How does that make any sense, Alyssia?
His fingers brushed hers for the briefest instant when he handed her the glass. Far too brief, and yet her pulse still leaped.
Heaven help her.
If this was how a simple exchange of sherry felt, what would happen when there were no friends left to serve as a polite barrier?
Duchess.
Could one word sound so damn sweet? Almost as perilous aswife. He could not do it. That one thought must have repeated a hundred times in his mind. He simply could not do it.
A marriage of convenience.
With anyone else perhaps.
Not with her.
He could no more do it than deny her existence. The very idea mocked him. However, he understood her reasoning. In theory, her decision was sound. In practice? Impossible. He could barely keep from touching her now. He’d thought himself prepared. He’d spent five long days recovering from The Widow’s Poison, had Knox obtain a special license as discreetly as possible, convincing himself he’d submit to all Alyssia’s wishes. However, the moment he slipped the ring on her finger, proclaiming her his, something inside him broke loose from its chains.
He watched as Alyssia’s friend dragged her to a corner and plunged into a flurry of whispers, balling his fists to keep from drawing her back.
Knox chuckled and retrieved them each a glass of cognac. “How will you proceed next?”
“I’m not sure. Pour some ants down my uncle’s pants.”
“Vivid picture,” Knox muttered. “Last night I heard chatter that he’s been making inquiries about the Den this past month.”
Month? That was about the time Crane barged into the Lyon’s Den. Could that be why the widow had revealed her knowledge of his identity? “What else did you hear?”
“That’s about it. You think he caught your scent?”
“It’s possible.” Liquid burned down his throat. “Given how he took the title, the man’s bound to live a life haunted by complete suspicion.”
“Ripe for the teasing.”
Bishop took another slow sip. “Extremely ripe. And dangerous.”
“Yes,” Knox agreed, swirling his drink. “Whatever you’re planning next, Bishop, you’ve a new bride, which means the moment your uncle moves against you, she’ll be in his line of cannon blast, too.”
“I know.” Which was why he couldn’t give his uncle a reason to look at her. “I’ve been searching for my uncle’s cutthroats of that day with no luck.”
“Probably dead already.” Bishop nodded, and Knox continued, “You have a lot of people who could vouch for your identity as the missing heir.”
“I don’t just want my title back, I want him toretirefor his health.” Perhaps the Furys could help him in this regard. Just like they’dretiredCrane’s rival.
“And here I was thinking you’d push for the noose.”
Giles’s gaze found Alyssia. He would have killed his uncle himself had he not found her again. He could even watch them hang the manpublicly with a smile. However, the aristocracy thrived upon appearances, and the only one who would suffer for his actions would be his wife.
His wife.
The word still felt foreign.
She washisnow, at least on paper, but the notion only settled half of the roaring in his blood.
Her laughter filled the room, the sound light and utterly at odds with the dark pulse that ran beneath his skin. Four days without seeing her and he’d nearly convinced himself he’d imagined her. Hell, he was still half convinced this was a deuced dream.
“I need to pay my uncle a private visit.”
