Lucy blinked, feeling a fusion of relief, apprehension, and the faint, unexpected thrill of curiosity. Two weeks. Enough to make an impression, enough to test her skill, enough, she realized, to measure the weight of a Duke’s expectations.
“I understand,” she said. “Two weeks, then. I will do my best, Your Grace.”
“I’m not done.” He shook his head, approaching her slowly.
Lucy’s pulse quickened, her breath catching slightly.
“I will accept your help, which has been established. You are to remain here, and you will attempt to find me a suitable match for the good of the household, for my sons, and for the sake of propriety. Now that I think about it, if I go through with this, the gossips about me amongst the ton would cease.”
His eyes darkened, sharp as steel. “Two weeks, Miss Crampton. Two weeks to succeed. If you do not, then…” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle between them. “… then you will be my bride instead.”
Lucy blinked, startled, and then, despite herself, let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I see you still doubt my skill, Your Grace. Well, I assure you, I am entirely serious about my work. There will be no need for threats. You have nothing to worry about. I will do everything in my power to find a suitable match. Two weeks will be more than enough time.”
Rowan did not flinch, did not offer a hint of amusement. He simply continued to study her. Lucy felt herself shift under the intensity, the heat of his scrutiny prickling her skin.
Then, almost unconsciously, his eyes drifted lower, tracing the line of her lips before snapping back to meet her eyes. “If you do not find a match for me in two weeks, Lucy Crampton, you will be my bride instead. The search ends then,” he repeated.
Lucy swallowed, heart thudding in her chest. The audacity of the statement, coupled with the gravity in his eyes, made it impossible to dismiss as mere teasing. Rowan’s gaze remained fixed, unwavering, and in that charged silence, Lucy felt the gravity of the challenge before her. She realized, in a rush of thrill, that she would not back down.
She couldn’t. A lot depended on her successfully matching the Duke of Langridge.
Lucy squared her shoulders, forcing a calmness she did not entirely feel. “Very well, Your Grace,” she said, steadying her voice. “I suppose that is one way to ensure diligence.”
Rowan’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly, the closest he came to a smile, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Good luck, Miss Crampton.”
Lucy exhaled slowly. “I do not need luck. I have skill.”
“Very well. The housekeeper will see you to your chambers.”
Rowan inclined his head, taking a measured step back, yet the tension did not dissipate. His presence lingered in the space between them, commanding and magnetic. Lucy straightened, gripping the straps of her bag, making sure she was not the first person to break off their locked eyes.
Don’t back down. We can do this. Let’s prove to Aunt Selina... to Mama that this is what I was born to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
“May I come in, Your Grace?” Lucy’s voice was polite, though steady, as her knuckles lingered a moment longer on the polished oak door.
She had woken up that morning less confident than she had been when she had gone to bed. She wasn’t sure where the boldness from the previous evening had come from, but it was already beginning to fade, leaving behind a gnawing uncertainty. Still, she had no choice but to push forward. She had traveled all this way, and there was a purpose to her journey, one she could not abandon.
She dressed quickly, taking a deep breath before stepping into the crisp morning air, her thoughts turning over what she would say, how she would phrase each question. The first step, she knew, was to speak with the Duke himself, to understand what expectations he held, the sort of woman he might consider suitable, and whether there was any chance she could succeed in this audacious task.
Rowan exhaled sharply. “Is it not far too early for this, Miss Crampton? The sun has barely risen, and here you are, prepared to interrogate me before I have even had my morning drink.”
Lucy straightened, meeting his gaze from where she stood. “I have no time to waste, Your Grace. I have been given two weeks to complete this task, and every moment counts.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, I must endure this… torment every single day? Have you walked the gardens? Seen Langridge in the full morning light? It is a beautiful estate, Miss Crampton, and yet here you are, standing before me, insisting I submit to questions.”
Lucy held his gaze, stepping fully into the study, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, refusing to falter under his intense gaze. “Your Grace, if I am to do my work properly, I must understand what I am to achieve. Two weeks is hardly enough time to waste on dawdling or pleasantries. I must ask, so that I might do my job properly, what are you seeking in a wife?”
“Does it look like I seek a wife?” he questioned, leaning into his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Lucy felt her chest tighten. This man was out to make her life impossible. Every glance, every word carried the aura of deliberate torment. Now, knowing the condition she had agreed to, her stomach twisted with concern. Marriage to this man was not an option in her plans. In fact, marriage in its entirety had never been. Yet here she was, tasked with finding a woman whocould endure his exacting nature and, somehow, coax him into matrimony, all within two weeks.
She straightened, forcing herself to concentrate. If there was any hope of succeeding, she had to push past the intimidation, past the icy scrutiny, and focus on the task at hand. Someone had to survive this household and survive the Duke himself. If she could find such a woman, she might yet prevent a fate she could not possibly accept for herself.
Rowan’s lips curved slightly. “Is your task suddenly seeming impossible, Miss Crampton? Have you developed an urge to run away?”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “No, Your Grace,” she said. “I intend to see it through.”
