15. A Bargain with the Duke

A BARGAIN WITH THE DUKE

M elanie’s eyes darted to the clock on the mantel, feeling more uncertain with each passing minute. The delicate hands ticked forward, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence of the withdrawing room.

“It’s been nearly two hours,” Goldie said, her voice edged with anxiety. “What on earth can they be discussing?

Caroline, who had been perched restlessly on the edge of her chair, leapt up and paced to the mantel once more. Her fingers grazed the polished wood as she paused to stare into the hearth—before pivoting sharply and striding back to the bookshelf. It was a well-worn path by now. “I swear, if they’re discussing other business, I’ll strangle them all,” she muttered.

The withdrawing room, usually a place of comfort, felt stifling—a reflection of the tense atmosphere that had settled over the house.

“The duke will make an offer,” their mother stated from where she had sat peacefully since Reed and Lord Helton had left for their meeting. Seemingly unbothered, her attention hardly left the book that was propped in her lap as she turned a page with a quiet rustle.

How could she be reading at a time like this? Melanie thought just a touch hysterically.

From the time Melanie took her morning tea, Caroline, Josephine, and Goldie had spent an inordinate amount of time fussing over Melanie’s appearance. Despite Melanie’s protests, they had pinned her hair into a more elaborate style than usual, adjusted her gown repeatedly, and insisted that she sit in her favorite chair by the window, where the sunlight would highlight the decorative beads on her gown. Too much time had passed, and Melanie’s legs were jumpy, her back stiff.

How many times had she sat here before, finding peace in the familiar view?

There was no peace today.

She would rather be anywhere but here, sitting idle—waiting for her fate to be decided in a meeting that she was, most unfairly, barred from attending.

“How long does it take to draft up a marriage contract, anyway?” Josie asked the obvious question.

“Not this long,” Caroline snapped, her tone more cutting than usual. “One would think they were over there setting up a compact between two warring countries.”

Goldie forced a tense smile. “It is a bit absurd, isn’t it?” she murmured, glancing toward Melanie as if trying to read her thoughts. “I mean, what is there to discuss?”

Melanie ignored them both and bit her bottom lip. The longer they were gone, the more certain she became that the duke wasn’t going to cooperate.

Did she want him to cooperate?

Desperate to distract herself, she reached for the pencil and paper on the small table beside her chair.

“Do you want me to fetch your writing desk?” Josie asked, watching her curiously from across the room.

“No.” But she didn’t look up.

And her hand was shaking as she wrote a numeral one at the top of the page.

Surely, aside from a proposal of marriage, there had to be other ways to salvage her family’s honor. But that was as far as she got. Before she wrote a single word, a deluge of problems flooded her mind.

Primarily, the gossip. According to Caroline, both the London Enquirer and the Courier mentioned the kerfuffle at the ball last night—embellishing on the truth so that people would believe Melanie and the duke had been rolling around in a heated embrace.

Which was only partly accurate.

She closed her eyes.

Melanie dared not imagine what was being said in aristocratic drawing rooms all over Mayfair.

With nothing to add to her list, Melanie’s gaze drifted to the window. She could, of course, leave London and return to Breaker’s Cottage—her childhood home. It was isolated, but comfortable, and filled with memories of better times. She could envision herself there, blissfully ostracized and forgotten, but she knew that retreat wouldn’t protect her family. The stain of scandal—although nothing more than a massive misunderstanding—would still cling to them.

Even as she dismissed the idea, movement from across the street caught her eye. Leaning forward, she watched as the door to Preston Hall swung open, revealing Helton and Reed as they stepped outside.

Her breath stalled for a moment, caught between hope and dread.

But, oh, no, they were not alone. Another man emerged behind them, his tall figure unmistakable against the stark gray of the street. He paused on the threshold, looking both resolute and impossibly distant, before following Reed and Lord Helton across the street.

The Duke of Malum was coming here.

Melanie’s mouth went dry. Her fingers tightened around the pencil until it nearly snapped.

“Thank heavens,” Caroline said. Goldie clasped her hands together, and Josie let out a little squeal.

“What do we do now?” Josephine asked, her voice high with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

Their mother, however, remained perfectly still, annoyingly calm. “We offer him tea, of course,” she said with a certain gravity. “And once that’s over, we’ll leave the happy couple alone for him to make his offer.”

The words hung in the air, no one questioning them. It sounded so simple, but Melanie’s stomach twisted violently, because she couldn’t… It was impossible!

She had to resist the urge to dash upstairs and hide in her room.

But no.

Everyone expected her to meet with him, and to accept his proposal.

Although she still wasn’t completely convinced that he would, and there was one small part of her that still hoped they could fix all of this without having to resort to an engagement. But she wouldn’t know for sure until she actually talked with him.

So, she straightened her back and nodded just as heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. Moments later, they entered the drawing room, and Reed’s eyes quickly found Melanie, a flicker of concern breaking through his hardened expression. Helton, more composed, touched Caroline’s shoulder briefly before turning his gaze back toward the door.

Behind them, the Duke of Malum stepped into the room. His eyes remained steady, fixed on Melanie with a directness that made her feel far too exposed.

“Won’t you join us for tea, Your Grace?” Lady Roland asked.

“Thank you, but no.” He dipped his chin, acknowledging Melanie’s mother. “I’d like a word with your daughter.” His gaze flicked toward the window, not looking at any of them. “Lady Melanie.”

The rejection of this simple civility only heightened the awkwardness in the room. Reed shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he glanced between Melanie and the duke. Helton, always more adept at social niceties, stepped forward with a semblance of formality as he addressed everyone else.

“Shall we allow the couple a moment alone?” he asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

After glancing between one another, a beat of silence hung in the air, just before her family erupted into a flurry of activity. Goldie approached Melanie and reached out to give her arm a gentle squeeze. “It will be fine,” she whispered.

But will it?

Josie sent Melanie a wince before disappearing, and Caroline, determined to maintain an air of confidence, gave a tight smile. “You can do this,” she murmured, and then leaned down to whisper, “We’ll be right outside.”

Before Melanie could offer any objections, her entire family had filed out, not quite closing the door behind them.

She waited until the silence settled, but before she could speak, the duke crossed the room and pulled the door shut firmly.

“I don’t imagine you slept well,” he said when he crossed back to the fireplace. “So I won’t bother asking.”

She felt her jaw relax at the almost casual tone of his remark. What ought to feel terribly awkward, suddenly didn’t feel awkward at all. There was a peculiar ease between the two of them, and left alone, her mood inexplicably shifted.

“Won’t you sit down?” she asked. Her smile was tight, but without her entire family’s eyes upon her, her throat seemed to loosen. The words didn’t feel quite so heavy.

The duke studied her for a moment, then crossed the room with that familiar, confident stride. Then, turning one of the high-backed chairs so that it faced hers, he made himself comfortable.

"You’re being remarkably calm about this," he remarked, arching a brow.

Melanie’s lips twitched. “Perhaps it’s the shock,” she replied, only half joking.

She met his gaze directly, noticing tiny flecks of blue in his silver eyes. In all the time she’d been watching the street—his house—she never, not in a thousand years, could have imagined becoming friendly with him. Let alone…

He grimaced. “Bloody impossible situation.”

“It is.” Did her voice sound as breathy to him as it did in her own ears?

They were silent for a moment, the mantel clock ticking steadily in the background. And then the duke leaned forward, shaking his head. “Nothing good ever happens at a ball, right?”

“You didn’t even get to dance.” Was she teasing him, or simply delaying the inevitable?

His brows shot up, and she thought she spied a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

But then he exhaled and frowned. “According to your brother, I am at fault for last night’s... incident.”

“Well, you were the one who followed me into that library,” she interjected, all joking aside.

“Because I owed you an apology—for taking steps to prevent you from risking your reputation again.”

It was Melanie’s turn to stare at him in disbelief.

She could have sworn she caught a flicker of sheepishness on his face—though with him, it was hard to tell.

“Look how that turned out,” Melanie insisted, a little irritated. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have been forced to reenter Society. And if not for that…”

Pausing, she tilted her head.

“Right,” he said, drawing the word out longer than necessary.

Staring back at her, his mouth was set in a thoughtful line, the faintest hint of a smile pinching the corner, as though he found her arguments both frustrating and amusing. “But you were the one who fell—would you have preferred it if I hadn’t rescued you?”

This point wasn’t as easy for Melanie to argue. Because, yes, she had been the one to trip on her gown, and no, she would not have preferred to fall into the fire.

Her cheeks warmed at the memory. “No,” she admitted. “And I do appreciate you protecting me—in that instance.”

“Instead of laying into me like he did, your brother should have thanked me,” he went on. “Though I daresay the scandal wouldn’t have been any less severe had you landed in those flames.”

A strange sort of laugh bubbled up in her throat—unexpected, almost absurd. Because half her family had perished in a fire.

Perhaps she was, in fact, in a state of shock.

“News of my death might have made the papers, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as juicy,” she said. To Society, the scandal between her and Malum was far more titillating.

The duke didn’t laugh as she half-expected, but kept his stare steady, his eyes looking darker than usual. She watched as his throat moved, and when he spoke, his voice sounded grave. “I, for one, am glad I was there to catch you. I can live with the consequences of saving you.” His brows furrowed…

A little flutter spiraled around her chest, and she had to shift slightly in her chair in an effort to refocus. “So, what are we to do now?” she asked, attempting a more businesslike tone.

“I don’t see any way out of it.” The duke stared at his hands, loosely clasped, his elbows braced on his knees. “We’ll have to marry.”

Staring at the top of his head, Melanie blinked. And then blinked again.

Until that moment, she hadn’t truly believed that he would, in fact, make her an offer.

“We don’t have to.”

He lifted his gaze, eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“Well, you don’t really want to marry me, do you?” When he didn’t answer, but stared at her, looking incredulous, she just shook her head. “But that’s beside the point. There must be some other way out of this. You are a duke, after all—surely that counts for something…?”

And then… inspiration struck, and Melanie drew a slow breath while she gathered her thoughts. But of course. “You are the Duke of Malum ,” she said.

He tilted his head, a stray lock of ebony hair curling around his cheek. “I know the ton isn’t known for its intellect, but I assumed even they have grasped that particular fact.”

“No. I mean—” She rushed to explain herself. “You are not just any duke—you are a duke who has opened a brothel . And I know people say that you’ve been banished, or shunned, rather. It’s actually the opposite, isn’t it?”

He stared at her in that way that allowed her to continue.

“By making it known that you’ve offered for me.” She was feeling a little breathless. “ In a show of honor, you become like the… like the prodigal son! People love a redemption story, after all. If we’re seen together—publicly and properly—an announcement might be enough to shift the narrative. From all of my family’s indiscretions to…”

“To me.”

Melanie nodded. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? “After the Season ends, I’ll cry off.” It might just be enough…

“I told Standish I’d marry you,” he said, but then he paused, apparently considering her suggestion. While waiting for him to say more, Melanie tried to read his thoughts, quite unsuccessfully. There wasn’t even a flicker of expression on the sharp lines of his cheeks.

“I’m not sure which would be worse,” he finally said. “Attending ton events as your fiancé—a lost sheep who has returned—or simply going ahead with a private ceremony.” The word “fiancé” sounded strange coming from him.

Melanie’s skin tingled with excitement though, because he seemed to think that her idea was… plausible. “A bit of pretending—that’s all it should take. There are only a few weeks left in the Season. And then, we’ll simply call it off over the summer. After that, I’ll stay in the country, and you can go right back to being… well, you.”

His lips curved slightly, a rare smile that seemed to transform his entire face. “How very pragmatic of you.” But he scrubbed a hand down his face.

Melanie held her breath.