His eyes were no longer the warm amber I remembered, but storm-dark… tired… and unmistakably furious.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
He said nothing. I said nothing. The creased newspaper hung from his gloved hand, the headline a wound split open across the page. My name. His title. Scandal inked into permanence.
“Lucy,” he said at last, my name low, rough, dangerous in his mouth. His eyes raked over me as if seeing me for the first time.
The sound of it ripped through me. I felt nineteen again, hopeful and foolish. But his gaze was not the gaze of the man who had once read stories to me under a chestnut tree. It was the gaze of a man betrayed.
“Your Grace,” I managed politely, my voice little more than breath.
He stepped into my small room without invitation. The very air seemed to move aside for him. The faint scentof cold rain and horse leather followed him, unsettlingly foreign in my small, shabby room. He didn’t bother to remove his gloves. He simply stood there, statue still and devastatingly beautiful, before casting the newspaper onto the table with a sharp flick of his wrist.
“So,” he sighed quietly, “it’s true then. You’ve achieved what every gossip in London has been dreaming of.”
I blinked, dizzy, unsure whether to laugh or weep. “What… I beg your pardon?”
His jaw tightened. “This.” He tapped the headline with one gloved finger, the movement deliberate, restrained. “I wake to find myself the subject of your scandal, Lucy. Not mine.Yours. A full account of my supposed indecency at the Samhain masquerade and the ruined heiress I was seen with.”
“I—” My voice faltered. “How dare you come here to accuse me whenyou, sir, are the one who seduced me?”
He laughed, a low, humorless sound that chilled the air. “This is some sort of jest, yes?”
The accusation struck deep, sharper than any insult. “No,” I snapped, the word trembling with fury. “I was on my way to demand the same of you! You told the papers who I was, admit it! No one else knew!”
His expression softened just slightly, his voice lowering to something almost tender. “Lucy… are you feeling well?”
The question ignited a fire beneath my skin. I pressed a hand to my stomach to steady the ache that burned there. “Don’t you dare do that, Sylum. Don’t you dare question my sanity or toy with it. You were there! We were seen by others! You know it.”
“I wasn’t,” he stated softly, taking a slow step toward me. “I swear to you I wasn’t. I was at my club all night. There are witnesses. So I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when the woman who once swore she wanted nothing more to do with me appears at a ball she wasn’t invited to. How convenient that we should meet again there, of all places.”
His tone was even, almost courtly, but beneath it I heard the tremor of anger… and something far more dangerous… hurt.
My own temper surged to meet it. “How dare you?” I hissed. “You think I orchestrated a scandal to trap you into marriage? I wanted nothing from you, Your Grace. I didn’t even know you were in London!”
He stopped, studying me, searching my face for something I couldn’t name. Truth. Guilt. Maybe a fragment of the girl he once loved.
“If this is your revenge,” he murmured, “I would almost forgive it. God knows I deserve it.”
The words hung between us, heavy and poisonous.
I stared at him, my throat constricting with tears I refused to release. “Revenge? You think I’d destroy myself to punish you?”
He gave a faint, sorrowful smile. “No. And perhaps that’s the tragedy. The Lucy I knew would never let love force her hand, and she certainly would never waste her pain on vengeance.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
At last, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as though warding off an old memory. “Regardless of how it happened,” he said quietly, “the damage is done. Our names are already bound together.”
His gaze found mine again, steady, resigned, and almost tender. “There’s only one way to salvage what’s left of your reputation, Lucy.”
My stomach plummeted. “No…”
“Yes.” His voice left no room for protest. “We marry.”
The room tilted. I stumbled back and the walls seemed to close in around me. “You can’t mean that. You don’t even know if—if I’m—”
“Guilty?” he interrupted softly. “You think that matters?”
