wished to do in her current state was to entertain guests. They were not expecting callers, so she did not even have the faintest idea of who it could be.

“They are here, now?” Cordelia breathed, resting back on her heels.

“Yes, my lady. Your mother has said to receive them in the parlor.”

Oh no.

Why did it have to be today of all days? The first time that she actually carved out time for herself to be in her garden was bound to be interrupted. Beside her was a basket of bulbs that she was supposed to finish planting. She had not even gotten to the flowers yet, let alone the herbs. The afternoon sun was at its warmest, and Cordelia desperately wished to make the best of the light while she had it. Spending the afternoon indoors, making idle conversation while attempting to ensure that her mother did not make a further fool of them both, did not sound like fun.

Pulling her bonnet from her hair and pushing as many flyaway hairs from her face as she could, she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky. She let the sun warm her skin and settle her mind. It was the first time she had felt so calm and at peace since the ball.

Might as well get this over with.

Cordelia dropped her garden spade and pulled her gloves from her hands. She untied her apron from her dress and handed it and the gloves to the servant. “Who is it?”

“The Duke of Davenport, my lady,” she answered, folding the apron carefully. “Should I take over the planting for you?”

Cordelia forced a smile that did not quite meet her eyes. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Either way, the work had to be done today. She just wished she could be the one to do it.

“Shall I help you change first?”

“Change?” Cordelia tilted her head to the side in confusion and then looked down at the state of her dress. The hem was at least two inches in the dirt, and bits clung even to her bodice. Oh, she supposed that would be wise, would it not? The last thing that she needed was to cause further damage to their reputation by the guest reporting that she could not even manage to be clean inside of her own house. “Yes, I will summon Ann to help me, though, so that you can finish up here.”

“As you wish, my lady.” The maid smiled and gave her a small bow.

Cordelia turned to head back inside, attempting to wipe any excess soil or bits of plant that clung to her arms. She pulled her wide-brimmed hat from her head and tucked it under her arm. If she had known that they would have had guests, she would have planned better.

Halfway down the hall, she could hear her mother’s loud giggling. She sounded borderline unhinged for the way she was laughing at her own jokes. When had she started drinking this morning? It felt surreal. Was she truly going to have to look after the woman every hour of every day? She certainly hoped not.

There would be no time to change, after all. She would have to intervene straight away to ensure that the mother did not do anything too scandalous.

She did not wait to be announced before stepping into the parlor; her mother was pouring herself another drink from an empty bottle as she swayed in place. Cordelia crossed directly to her mother, pulled the empty bottle from her hands, and escorted the older woman to the couch to sit.

“Lady Cordelia, I presume?”

Cordelia straightened. “Yes, I apologize for my mother’s behavior—she is… grieving.”

She had said that phrase so many times now that it no longer felt like they were actually words. Only when her mother was settled and grinning did she turn to greet the duke—and was taken aback. He was so tall she only came up to eye level with his chest, and his shoulders were nearly double her size. Clean-shaven, brown hair and the most stunning honey-brown eyes looked back at her. He wore no smile, nothing more than a quizzical brow as he waited for whatever she was going to say next. Though, it took her a moment to remember that she was capable of speech in his presence.

His eyes drank her in, absorbing every detail of her as they raked down her frame. However, the moment he landed on how dirty her dress was, she could practically feel the judgment rolling off of him.

“Did you have business with my mother, Your Grace?”

“Only in so far as I came to ask for your hand in marriage.”

The words were so blunt that she laughed without thinking. The sound was a soft chuff of air between them as she blinked incredulously at him. Perhaps the reaction could be considered a touch rude, but she had been taken so off guard by the suggestion. Surely, he would claim to be joking or teasing her for some reason she could not guess. Only, he did not smile. There was not even the smallest hint of emotion on his handsome face. “Wait, I beg your pardon?”

“No pardon required, my lady. I apologize if this comes as a surprise to you. I simply wished to make my intentions clear, and I do not much care for beating around the bush.”

Cordelia was frozen in place, but Lavinia chose that moment to come to her senses. “Marriage?” she shook her head a touch too vehemently. “My daughter is not for sale, Your Grace!” She hiccupped and paused to compose herself. In a rare moment of sobriety, she continued. “I know perfectly well of your reputation, and I shall not have my daughter cavorting with the likes of you! We may not be as proud as we once were… but… but…”

“Everyone has their price. Name yours,” the duke answered dryly.

This could not be happening. They were not about to haggle over her worth right in front of her face. “I am standing right here, you know.”

Neither party acknowledged that they could hear her if they could.

Though, it was nice to have her mother on her side for this.

“She is my daughter! You cannot–”

“How about a lifetime supply of the liquor of your choosing?” The duke offered; his face still unreadable.

Cordelia laughed bitterly, her arms crossing over her chest. She had never heard such a ludicrous offer in her entire three-and-twenty years of life. “Your Grace! This is ridiculous! If you think that my mother would–”

Lady Salisbury perked, hopping up off of the settee and extending her hand happily to the duke. “Well, then, we are in agreement!”

Cordelia had to scoop her jaw up off of the floor. “Mama! You cannot be serious? You will not sell me for a few bottles!”

She gestured widely to the duke, who had just the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips. How could he be so shameless as to make such an offer? She had never been so insulted, never been made to feel so cheap, in her life. Which, given how things had been going for her recently, was saying something.

“Quiet, Cordi, we are talking about your future with this lovely and generous duke here,” Lavinia continued, her whole demeanor shifting. Lavinia took the duke’s arm, stroking it affectionately. “We shall start planning straight away! We have so much to do if you wish to be married by the end of the Season!”

“I see no reason that we should have to wait that long.”

“Well, then! Let us sit and have some tea, and we can discuss dowry and salary requirements! You see, my need for funds has…” Lavinia gushed, attempting to pull the duke toward the tea table.

Cordelia would not listen to any more of this. She had endured so much humiliation on her mother’s behalf, and this was truly the icing on the cake. Her hands balled into fists at her side. She was not going to stand here and listen to them haggle over details as if she were invisible. Clearly, she was not to be considered when making such important choices for her own future. The whole ordeal was wholly and utterly preposterous.

She turned so quickly on her heel that it left a scuff mark on the polished floor. Space. She needed space. She just needed a moment to breathe. She would not allow herself to cry, but she felt so damned hopeless that she did not know what to do with herself. It would appear that her mother truly had no tact, no limits left that she was unwilling to stoop to. The drinking addiction had consumed everything that her mother once was. She attempted to wipe her hands clean on her skirts as she walked. The first door that she came across, she flung it open and nearly hurled herself into the room, throwing the door shut behind her. However, it did not slam as she intended—instead, it smacked against something, and she whirled to see a man’s hand on the lip of the door.

The duke’s large frame took up most of the doorway as he stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind him gently. She had not even noticed that he had followed her out of the room in the first place! Cordelia whirled, her eyes widening as he closed most of the distance between them in a single stride. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“What are you doing? You cannot be in here!” She yelped, her voice higher pitched than she would have liked. She wished she could have told him off soundly. She could not be alone in a closed room with a man! “If you do not leave at once, I… I shall scream!”

The corner of the duke’s lips quirked upward, and he closed the rest of the distance between them, his hand covering the lower half of her face with ease as he pushed her up against the closest wall. Her hands scrambled for purchase, for something to defend herself with, but could not reach even the closest bookshelf.

“Be my guest. I can think of several ways to quiet you, Little Flower.” The duke’s gaze looked near ravenous as it dropped to her body. “Though, I am not sure you will like them.”

The quiet, reserved charm that he had had in the parlor was gone—replaced with something far darker.

Panic made her bold.

Her hands braced against the duke’s firm chest as she attempted to push him away from her. He would not budge. He was so much larger than her that she had no chance of getting away without his permission. Slowly, his hand left her face, resting on the wall on either side of her head.

“T-this is indecent, Your Grace! We cannot be unchaperoned!”

He shrugged, just a lift of one shoulder. “I do not care much for such trivial rules,” he paused, taking in every detail of her face. “Besides, I think that your mother is quite fond of me already.”

“And which version of you is supposed to be the real one? The falsely charming one, or this brutish one?” Cordelia snapped, her anger palpable in the air between them. “You do not fool me, Your Grace, and you will find that I am not so easily bought, either.”

“Is that right?” The duke asked.

“Yes! Even if my mother has consented to this engagement, I have made no such vows. I am well aware of your reputation, and I shall not be shackled to the sort of man that you are.”

His fingers curled, lifting her chin to look at him, and she could not bring herself to tear her eyes away.

“And what sort of man am I?”

It was hard to breathe properly when he looked at her like that. A sadistic sort of amusement glinted in his eyes. She did not think that she could bring herself to run from him even if she had had the space to do so. If only he were not so painfully handsome, then he would not be so distracting!

“You…. you are a killer. Everyone says so…” She breathed.

It dawned on her a moment too late how foolish it was to accuse him of such things in a situation like this one. If he were indeed a killer, she could be risking sending him into a rage. If he were not, then she was gravely offending him with accusations. Neither of which was going to allow this exchange to end in her favor.

The duke smirked, an incredulous sound leaving his lips before he pressed his lips to hers.

She thought to pull her face away, but she could not will herself to do so.

This was not at all how she imagined her first kiss.

Only, his grip on her face shifted. Instead of lifting her chin, he cupped her jaw in his hand and held her in place as his lips softened against her own. Every thought eddied out of her head, leaving a buzzing silence and the sharp awareness of his lips against her own. Her body responded on its own. She swore it did as she found herself kissing him back.

The hands she had been pushing him away with softened, and he absorbed every inch of leeway that she gave him. A man who insulted her so deeply ought not to feel so nice pressed against her; his lips had no right to make her feel so sinfully good.

When he broke from her lips, she could not open her eyes right away.

“Does that change your opinion of me?” He asked softly, his voice as gentle as a caress.

Cordelia shook her head. Her eyes lifted, heavily lidded as she could not stop feeling the force of his lips against hers despite the distance between them. “You should… you ought to find somebody else to marry. Leave my mother and I alone.”

Surely, he did not make a habit of cornering women and kissing them. Why was he so interested in her in the first place?

“No, my lady, you are the only one that I wish to make my duchess.”

“Why… Why me?”

“Let us just say that I knew your father,” he answered as his thumb brushed over her cheek, sending goosebumps down her spine.

It was almost as if he made it his job to be as cryptic as possible.

How did he know her father? If that were true, why did she not remember him at her father’s funeral? She would have certainly taken note of a man who looked the way that he did.

“I cannot marry you,” she insisted, though her words did not even sound convincing to herself.

No, Cordelia, do not look at his lips!

“And why not? Shall I convince you some more?” The duke teased, leaning down once more.

Oh, she was sorely tempted to let him. She had not felt so desired in her life. It was so nice to feel something other than shame and worry. Her mind begged her to let go of her control for just a moment—to feel again.

No, I will not be a slave to my desires.

“I am already being courted by another,” she lied firmly. “That is where my heart lies.”

The duke shook his head like he could see right through her. He brushed his knuckles down the side of her neck, trailing the line of her shoulder. “No,” he said confidently. “You may like whoever you choose, Little Flower, but you belong to me.”

“I… I do not!” She spat as indignation and something else welled up inside of her. He traced the line of soft skin back up her neck, his thumb resting on her pulse point. “I certainly will never be yours!”

The duke’s answering smile was not kind. “You are a terrible liar. And we will marry before the week’s end.”