It was so practical. So businesslike. And yet?—
"Why?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "You do not know them. You have barely met them. Why would you concern yourself with their futures?"
"Because removing that burden from your shoulders allows you to focus on your responsibilities as duchess without that particular worry consuming you." He paused, seemed to catch himself. When he continued, his voice had softened. "Because they matter to you."
Anthea felt something crack open in her chest. She had been so focused on what this marriage would cost her—her independence, her carefully maintained distance from emotional entanglement—that she had not fully considered what it might give her. What he might give her.
Security. Protection. Someone who cared enough to think of her sisters without being asked.
"That is..." She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "That is remarkably generous."
"It is practical," he corrected, but something in his expression had softened. "Once we are married, they become my responsibility as well. I take care of what is mine."
The possessiveness in those words sent an unexpected shiver through her. Anthea reached for her wine glass, needing something to do with her hands.
The footman returned with the next course, but Anthea barely noticed what was placed before her. Her mind was spinning, recalculating everything she thought she understood about this arrangement.
Gregory was not some distant figure offering marriage out of duty or scandal avoidance. He was a man who planned ahead, who considered the needs of people he barely knew simply because they mattered to his future wife. A man who spoke of taking care of what was his with a certainty that should have been alarming but somehow felt... safe.
"Is there anything else you wish to discuss?" Gregory asked, watching her with that steady, penetrating gaze.
This was it. Her opportunity to establish the final boundary she needed. The one that would protect her from the vulnerability she feared most.
Anthea set down her wine glass and met his eyes.
"I would like this to remain a marriage of convenience."
The words hung in the air between them. Gregory went very still, his expression unreadable.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" His voice was carefully neutral.
"I mean..." Anthea took a breath, forcing herself to continue. "I understand we must present a united front publicly. That we will share a household and attend events together and fulfill our social obligations. But privately, I would prefer to maintain... separate arrangements. Separate bedrooms.Separate expectations beyond what we have explicitly agreed to."
Silence stretched between them. Gregory's gaze remained fixed on her, intense and searching in a way that made her want to look away. But she held his stare, refusing to show weakness.
"A marriage in name only," he said finally.
"A marriage of mutual benefit," Anthea corrected. "You receive help with Society. I receive security for myself and my sisters. We both achieve what we need without—without complicating matters with expectations that neither of us truly wants."
"You assume I do not want more."
The words were quiet, but they landed like stones in still water. Anthea's pulse quickened.
"Do you?" She tried to keep her voice steady. "Want more?"
Gregory leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. "I want you to feel safe. To know that what you give is freely given, not demanded or expected. To have the space you need to adjust to this marriage without feeling pressured or obligated."
It was not an answer. Or rather, it was an answer that carefully avoided the actual question.
"So you agree?" Anthea pressed. "To keeping this arrangement purely practical?"
Gregory's gaze remained fixed on her, intense and unreadable. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.
Anthea's heart hammered against her ribs as she waited for his answer.
This was what she needed. What she had to have to feel safe entering this marriage. Surely he understood that. Surely he would agree to keep things simple, uncomplicated, free from the messy entanglements of emotion and expectation.
Surely he would say yes.
