20. Upping the Game

UPPING THE GAME

M elanie felt her pulse quicken. Perhaps it was because of this room, the heavy velvet drapes and that… bed, which seemed to loom larger with each passing second.

Or perhaps it had everything to do with the way he was looking at her—silver eyes unblinking, something unreadable lurking beneath his expression.

But he’d asked her about their drive this afternoon…

“No,” she finally answered, trying to remember why she’d come. “But Reed said we could all—the entire family—remove from London if it was what I wanted. Josie is having vapors, Caroline’s fit to be tied, and Mother, of course, asked if I’d prefer chicken or fish to be served at our engagement party.”

But he was still staring at her, so she bit her lip, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest.

“We might as well serve both.”

“Both?” Melanie asked.

“The chicken and the fish,” he replied, smirking. “And throw in a roasted suckling pig for good measure. Wouldn’t want anyone to feel neglected.”

Melanie blinked. “You are willing to go ahead with our…engagement, then?”

“Of course.”

“And the drive?”

“We can hardly disappoint them now, can we?” he murmured, that not-quite-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Melanie quickly glanced away, turning her attention back to the polished furnishings, the heavy drapery. Anything but him.

“Hiding would be worse,” she said, unable to keep her gaze from landing on that bed—a bed where courtesans slept. Well, not slept. But where… things happened.

Wicked things. Things that normal people only did in the cover of darkness. Normal, married people.

In this room, however, light filtered through the lone window, and gilded lanterns decorated every corner. If that wasn’t enough, there was also that mirror—on the ceiling!

She was aware that he’d been speaking, but she couldn’t for the life of her recall what he’d said.

“Pardon?” she asked, sounding unusually breathless.

“I was agreeing with you.” He leaned back, settling against the arm of an upholstered chaise, and his gaze drifted lazily around the room before returning to her. “Running away never looks good.”

Melanie swallowed hard, feeling foolish for being so unsettled—this was nothing but a parlor, and he was just a man.

She tried to picture him in Ernest’s nursery, fussing with nappies and linens. Yet even that image couldn’t distract her from these… feelings… prickling at her skin, the knowledge of that bed nearby, and the wondering thought… Had he spent many evenings in this very room?

She dared a glance up, and there it was again, that slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, as though he was reading her every thought. As though he knew exactly what she was picturing.

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak.

“The trouble,” she began, voice quavering but determined, “is that… well, we must assume that everyone has read that ridiculous article by now. Instead of forgetting about the incident at the Fallbridge ball, everyone sees me as nothing more than a pawn—used by my family to elevate their position, and by you… to provide a mother for Ernest.”

She looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. She’d read the article at least ten times, and with each reading, her mortification had only grown.

“Seeds of truth, though,” he said quietly. “Although I wish they’d left Ernest out of it.”

“I know. You’re right, of course. But knowing the whole truth doesn’t really matter, does it?” Surprising herself with how easily she could speak with him, she simply blurted out the reason she’d come. “It might help, I think, if people believed—if we could show them that this match…” She hesitated. She was thinking too much, and the words caught in her throat.

“Is genuine?” he guessed.

Melanie nodded, heart thudding. Two days had passed since their engagement, and he had all but disappeared until his invitation to take her for a drive arrived. She’d begun to wonder if he’d changed his mind.

Reed, dear sweet Reed, had sat down with her and offered her the choice to leave London. For a moment, she’d been tempted, but only for a moment. To run away would mean exile—forever. And in the end, it would resolve nothing. Her family would still face ruin, and Reed’s safety would remain in jeopardy.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

So, she’d convinced her brother that she wanted to stay, that she wanted to go ahead with her engagement, embellishing ever so slightly the extent of her feelings for the duke—and the duke’s feelings for her. Perhaps more than slightly…

“Oh, but I love him!” she had said.

Melanie inwardly flinched at the recollection. And yet, if Reed hadn’t believed her, he’d have sent her away, regardless of the consequences to himself.

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she’d slipped past Mr. Chesterfield and, for the second time in two weeks, made her way on foot to the Domus . She certainly couldn’t have had this conversation at home, where any member of her family might be lingering just beyond the door.

Still, she’d never imagined having it in one of his… boudoirs.

Trying to ignore their surroundings, she took a deep breath. “It would still be temporary— fake .” She saw doubt flicker in his expression, and before she could stop herself, she rushed on. “I mean, I know how this must sound, but?—”

“It’s not that.” He cut her off, his expression twisting, almost wincing.

Of the two of them, she should have been the one blushing. Yet here he was, gaze shifting away.

“I’m not an affectionate person,” he finally said, his voice low, reluctant.

“But you are,” she countered, her surprise mingling with her words. “I’ve seen it,” she insisted, “with Ernest. You are gentle with him, even… tender.”

He arched a brow, his eyes finding hers once again, and suddenly, the awareness she’d been trying to ignore since the moment he’d pulled her into this room flared. Her breath caught, and her knees felt as if they might simply give way.

“This,” he replied slowly, gesturing between the two of them while holding her gaze meaningfully, “isn’t quite the same.”

The glint in his eye made her pulse race all over again.

Because right now, “ this ” felt so tangible she could practically cut it with a knife.

“Yes, well…” She cleared her throat, attempting to rally her thoughts. “We might simply follow the example that Reed and Goldie set in public. That should be easy enough.”

The duke simply stared at her. And then he cocked a brow. “So, I am now expected to mimic… Standish?”

Right, the two of them had a history. He would have to get past that eventually if they were to pull this off. “Yes. If the ton were to see us… together—" Her throat tightened, but she pushed on. "Acting like a true couple…”

“It could dispel the notion that our engagement is merely strategic,” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she answered.

In reality, of course, it was a strategic maneuver. But it had to look real—otherwise…

She refused to contemplate the alternative.

And after Reed’s display of stubborn pride this morning, she knew it wasn’t only the ton they’d need to convince. If her family did not believe that she was, in fact, in love with this man, she might find herself riding out of town in a carriage by this time tomorrow.

“You think a public display of… affection would satisfy them?” Malum asked.

Her breath hitched, and she nodded.

His gaze flicked to her lips, then back up. “What, exactly, would that entail?”

“Well, we would have to act like—” She swallowed an unexpected and unwelcome bubble of giddiness. “Like two people… in love.”

When had he moved to be standing so close?

She held her breath when he lifted a hand as if to brush her cheek, his fingers suspended in midair, just shy of her skin. “Like this?”

She felt her lungs hitch, but she forced a slight smile, one that didn’t betray that anxious feeling thrumming beneath her skin. “Perhaps,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Malum’s hand hesitated, the faintest twitch betraying his instinct to reach for her. But then he let it drop, curling his fingers tightly into his palm. Her unguarded eyes held a quiet shock she barely seemed aware of—mixed with something else. Intrigue. Perhaps even the slightest flicker of excitement. But she was an innocent young woman, standing in a brothel of all places. He couldn’t, wouldn’t.

Not here. Not with her.

Malum tilted his head, his silver eyes narrowing faintly. “You’re assuming I know how to act like a man in love.” He loathed being uncertain about anything.

Her brows drew together, curiosity flickering across her face. “Don’t you?”

“Not particularly,” he replied, but his jaw was tight. “Public displays of affection weren’t part of our upbringing.” He left it at that, though the memories pricked at him—memories of his parents circling each other like wary predators, expressing emotions with cutting remarks.

He shifted his weight, letting a faint smirk tug at his lips. “I know… uncomplicated arrangements. Pretending to be besotted in front of a crowd? That’s uncharted territory.”

She didn’t press, but her thoughtful gaze lingered, and Malum could almost feel her trying to piece him together. He held her stare for a beat longer than necessary, then glanced away, brushing a nonexistent speck from his cuff. Whatever conclusions she reached, they were hers to keep.

This was her idea, after all.

Malum waited, half expecting her to ask the questions he’d deliberately left unanswered. But instead, she cleared her throat and jumped right into what he could only describe as instructions.

“A couple will always look for each other when they’re in the same room, even if they cannot be near one another.”

Impressive, he thought, leaning back slightly as he studied her. His betrothed—his temporary betrothed—had an uncanny ability to shift gears when it mattered.

No dramatics, no fluttering. Just a quiet determination that had him listening more closely than he cared to admit.

Her gaze shifted away as if gathering her thoughts before meeting his again. “And there are other gestures, subtle ones,” she said. “When you take my arm, draw me closer than necessary. When I speak, you’ll want to lean down, as though you can’t bear to miss a single word I say.” She blushed a little after this.

Malum nodded. He could manage that. In fact, when taking her out in public, he was inclined to keep an eye on her, to keep her close, anyway—especially if anyone thought to engage her in conversation in a way that might unsettle her. She conversed with him just fine, but not with everyone—for reasons he was determined to flesh out eventually.

Nothing she was saying sounded impossible—or disagreeable. He could, in fact, imagine himself playing this part.

“You’re very knowledgeable on this subject,” he said. He studied her, the delicate rise and fall of her breath, the way her lashes cast shadows across her cheeks.

“As you well know, two of my siblings married for love.” She blinked. “And my parents loved each other. Very much.”

Two weeks ago, Malum might have responded to such a statement by offering his sympathy—that anyone would have to endure such romantic displays regularly.

But instead, her words tugged at something unfamiliar, an ache he neither welcomed nor understood. “What else?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“We must maintain this facade at all times, even if—no, especially if it seems no one is watching,” she continued, “because they will be—watching, that is. And that’s our opportunity to leave the strongest impression.”

“And you think,” Malum said, “you and I can master these subtleties?”

Melanie’s eyes lifted to meet his, searching his face. For a moment, the silence was thick, charged with something that felt stronger than simple attraction.

“I think,” she said, her tone barely above a whisper, “that if we pay attention to one another… it might not be as difficult as it seems.”

“Attention,” he echoed, the word settling with unexpected weight—because that was what this all came down to, ultimately. Already, she had captured much of his these past few weeks.

“Yes.” The single word lingered in the space between them.

Malum prided himself on reserving his attention for things that mattered—calculating, precise, and always with purpose. His focus typically revolved around the Domus or his mission to bring the Duke of Crossings to justice. What Melanie was suggesting, however, felt entirely different. This wasn’t strategy; it was something far more unsettling.

It felt… personal.

When he lifted his hand this time, he reached out without hesitation, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was light, almost hesitant, as he was almost shaken by the sudden heat.

She might be innocent, but the look in her eyes was quite the opposite.

They stood inside a room where countless individuals had yielded to temptation, cast aside pretense, and indulged their deepest desires—and then walked away without feeling even an ounce of guilt.

But this had never been about what he wanted.

Hell, she had even confessed her belief in love, a sentiment that stood in stark contrast to every aspect of his life.

Despite the promise he’d made to her brother, he couldn’t be the sort of husband she’d want. It wasn’t practical, not while he managed the Domus Emporium and continued to head a highly dangerous investigation. He’d already agreed to marry her, as a matter of duty, but she was the one who’d insisted this engagement be temporary.

So instead of closing the distance that hummed with silent promise, Malum took a measured step back.

This line of conversation, in this room, was courting danger.

“I’ll escort you back to Mayfair.” His voice came out gravelly. “But would you like to see Ernest before you go home?”

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, and for a moment, regret twisted inside him. But then, after a pause and a few quick blinks, the corners of her mouth lifted, and a tender light returned to her eyes.

“I would love to,” she said.