No, his actions spoke louder than his words ever could.
And then it struck her—for the first time since losing her father, she felt protected, not by her family, but by this man…
The realization didn’t make sense at first, and she couldn’t help but consider the men in her family.
Their father had protected all of them fiercely, tirelessly—until…
Until he hadn’t.
He hadn’t protected his brother, or his nephew, or his oldest son…
Or himself.
Her head swam at the memory circling like a storm she couldn’t escape. When her father died, he had left them all vulnerable, adrift without the anchor of his presence. Surely, he’d not done it deliberately, but the moments leading up to the fire, the reasons those men were trapped in that fire…
Were locked away. And she couldn’t shake the possibility that she herself held the key.
The idea twisted painfully in her chest, but it pulled to a stop before she could make sense of it.
The duke exited first, offering his hand, and Melanie accepted his assistance, stepping onto the pavement beside him. As her feet touched the ground, she glanced toward her mother’s home across the street, just in time to see the drapes in the drawing room fall back into place.
A pang of guilt struck. Josie had been tethered to the house ever since the scandal, her Season all but derailed by circumstances neither of them could change.
Everything had been turned upside down, all because Melanie had tripped on the hem of her gown. The absurdity of it stung. A single misstep—a moment of clumsiness—and their lives had unraveled into chaos.
The guilt deepened as she thought of her younger sister, and that just now, anyone could easily have witnessed her riding alone with Malum.
But then, she forced herself to breathe. What did it matter now? The worst had already happened. She’d already fallen—figuratively and literally.
What was one more step?
Tilting her chin slightly higher, the weight in her chest shifted from guilt to resignation—perhaps even the tiniest flicker of defiance. After all, what was done was done.
Without a word, she fell into step beside Malum as he led her up the stone steps and into his townhouse.
The butler, a distinguished-looking man with a stoic expression, greeted them with a polite inclination of his head. Yet, as his gaze flicked briefly to Melanie, the faintest trace of disapproval crossed his otherwise composed features, vanishing so quickly she might have imagined it.
If they’d seen the article—and, of course, they had—the entire staff would think she’d sold herself for a title. The thought made her bristle, anger flickering toward theton, the papers, and now Malum’s staff, who ought to know better than to believe every scandal sheet that crossed their path. Where was their loyalty, anyway?
Dismissing her frustration, she followed Malum up the steps, her feet dragging a little slower than his, and her gaze… well, her gaze landed on his firm backside.
And as the taut muscles shifted beneath the fabric of his trousers, Melanie felt her breath catch. The movement was effortless—a subtle display of strength and control that was… utterly captivating.
She swallowed hard, warmth spreading from her limbs to her core, and before she could scold herself into looking away, he glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes locked for the briefest second. His brows shot up and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Melanie snapped her head around, her cheeks blazing as she suddenly found the architecture of his staircase utterly fascinating.
The last time she’d climbed these stairs, she’d been mostly concerned about little Ernest, and hadn’t bothered noticing much of anything else. Today, although eager to hold the infant again, she allowed herself to appreciate the place the Duke of Malum called home.
The interior was as she remembered—rich, warm, and undeniably masculine, but the scent of leather and a faint trace of pipe smoke lingered in the halls. This was the home of a man accustomed to his independence.
If she hadn’t chosen to keep their engagement temporary, she would have become mistress of this house. Could she have made a home here, adding touches of herself to soften the edges?
But no, this was temporary, so she immediately pushed the idea aside.
When they reached the nursery door, Malum paused, casting a glance back at her.
“He’s usually awake this time of day,” he said. And although his expression remained utterly unreadable, the fact that he was aware of a newborn’s schedule at all said plenty.
