Her father agreed without protest, exiting the study with a warning glance at his daughter.
When the door closed, Ravenswood circled behind the desk and lifted the infamous painting that had faced toward the wallwhere it wouldn’t be seen. Olivia’s cheeks burned scarlet as he studied it, his gaze tracing over the curves of her naked body.
“Is this accurate?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The likeness.” His eyes raised to meet hers. “Is it a fair representation?”
The audacity of the question stole her breath. “I hardly think?—”
“I ask because there is both defiance and vulnerability in your expression here.” He traced a finger over the painted curve of her breast, almost caressing it, but his eyes revealed more thoughtfulness than lust. “Yet you stand before me now like a general preparing for battle. I wonder which is the true Lady Olivia Ashford.”
She stared at him, taken aback by his perception. “Perhaps they both are.”
A slight nod, as though her answer satisfied him. “I have no interest in a docile, cowering wife, Lady Olivia. What I require is honesty and your willingness to accept proper guidance.”
“Guidance?” The word tasted strange on her tongue.
“That is correct.” His gaze held hers, unmoved. “I can offer you protection from this scandal and give you the freedom of my name and fortune. But I will expect certain ... commitments in return.”
“What commitments?” she asked, both frightened and intrigued by his directness.
The duke set the painting down. “That is a discussion best saved for after the wedding, should you accept my proposal.”
Olivia studied him. There was danger in this man, but not the kind that threatened bodily harm. His danger lay in the way he looked at her. As though he could see past her carefully constructed defenses to the vulnerable woman beneath. Asthough he knew exactly what she needed, perhaps better than she did herself.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I wish you good fortune with whatever suitor your father selects next. I doubt he will offer you the same security and understanding I am prepared to extend. But you seem an intelligent woman, little one, and I believe you know the value of protection when it’s offered.”
The unexpected endearment—little one—sent a surprising warmth through her, even as his words highlighted the reality of her situation. Her father’s decision was made, and she wasn’t likely to receive a better proposal. Or from one who intrigued her the way Ravenswood had. A handsome duke who spoke to her as though she possessed a brain. One who didn’t seem disgusted by her scandal, but rather protective of her despite it. The alternatives were grim indeed. Marriage to some ancient lecher or cruel fortune-hunter. Or worse, being shipped off to a distant relative to live as a spinster dependent while her siblings’ reputations suffered because of her choices.
“I accept your offer, Your Grace,” she said finally.
He appeared satisfied. “Very good. I shall inform your father.”
As he moved toward the door, Olivia found her voice again. “May I ask why? Why me, with all the complications I bring? Surely there are dozens of untarnished debutantes who would leap at the chance to become your duchess.”
The duke paused. For a moment, she thought he might not answer.
“I prefer a woman who knows her own mind and has the courage to follow it, even when it leads to ... complications. But you need structure, little one, and guidance on how to channel that spirit more prudently.” His eyes were dark, compelling, andalso strangely comforting. “You need someone who will protect you, even from yourself when necessary.”
With that, he departed, leaving Olivia breathless and uncertain whether she had just secured her salvation or signed away her soul. It was most likely both. But the thought of being at the man’s mercy filled her with more anticipation than she cared to admit.
Chapter Two
After the wedding
Victor
Victor Blackwood, Duke of Ravenswood, drained the contents of his snifter as he stood before the fireplace in his bedchamber. The old scar tissue on his left thigh throbbed, a memento from a French cavalry saber at Salamanca that had nearly severed the muscle to the bone. The nightmares of the event had come again last night.
It was always the memory of his close friend, Jenkins, calling his name as blood bubbled from his lips. The acrid smoke of cannon fire stinging Victor’s eyes while the mud of Spain turned rust-colored beneath his boots. Victor flexed his scarred hands, fighting the familiar tightness of healed wounds, and pushed the memories down where they belonged.
Control had become his anchor after the chaos of war. The ability to command his environment, to protect what mattered, to never again watch helplessly as those under his care suffered. The thought of guiding someone as spirited yet vulnerable as Olivia stirred the same protective instincts that had kept his men alive in Spain.
After all the loss he’d suffered, he wasn’t capable of love as other men might understand it, if love even existed. His motherhad died when he was young. His father had been the epitome of a cold, unfeeling duke. And while he had been close with his older brother, their relationship fractured when their father focused solely on his brother, the heir, leaving Victor to accept his future as an officer in the military.
