He wasn’t accustomed to sentimentality, and for a fleeting moment, he nearly forgot the reason for their charade.
Not yet moving toward the door, she tilted her head back, staring up at him. “You can just call me Melanie. Or Mel, even, if you’d like.”
He paused, caught off guard by the unexpected familiarity. “Melanie,” he said, because the shortened version of her name didn’t suit her at all.
“And what shall I call you?” she asked, her voice gently teasing.
So. They were actually going through with this.
“Malum is fine,” he muttered. His own mother had only ever referred to him by his courtesy title, when she’d been around, that was.
“Malum,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Don’t you have a given name?”
Harold Benedict Lucifer Alexander Montague Percival Preston. It was a ridiculous string of names, each more pompous than the last. But he would not burden her with the full weight of it.
“Harold,” he said simply, glancing away as he cleared his throat. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to offer even that much.
“Harold?” she pursed her lips. “What about Harry?”
He stiffened. “Harold,” he corrected, his tone firmer this time.
But she only smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “I think I prefer Harry.”
He sent her a withering look, clearly conveying his disapproval.
No one dared tease him, not with his reputation. And yet, here she was, shortening his name with an ease that felt unsettling.
Surprising even himself, he let it pass.
This was not how things were supposed to go. Then again, nothing about this arrangement was.
Tucking her hand through his arm, he used the other to tug at his cravat.
Temporary or not, Malum was bloody engaged.
THE ANNOUNCEMENT
An engagement was exactly what her family had hoped for—a beacon of hope to stave off impending ruin. So when the drawing room doors opened and her family filed back in, Melanie wasn’t surprised to feel a heavy sense of anticipation come with them. Their gazes jumped between her and Malum, and then each other, as they waited for the announcement.
Melanie turned to her… intended, studying his manner now that they were no longer alone. It was impossible to imagine ever calling him Harry—or Harold, for that matter.
His posture was steady as he broke the silence. “Lady Melanie has agreed to marry me,” he announced. Then, seemingly unaffected by the weight of the moment, he adjusted his cuff with a flick of his wrist.
One would think he’d just commented on the weather.
There weren’t any cheers, but rather a collective sigh of relief, and then, “Oh, Melanie, my darling!” her mother exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “I always knew you were destined for greatness.”
Seeing her mother looking genuinely happy—a rarity of late—Melanie almost wished it was real…
But no. She really did not.
Truly.
The duke simply stood beside her, his expression maddeningly inscrutable.
And her mother’s excitement, although somewhat ridiculous, was also a jolting reminder of the illusion she and Malum would have to maintain for thetonif their plan was to succeed.
He had suggested keeping the temporary nature of their engagement a secret, but they hadn’t discussed how they would present it to her family—whether it would appear a love match, a practical arrangement, or something else entirely—or any of the other details that now crowded her thoughts.
