“Spare me the clichés,” he sighed. “I have apologized for the jest I played on you years ago repeatedly. But you still have not accepted, and all that is behind us now,” he fished a document out of his jacket and laid it on the table. “The document your father has read andso eloquently relayedto you had everything in this one… except this passage—” his forefinger tapped on a paragraph.
Taking it, she read over the passage, “It is agreed with due regard to the proprieties of society and the dictates of reason, that upon the sixty-first day of the marriage between Lady Cecilia Hartwick, daughter of Duke Ashford, and Cassian Fitzroy, Duke of Tressingham, shall hence be annulled, returning each party to their former standing, unencumbered by the bonds of matrimony.
With solemnity and goodwill, no claim shall be laid upon property nor purse, and neither shall seek redress or recompense beyond what is already agreed in financial obligations. In this understanding, both parties do pledge their honor, that the dissolution shall proceed with civility, and no quarrel shall arise from the end of that which was entered into with mutual accord.”
Her bow lips slipped open in shock, and Cassian wondered what they would look like swollen after a passionate kiss. Shaking the thought from his head, he reached for the coffee.
“The assets ready to be transferred to your name will stay yours,” Cassian said. “The pin money, the properties, whatever you buy during the marriage, be it an elephant or five phaetons, they are yours. And your dowry will be kept in an account that is yours. I have no need for it.”
She dropped the paper. “Why did you not show this agreement to my father?”
“Because I need out of this marriage, and I suspect your father would oppose this, vehemently,” he replied. “I am sure your indifference to me will make these sixty days just fly by.”
Dropping the paper, Cecilia asked, “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so… unlike you?”
“Accusing me of being unlike me would predicate that you knew me at all,” Cassian remarked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Idoknow you. You are an immature rakehell with nary a care in the world, who jumps out of widow’s windows, who believes women are your playthings as you hop from one bed to the other, and everything is a joke to you.”
His unfaltering smile irked her ever more. “What a succinct evaluation. Youhavemissed a few things, though.”
“Like what?” she challenged.
“And what would be the fun of spilling all my secrets now?” he said nonchalantly. “You do have sixty days to find them after all.”
She swallowed her irritation and then looked to the agreement again. “This means that I will be free to marry after?”
“Unencumbered and with a business under your belt,” he nodded, angling his head. “Are you desirous of marrying Whitmore again?”
“No,” Cecilia answered regrettably. “He… has moved on.”
“To Ophelia Hawthorne, I have no doubt.”
Her cheeks warmed as she muttered, “The rock on her finger could eclipse the moon.”
He threw his head back and laughed. The rich, deep sound reached all the way to her toes, curling them. Licking her lips, Cecilia asked, “You are laughing at me then.”
Chuckling, he cocked a boot on his other knee and dropped his cheek on his fist. “No, sweetheart, I am not laughing at you. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when the penny dropped for you that Whitmore does not want a wife.
“The man preens more than a new spring butterfly. Fret not, dear Cecilia. By next year, Miss Hawthorne will be in the background of another Diamond.”
Pursing her lips, she tapped the contract. “Do I sign it now?”
He waved his hand; his satisfied smile made an unexpected thrum of emotion inside her chest. “As long as you do it before the sixty-day date, that will be fine with me.”
As the maid went for the pen, Cassian pulled out a velvet box and opened it. In the center, upon a pillow of white silk, was a flawless ruby the size of her thumbnail. Three smaller diamondsbookended the blood-red gem. It was utterly breathtaking and purposefully so.
“I know it’s not what you wanted, but….” He gestured to her hand, “…may I?”
Numbly, she offered her hand. When he took it, he felt a shiver coast through her limb. He rubbed his thumb over her wrist, intentionally toying with her to get some sort of reaction from her.
Before he slid the ring on, he murmured, “Do you remember the night we met?”
She opened her mouth—then clamped it shut. A very telling move that telegraphed to him thatyes, she did remember that night, andyes, she did remember the ripple of attraction she’d felt—but felt she would be damned if she dared to admit it.
“Faintly,” she said tightly.
Holding her eyes, he let his gaze smolder, and the more pink stained her cheeks, the more satisfaction flared in his chest.
