Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

L avinia was already leaning against a secluded tree at the park when the Duke joined her.

"Miss Proctor," he said from behind her, and she started.

She turned to face him, and he braced for the inevitable attraction he felt towards her. Still, he wasn't ready when her startling green eyes met his.

"Your Grace," she dropped into a pale imitation of a curtsey and he bit back his smile.

"We should do away with formalities. After all, we are to be married, aren't we?"

She hesitated momentarily before letting out a sigh, "Y-you can call me Lavinia then."

"And you should call me Victor."

"Victor," she tested the words on her mouth and the sound of his name from her did something to him. He bit his tongue to hold back the urge to demand she say his name again.

This was the sole reason he hadn't wanted to have anything to do with a woman like her. There was something about her wide, guileless eyes and the bow of her mouth that drove him a little bit insane.

Desire, he knew, was just a step away from affection.

"Why did you say yes to marrying me?" He needed to know. He wasn't sure why, just that he needed to know what drove her, what went on behind those expressive eyes.

She glanced away sharply and his belly knotted. Was she in some sort of trouble? He didn't know much about Lavinia.

In fact, it was safe to say he knew nothing about her at all, but he had good judgement about people and she didn't strike him as the type that would rush into a marriage while pregnant with another man's child.

"I do not see how that is any of your business," she glanced up at him, chin in the air, "What matters is that I'm dedicated to this now and you had better not take back the offer."

From being so adamant with her refusal to being eager, it was more than a little suspicious. He should have been thinking about that. And not about the tendril of hair that had escaped and was now brushing over her jaw.

His whole focus was on resisting the urge to push that hair out of her face.

He took a step backward. "This marriage will be strictly an arrangement."

"An arrangement?"

"Yes," he said firmly, needing to drive home the point that he had no love to give her. "Do not come into this with any delusions. I'm never going to feel anything for you and I hope you'll save yourself the heartache of getting attached to me. The sooner you see this as a business deal with no emotions welcome, the better for you."

She bristled, "you scoundrel! Do you think me a fool? Willing to give my affections to just any one at the drop of a hat? I could never be stupid enough to love a man like you."

"A man like me?" he echoed.

"Yes," she stabbed her index finger into his chest, teeth bared, "Behind this flesh is a cold black heart. I am not a ninny brain. I know what this arrangement is, so do not bother to lecture me."

The top of her cheekbones were a distinct red and her eyes were flashing fire at him.

"And do not make it seem like having emotions is a thing to be ashamed of," she continued, "I am forever glad that I am not all stone and ice like you."

"Trust me," he said in a ragged voice, "I am far from stone and ice."

She was so close, so achingly close and the finger that had been stabbing at him was now replaced by a dainty palm against his breast. This close, he could see the tiny freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks.

Lavinia smelled like flowers, so sweet that it made his teeth ache.

If she got any closer, she would realize that she was half right; only a part of him was stone but bloody hell, he was the opposite of ice.

"Yes, you are," she said. "You wouldn't know a real emotion if it hit you in the face."

There was one that was at the forefront of his mind now. One that could burn them both into ashes.

"You do not know what you are talking about, Lavinia."

Her throat bobbed with a swallow, "then show me, Victor."

It was his name breathed out so feather soft that did him in. One second he was telling himself he ought to step away, the next she was in his arms, his mouth slanted over hers.

The first contact of their mouths rearranged his whole autonomy. It was supposed to have been a kiss, a demonstration that he was not the ice cold Duke she thought he was, but Victor didn't just kiss her, he devoured her.

And the best or maybe the worst part is that she let him.

She dissolved like ice on a hot day in his hands and took what he gave her. Took it like she had been waiting all her life for that moment.

He knew he should stop. They were only hidden by some trees and a small fencing. If anybody cared to inspect further, they would come upon them.

As if Victor cared.

The ton could go to hell.

He was going to stop, but then she let out a soft mewling sound. He didn't know if the sound indicated a desire for more or a desire for him to stop, but it only urged him on, made his body thrum.

Her waist was slender under his palm and she fit into him perfectly. She tasted so perfect too. Like sweet surrender. Like innocence and a hunger that matched his all at once.

And-

The flapping wings of a bird taking off made him pull away from her. Her mouth was wet and swollen and a sense of barbaric smug satisfaction filled him.

He had done that.

She raised one trembling hand and brushed the backs of her fingers across her bottom lip.

"Wh-wh-"

"Was that enough emotion for you?" he put as much hardness into his voice as he could and it worked.

Right before his eyes, Lavinia snapped out of whatever spell that kiss had put her under. Hazy green eyes turning sharp once more.

"You absolute cad!" she cried, then turned and fled.

He waited until she had gone out of view before he slumped back on the tree behind him, panting like he had run a marathon.

The Duke told himself that he had only done it to prove a point, but point or not, he knew he was going to be replaying that kiss in his head for days.

Hours later, he lounged against the leather chair in his office, a glass of whiskey hanging limply from his hands.

Across from him, Lord Dillon had his feet kicked up on the desk, cravat loosened and waist coat unbuttoned, looking the very picture of a cad.

"I'm sure she's all bark and no bite," his friend assured him. "Women are generally pigheaded until they recognize a dominant power."

"For the sake of you getting to old age with your bullocks intact, I suggest you never say that to a woman," the Duke told him, shaking his head.

"This conversation is confidential," he raised his glass in a mock salute before throwing it back, "what do you plan on doing about the chit?"

Victor gritted his teeth. That was the question he had been asking his own self. They couldn't continue how they were going. He had to establish the fact that she was to respect him in society and none of her obstinate behavior.

"When we get married, things will be different," he said. "They have to be. I cannot expect her to obey me now. I have no rights over her. But under my roof, she will understand that there will be none of that surly attitude."

"Hear, hear," Patrick raised his glass, then threw his head back and let out a roar of laughter.

"What's funny?" He glared at his friend, still firmly of the opinion that he needed to get himself a new friend.

"You are, Your Grace," the viscount smirked, "I do not believe that things will be as easy as you have just said. But then again, I shall be here to watch the unfolding drama."

"Do you not have responsibilities?"

"None whatsoever," Patrick chuckled, "I'm completely at your behest."

"I do not want you at my behest."

He shrugged. "You have me regardless."

Patrick climbed to his feet and grabbed his coat that had been thrown over the back of his chair, "Majestique opens its doors for the first time tonight. Are you coming?"

Victor raked a hand down his hair, "No. I've sent a letter over to Hartfield house. I am to meet with Lavinia's guardian."

His friend shrugged, "The doors will be open to late. Let us get some debauchery done before you settle into the boring life of a leg shackled man."

"This marriage is not going to change anything."

"We'll see," Patrick said cryptically before walking out.

The Duke didn't have time for his friend's games. He had just a few minutes to get to get to Lavinia's house and he hoped he could catch her before she left for the night.

He had to reinstate one rule of this arrangement.

As soon as he walked into Hartfield house, the butler bowed and collected his coat and hat.

"If you just follow that hallway, you will end up at Lord Hartfield's study," the man said.

"Thank you," he said. Just as he made to ask if Lavinia was in residence, the lady in question appeared at the top of the stairs.

Victor's breath caught in his throat as the brown haired lady floated down the stairs, looking like a dream in a mint green dress that settled over her curves like she had been poured into it. Her gloves dangled from one hand.

There was something interesting about the muted color of the dress, and the softness of her skin, contrasted with the stubbornness of her face.

"Your Grace," she curtsied as she got to the bottom of the stairs where he stood.

"Lavinia," he took her hand and placed the shadow of a kiss on the inside of one wrist. The feeling of skin against skin made them both freeze for a second.

She flushed, "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to speak to your uncle, but I was hoping I would catch you first."

She glanced over her shoulder before motioning him into a side room and then she shut the door almost the whole way. "Is there a problem?"

The problem was that she was gnawing at her lower lip and he was jealous because he wanted to be the one gnawing on that-

Goddammit!

"There is something I must inform you about before we go ahead with this."

Panic flashed in her eyes, "What is it?"

"What happened today at the park cannot happen again," he whispered, waiting for her to protest or call him out on the fact that she had had no hand in what had happened and he ought to be cautioning himself and not her.

To his surprise, she only lowered her lashes and then nodded, "you're right."

"I will not touch you again, Lavinia. This is not that kind of marriage. You understand? This is-"

"I heard you the first time, Your Grace," she cut in, glancing up at him. A small furrow had formed between her eyebrows and her mouth was pulled tight, "If that is all, I'm afraid I'm going to be late."

Looking like that, he would be shocked if a moron didn't take one look at her and drop to his knees spouting poetry. It would be too late anyway.

"I was thinking my butler had turned into a liar when he announced your arrival," the booming voice of Lord Hartfield said from the door, "I saw the calling card but there was no evidence of the man himself."

The two jerked apart like they had been caught doing something illicit and faced the man that had just joined them.

"Your Grace," Lavinia's uncle bowed then glanced between them suspiciously. "I'm honored to have you in my home. Shall we go to my study?"

"Of course," Victor said then to the brown haired woman, "Come along."

Lord Hartfield's eyes went wide, "I take it this is not a business meeting."

The Duke decided to just come out with it because the man's eyes were starting to go from curious to suspicious to angry and he could only guess what the man was thinking.

His niece was as innocent as ever. And in fact, the Duke planned on her staying that way until-

He hadn't planned that far if he were being honest.

"I have come to ask for your niece's hand."

The man's forehead wrinkled, "Why?"

"Uncle Tommy!" Lavinia cried, embarrassed, "you cannot ask him that."

"Well, I have not heard a thing about you in this house, Your Grace, so forgive me if this comes as a bit of a shock," her uncle said.

"We were formally introduced at Livingston house," Victor stated, "We danced and we talked, and this is what we both want. We greatly admire and respect each other."

Even as he said the words, they felt less than enough. But they were more than many of the ton marriages were built on. If her uncle was waiting for a grand declaration of love or anything of the sort, he was going to be very disappointed.

"Is that so?" Lord Hartfield turned to his niece. "You want to marry this man?"

When she blinked, Victor swore he had seen something like loss and defeat in her eyes and it made him curious again about why she had accepted this union.

Were her affections engaged elsewhere?

And why did the thought of that make him want to hit something?

"Yes, Uncle. I do," her voice was firm and sure.

"In that case," Lord Hartfield hesitated, "we should talk in my office. I believe we have a lot to discuss, Your Grace."

"Of course," he agreed and began to follow the older man out the door, but at the last moment, he glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing there; beautiful, brave, but defeated.

"Goodnight, Lavinia."

"Good night, Your Grace."

She dropped into one of her careless curtsies and then slipped past him quickly, making sure that no part of them brushed against each other, like she didn't want to spend more time than necessary in his presence.

It wouldn't bode well for many relationships, but it was perfect for both of them.

The success of their marriage of convenience was based on their abilities to keep this as clinical as possible. They needed as many boundaries as they could get.