“You will have the money. Half at the outset, half on the seventh night.” He studied her, then added, as if struck by a thought that did not entirely please him, “You will not be harmed.”
The words touched her differently than she had expected. Heat rose behind her eyes. She blinked it away before it could become a tear. “I am not afraid of you anyway.”
He looked faintly amused. “Prudent women might disagree.”
She would not ask what had made his voice lower on the wordharm. She did not wish to know. She wished to wrap up their encounter and depart with her bargain clenched in both hands.
The Duke stepped closer. She did not retreat. He lifted his hand as if to grasp the hem of her hood.
“Your name,” he demanded. “I will have it now.”
“Not yet,” she replied. “Not until I have the first half.”
“You do not trust me.”
“Trust is a luxury,” she said. “I cannot afford it.”
He paused, something like approval flashing in his eyes. “Very well. Remove the hood and look at me properly.”
She considered refusing. It would be childish to persist in mystery when she had already bartered so much.
Slowly, she lifted both hands to the ribbons at her throat. The hood fell back.
Light struck her cheekbones, and she stood bare to his gaze.
He took her in. Recognition, brief and certain, flickered in his eyes. “Ah… It’syou.”
She felt heat climb her neck as his eyes roamed over her. For a moment, she felt almost foolish, standing before a man whose presence unsettled her more than his offer. Her breath hitched, a soft betraying note, and she prayed he had not heard it.
“We are done for the night. Send the money tomorrow. Send the time for the first night.”
His mouth curved. “The night is still young.”
“I will not begin until I have the money in my hand.” She curtsied, precise and polite. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“Lady Gwendoline,” she heard him say to her back as she retreated to the corridor and out of Greystone House into the cold, crisp night.
CHAPTER 4
Gwen returned to Fenwick House with the city still damp and murmuring from a late mist, slipped through the servants’ door, and climbed the back stairs on aching legs.
She reached her chamber and sat on the edge of her bed to unpin her hair. The pins clinked into the dish like pointless little swords.
She meant to lie down for only a minute, but her body had other plans. She folded to the coverlet, boots and cloak and all, with the relief of a soldier who had reached a trench.
Her eyes snapped open at once. Or so it felt.
The bell in the lower hall had not yet finished its dying peal. Someone knocked on her dressing room door and opened it without waiting.
Martha bobbed a curtsy, flustered and apologetic. “You’re wanted downstairs, My Lady. His Lordship says that you are to sit in the morning room. Suitors may call.”
Gwen pushed herself upright. The room tilted.
Suitors.Of course.
She had intended to sleep, to think, to count the cost of last night’s bargain in solitude. Instead, she was to be arranged on a sofa like a vase and made to bloom on command.
She swallowed her irritation and nodded. “Tell His Lordship that I am coming.”
