16. A Scheme

A SCHEME

M alum wasn’t joking. The thought of actually getting married held more appeal than enduring Society’s suffocating ballrooms and drawing rooms—places he’d sworn off years ago.

Marriage, at least, would be a straightforward arrangement.

But this scheme wouldn’t simply demand his presence in Society. It would require him to play the part convincingly, enough to lend respectability to their engagement. That meant polite conversation, attending festivities, and enduring the company of women who had only ever offered him thin smiles. Worse still, he’d have to tolerate their hypocritical husbands—the so-called gentlemen who passed judgment by day but paid handsomely for their nights at the Domus .

The thought was almost unbearable.

Oddly enough, the notion of taking a wife was far less daunting. Simpler, cleaner—at least in theory.

By marrying, he could essentially go on with his life, business as usual.

Of course, there was the matter of Lady Melanie herself. The idea of having her at his side, or in his bed, wasn’t without its appeal. There was something disarmingly honest, alluring, about her presence.

Lady Melanie all but squirmed in her chair, leaning forward just enough to draw Malum’s gaze to her neckline. It reminded him of the far more revealing view he’d had the night before.

She was so innocent, she had no idea of the image she presented. Malum studied her closely. There was a trusting light in her eyes, yet her lush mouth hinted at untapped sensuality.

But she had been raised in the country, sheltered from the depravity that lurked in London’s shadows.

…you don’t really want to marry me, do you?

Of course she’d be reluctant to marry a man who ran a brothel. Any sane woman would be.

As the Duchess of Malum, she and her family would be protected from scandal, but they’d also carry a stigma that, until now, had belonged solely to him.

“You can’t really think marriage would be easier,” she pressed.

“For me, it would.” But it wouldn’t be for her.

She narrowed her eyes. “If marriage is the best solution, why did it take Reed and Lord Helton over two hours to convince you to make your offer?”

Malum shook his head. “No one convinced me of anything.”

His gaze lingered on her hair—rich chocolate curls with hints of caramel where the sunlight caught them. Today, her tresses were swept into a more intricate chignon than the night before, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

Shaking off the thought, he let his eyes drift downward, taking in the way her gown accentuated a figure he’d only begun to truly notice when she had landed in his lap the night before.

Although… that wasn’t entirely true. He’d noticed. He just hadn’t allowed himself to appreciate it. Until now.

But she was watching him. “You can’t really want to marry me—you don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I?” he countered, touching the back of his thumb to his chin.

“What can you possibly know?”

“I know,” he spoke softly, “that you are curious and compassionate—quieter than most, and perhaps a little clumsy, but you are not afraid to stand your ground.”

She blinked. “I haven’t always been quiet.”

Her voice was rich, with a warm edge that lingered pleasantly in his ears. He found it curious, really, how easily she was using it, considering Helton’s insistence that she’d struggled with speech ever since the deaths of damn near half her family.

And yet, here she was, conversing freely.

“Your struggles began after the fire?”

She nodded.

“You witnessed it?”

Another nod. “I… was there.”

Malum stilled, feeling as though she was peeling back a secret layer of herself, something she hadn’t been able to share with others. If she had seen the fire, and her brother had come under suspicion for starting it, then, logically, she ought to be able to confirm his innocence.

But she hadn’t.

And there must have been enormous pressure for her to do so. Could the fact that Malum, and Ernest for that matter, had no stake in any of it, explain why she could speak around him?

But she was already changing the subject. “Even if you think you know me, I hardly know you.”

She was reluctant to marry him, understandably. Marriage certainly hadn’t been in his plans. The only reason he’d argue the point was the promise he’d made to her damn brother.

“I am exactly who you think I am,” he said, the words clipped and deliberate. He paused, letting them hang in the air between them. She’d once said she expected him to be a monster—only to admit he wasn’t what she imagined. That memory lingered, tugging at something he couldn’t quite name.

He tightened his mouth. For reasons he didn’t entirely understand, he felt compelled to give her something in return. She had shared something of herself, after all.

“Society loved my father.” The words came out harder than he intended, bitter and sharp against the quiet.

Her head tilted at his abrupt change of subject, but she didn’t interrupt. She was waiting. And, against his better judgment, he kept going.

“And he loved Society—more than anything else.” Malum kept his tone carefully casual. “More than he loved my mother. More than the women he kept... more than his sons.” He shrugged, as if the admission meant nothing. “There. Now you know something about me.”

Ah, hell.

Enduring Society for a few weeks might, in fact, be easier than marrying Lady Melanie Rutherford. It would definitely be safer.

If a temporary betrothal was what she wanted, who was he to insist on more?

“We can try it your way—a fake betrothal,” he conceded. It might just work, after all. The arrangement offered a convenient remedy, one with no lasting consequences—at least, that was the hope.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice hesitant. “You’re surprisingly willing to listen to reason.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, sounding dry.

Malum stared down at his hands. This conversation, like most of his interactions with this unusual woman, had veered wildly off course. Nothing had gone according to plan.

He must be losing his edge.

“So what should we tell my family?” she asked.

“Just that we’re engaged,” he replied. The fewer who knew the truth, the better. “I’m not sure your mother is equipped to keep this kind of secret.”

Her expression turned sad. “So you’ve heard about her… behavior?”

“Helton mentioned it.” Lady Roland was a liability, no doubt. But despite what he’d read in the papers, Malum found himself wanting to spare Lady Melanie’s feelings—something he wasn’t accustomed to.

“She wasn’t always like this…” she said, shrugging, drawing his attention to her shoulders. “What about my sisters?”

Malum met her eyes again, resolute. “No, no one else should know. If word got out that this isn’t real, your circumstances would be even worse.” Her brother’s life shouldn’t depend on the fickleness of the ton , and yet, it did. “Best not to risk it.”

She took a moment, weighing his words. “I think you’re right.” She bit her bottom lip. “So it’s settled then, we’re engaged.”

“We’re engaged,” Malum agreed.

“But only until the summer,” she pointed out. “At which point, I’ll cry off and return to the country.”

He nodded. She could call the engagement temporary all she liked, but Malum couldn’t allow himself to get used to the idea.

Because he had, in fact, made a promise to her brother. He might be a lot of things—a monster, a degenerate, and for the next few weeks, the prodigal son. But he didn’t betray the people who trusted him.

Usually.

“Then, I suppose, we should invite them back in.” Flicking a glance toward the door, she bit her lip. A hint of pink stained her cheeks now.

Everything about her scheme was reckless, absurd even. Yet as Malum watched her wrestle with a tangle of emotions, he felt an unexpected pull, drawing him closer.

Somehow, this recklessness didn’t feel as dangerous as it should.

It was a stark contrast to the moment he’d confided in Helton that she’d visited the Domus alone, convinced that her risk-taking nature needed to be restrained. Because now, the tables had turned entirely—instead of taking the sensible approach—of marriage, by God, he was an active participant in her daring scheme.

He stood, feeling a bit stiff, and then reached out. “Lady Melanie.”

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on his gloved hand. Reconsidering, perhaps? But then, with quiet resolve, she placed her smaller hand in his.

Helping her to her feet should have been a simple, unremarkable act. Instead, her hand fit perfectly in his, and for some ridiculous reason, it sent a flicker of warmth to his chest—immediately chased by the heavy realization that he was, apparently, sentimental now.

He wasn’t accustomed to sentimentality, and for a fleeting moment, he nearly forgot the reason for their charade.

Not yet moving toward the door, she tilted her head back, staring up at him. “You can just call me Melanie. Or Mel, even, if you’d like.”

He paused, caught off guard by the unexpected familiarity. “Melanie,” he said, because the shortened version of her name didn’t suit her at all.

“And what shall I call you?” she asked, her voice gently teasing.

So. They were actually going through with this.

“Malum is fine,” he muttered. His own mother had only ever referred to him by his courtesy title, when she’d been around, that was.

“Malum,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Don’t you have a given name?”

Harold Benedict Lucifer Alexander Montague Percival Preston . It was a ridiculous string of names, each more pompous than the last. But he would not burden her with the full weight of it.

“Harold,” he said simply, glancing away as he cleared his throat. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to offer even that much.

“Harold?” she pursed her lips. “What about Harry?”

He stiffened. “Harold,” he corrected, his tone firmer this time.

But she only smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I think I prefer Harry.”

He sent her a withering look, clearly conveying his disapproval.

No one dared tease him, not with his reputation. And yet, here she was, shortening his name with an ease that felt unsettling.

Surprising even himself, he let it pass.

This was not how things were supposed to go. Then again, nothing about this arrangement was.

Tucking her hand through his arm, he used the other to tug at his cravat.

Temporary or not, Malum was bloody engaged.