21. Things unspoken

THINGS UNSPOKEN

T he carriage wheels rolled over the cobblestones, the rhythmic thrum filling the silence between them. Melanie glanced at Malum, whose expression was unreadable as he stared out the window, and she couldn’t help but compare the relative leisure of this drive to the last time, when he’d ordered his driver to race across the city.

It had been frightening, thrilling even. But now her nerves were frayed for a very different reason.

She’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d thought he was going to, but then… he hadn’t.

Which was probably for the best. She shouldn’t want him to kiss her.

The fact that he ran that… place, that he went there every day and oversaw such activities, lingered in her mind. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her pulse betraying her as the carriage rolled toward Preston Hall.

When the duke broke the silence, he spoke almost tentatively. “There’s something you need to know, Melanie. About Ernest.”

She turned to him. “What is it?”

He kept his gaze fixed ahead. “His mother passed away shortly after giving birth. The woman who left him on the step was her sister. She abandoned him because the family…” He paused, the weight of the truth pressing between them. “They want nothing to do with him.”

Melanie’s heart dropped. “So he truly has no one.” And Malum had said he wasn’t the father… “But why you? Why would her family leave Ernest with you?”

Malum shook his head, the ticking in his jaw an unusual show of emotion.

“She was one of my employees at the Domus before she left several months ago. Her name was Stella. Stella De la Cour.” His voice didn’t falter, and he didn’t look particularly upset, but still…

“Were you close?”

“Barely knew her.”

“Are you… close to any of your… employees?”

He turned his head and locked his gaze on her. “I never mix business with pleasure,” he said.

“Never?”

“Never.”

Melanie went quiet again. She’d imagined a man who owned a brothel would indulge himself as he pleased, and yet, she wasn’t completely surprised to hear that he did not. And he had no reason to lie.

She believed him.

Still, it was all just… so very sad. For all the facade of glamour, with its gilded moldings and lush décor, the Domus Emporium was a place of desperation.

And this man seated beside her, for all his kind words to her and his concession to honor, was ultimately the person who profited from it.

Now, unfortunately, wasn’t the time to challenge his choices.

And yet, hearing that Ernest’s mother had died was a grim reminder of why her brother had been so willing to send her away this morning—why, apart from her mother, no one was truly pleased by this engagement. With those realities in mind, she could almost squash the disappointment she’d felt when he hadn’t kissed her.

Almost.

“They know I have the means to see him cared for. One final act of kindness for their sister, their daughter, I suppose—despite their disapproval of her profession.” He sighed, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling, his expression distant. “Whatever their reasons, they’ve made it clear they don’t want him back.”

His gaze flicked back to hers, and for a moment, he did not look so very detached.

“The article in the Enquirer implies that you’re his father,” she said carefully, watching him.

“I’m not,” he replied, his voice firm.

“I know.” She believed him. But the ton would not, not when the alternative was so much more entertaining. “What will you do now?” she whispered, half-afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t leave him to be someone else’s problem.” It wasn’t what she expected. Before, he’d been quite clear that he wouldn’t be keeping the baby.

“Why not?”

She couldn’t help but stare, almost mesmerized, as she waited for an answer.

“London doesn’t need another orphan,” he said eventually.

Whenever Melanie tried to dismiss him, to believe the whispers and accept he was every bit the rogue society claimed, he’d say something unexpected. It was always just enough to pull back the curtain, to hint at complexities she imagined, but couldn’t see clearly.

“You… will keep him?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He is my responsibility.”

For a man who had deliberately shunned every noble expectation that came with his title, he certainly didn’t shun the needs of the poor, of those with the greatest need. It was an irony that didn’t escape her—that beneath his mask of indifference, the Duke of Malum carried burdens most men would ignore.

And yet…

“Why…?” Why had he chosen a brothel over Society?

When he turned to meet her eyes, she realized her question needed no explanation. It struck her then—this unspoken understanding between them was exactly what she had meant when she described the gestures that couples in love shared.

“Why do I run the Domus ?” A cynical smile played on his lips. “If I don’t, someone else will.”

The words hit her gradually at first, but then, his meaning washed over her.

Another man might not consider himself their protector—which he did.

It was something she should have realized before, when, after realizing he’d made a mistake in hiring that woman to care for Ernest, he’d not taken it lightly.

He’d been angry with himself.

They sat in silence for a moment, the creaking of the carriage filling the space left by his answer. Melanie let her thoughts wander, piecing together the fragments he’d shared about himself.

Society had loved his father, and his father had loved Society—more than Malum’s mother, more than Malum himself. He’d said he’d been raised without affection, the admission delivered with deliberate matter-of-factness.

Perhaps too much deliberateness?

Melanie tried to imagine what that might be like: a childhood without warmth, without the reassurance of a loving hand or a kind word. It was a hollow existence she could scarcely comprehend, and yet it explained so much.

Perhaps that was why he wouldn’t simply send Ernest away. For all his claims of indifference, there had to be something within him that wanted to ensure that one child, anyway, would know something different.

She turned to study him again, his profile sharp and composed as though nothing could touch him. But there was something more…

Reed, Helton, and the rest of her family might think Malum had no choice but to offer for her, but deep down, they all had to know better. Nothing could truly compel a man like him to act if he didn’t want to. And yet, here he sat, helping all of them with no real benefit for himself.

It was something a man who didn’t care would never do.

No, his actions spoke louder than his words ever could.

And then it struck her—for the first time since losing her father, she felt protected, not by her family, but by this man…

The realization didn’t make sense at first, and she couldn’t help but consider the men in her family.

Their father had protected all of them fiercely, tirelessly—until…

Until he hadn’t.

He hadn’t protected his brother, or his nephew, or his oldest son…

Or himself.

Her head swam at the memory circling like a storm she couldn’t escape. When her father died, he had left them all vulnerable, adrift without the anchor of his presence. Surely, he’d not done it deliberately, but the moments leading up to the fire, the reasons those men were trapped in that fire…

Were locked away. And she couldn’t shake the possibility that she herself held the key.

The idea twisted painfully in her chest, but it pulled to a stop before she could make sense of it.

The duke exited first, offering his hand, and Melanie accepted his assistance, stepping onto the pavement beside him. As her feet touched the ground, she glanced toward her mother’s home across the street, just in time to see the drapes in the drawing room fall back into place.

A pang of guilt struck. Josie had been tethered to the house ever since the scandal, her Season all but derailed by circumstances neither of them could change.

Everything had been turned upside down, all because Melanie had tripped on the hem of her gown. The absurdity of it stung. A single misstep—a moment of clumsiness—and their lives had unraveled into chaos.

The guilt deepened as she thought of her younger sister, and that just now, anyone could easily have witnessed her riding alone with Malum.

But then, she forced herself to breathe. What did it matter now? The worst had already happened. She’d already fallen—figuratively and literally.

What was one more step?

Tilting her chin slightly higher, the weight in her chest shifted from guilt to resignation—perhaps even the tiniest flicker of defiance. After all, what was done was done.

Without a word, she fell into step beside Malum as he led her up the stone steps and into his townhouse.

The butler, a distinguished-looking man with a stoic expression, greeted them with a polite inclination of his head. Yet, as his gaze flicked briefly to Melanie, the faintest trace of disapproval crossed his otherwise composed features, vanishing so quickly she might have imagined it.

If they’d seen the article—and, of course, they had—the entire staff would think she’d sold herself for a title. The thought made her bristle, anger flickering toward the ton , the papers, and now Malum’s staff, who ought to know better than to believe every scandal sheet that crossed their path. Where was their loyalty, anyway?

Dismissing her frustration, she followed Malum up the steps, her feet dragging a little slower than his, and her gaze… well, her gaze landed on his firm backside.

And as the taut muscles shifted beneath the fabric of his trousers, Melanie felt her breath catch. The movement was effortless—a subtle display of strength and control that was… utterly captivating.

She swallowed hard, warmth spreading from her limbs to her core, and before she could scold herself into looking away, he glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes locked for the briefest second. His brows shot up and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Melanie snapped her head around, her cheeks blazing as she suddenly found the architecture of his staircase utterly fascinating.

The last time she’d climbed these stairs, she’d been mostly concerned about little Ernest, and hadn’t bothered noticing much of anything else. Today, although eager to hold the infant again, she allowed herself to appreciate the place the Duke of Malum called home.

The interior was as she remembered—rich, warm, and undeniably masculine, but the scent of leather and a faint trace of pipe smoke lingered in the halls. This was the home of a man accustomed to his independence.

If she hadn’t chosen to keep their engagement temporary, she would have become mistress of this house. Could she have made a home here, adding touches of herself to soften the edges?

But no, this was temporary, so she immediately pushed the idea aside.

When they reached the nursery door, Malum paused, casting a glance back at her.

“He’s usually awake this time of day,” he said. And although his expression remained utterly unreadable, the fact that he was aware of a newborn’s schedule at all said plenty.

“You visit him?”

“When I can.”

He knocked softly before pushing the door inward, and then gestured for Melanie to enter before him.

As she stepped into the nursery, her eyes immediately fell on the small cradle by the window. A warm glow of afternoon light framed the scene.

The sight of the baby, so innocent and unaware of the turmoil surrounding him, tightened something in her chest. Everything in this room was a testament to Malum’s unexpected sense of duty—a duty he’d taken on without hesitation.

“Nurse,” he said, in a firm yet considerate tone. “You may step out for a brief time.” The woman, a grandmotherly type who Melanie had not noticed at first, gave a quick nod, curtsied, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Melanie glanced at Malum, now standing by the cradle, looking down at Ernest. And in that moment, his expression turned to one of fondness, but a little sadness too.

“What shall I say,” she asked quietly, breaking the silence, “when people ask me about him?” Because of that blasted article.

His silver eyes lifted from the infant to meet hers. “The truth,” he replied, not even hesitating. “Not that it’s any of their business.”

His answer took her by surprise, resonating with more significance than she expected. It wasn’t just the words, but the conviction behind them, as though he was placing a protective barrier between her and the ton .

“The truth,” she repeated. “That the family of one of your employees abandoned him. And that you’re going to take him in?” Could it really be that simple?

“They’ll think what they want, regardless.”

He was right. She knew he was right.

“I know it shouldn’t matter,” she said, a hint of emotion slipping into her voice, “but it does. Everything that touches my family only seems to make the gossip worse. And… you must know why that’s something we cannot ignore.”

He looked down at Ernest again, his mouth flattening. “That’s true enough,” he said. “I suppose that’s all the more reason for us to be convincing this afternoon.”

She attempted a smile at his reminder, but she didn’t want to think about performing for the ton quite yet.

Melanie stepped closer. “Can I hold him?”

Still staring at the baby, Malum nodded, stepping back to give her space.

Melanie leaned over the cradle. Just a few weeks old, Ernest’s small face was soft as he stared back at her, his features tiny and oh, so delicate.

“Hold his head,” Malum said, his voice low and cautious.

Melanie felt a flicker of amusement at his warning and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, she’d held the baby before—in fact, she’d told him how to burp the little one. She met his somber stare, a hint of playful exasperation in her own, before carefully lifting Ernest from the cradle and tucking him against her chest.

The baby relaxed immediately, his warmth soothing her worries for now.

He smelled faintly of milk and the powdery scent of fresh linens. The softness of his skin and the little weight of him felt unexpectedly reassuring, sparking a rush of tenderness that caught her off guard. The rhythm of his tiny breaths brushed against her collarbone, a stark contrast to the clamor of the world outside.

Malum’s gaze rested on her with a patience she wouldn’t have expected. It was a rare moment where he seemed neither guarded nor detached.

It made her heart twist, and the intimacy of it should have been confusing.

Her eyes dropped to Ernest’s peaceful face once more, and reluctantly, she shifted him toward Malum.

“I should go,” she whispered. How long had she been standing here, rocking back and forth, just… being?

Malum didn’t argue, and as she transferred the baby, the brush of his fingers against hers sent a spark coursing through her. The room seemed to hold its breath, pulling her back to the private parlor in his brothel, when she’d felt a flutter of anticipation, practically daring him to kiss her.

After Malum’s arms closed around Ernest, she hesitated, watching his entire face relax when he stared down at the baby.

When he lifted his gaze to hers, that tender expression was still there.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said, and she knew he meant the ton . She nodded.

“I think that’s easier said than done.”

“You’ll do fine. I have faith in you.”

His confidence bolstered her, almost wrapping around her like a shield. And though the path ahead was uncertain, for the first time in days, she felt a sense of hope return.

“I’ll show you out,” he said. But when he moved to return Ernest to his cradle, she held up one hand.

“That isn’t necessary.”

And it wasn’t.

The challenge of facing the ton loomed ahead, but here, in this room, for just a few minutes, she felt a flicker of strength she’d forgotten she possessed.