“That is precisely why you will be there to assist me,” Cecil replied. “To find me a wife whose values match mine. Properly, this time.”
He extended his hand toward her and waited silently.
Penelope stared at it for a long moment, her expression torn between fury and resignation. Then, with obvious reluctance, she placed her hand in his.
“Very well,” she said tightly. “I agree to your terms.”
Cecil's fingers closed around hers, warm and firm.
“Excellent,” he said, allowing himself a small smile. “I believe this arrangement will work out splendidly, Lady Penelope. Do you not agree?”
Penelope glared at him, but she did not pull her hand away.
“I despise you,” she muttered.
“I know,” Cecil replied cheerfully. “But you will help me nonetheless. I look forward to seeing what results we can yield together.”
With a grin flashed in her direction, his menacing aura disappeared, and he walked out of her room whistling.
Penelope stood still in her room for a moment, then crumpled to the floor, her heart racing so fast she felt her chest tightening, as though to stop it from beating out of her.
“Oh dear,” she pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified at the deal she had just made. “What have I done?”
CHAPTER FOUR
The gentleman's club was thick with cigar smoke and the low murmur of conversation. Drinking glasses clinked against each other in boisterous toasts, and every now and then, there would be a roar of cheers and cries of death coming from the tables where gamblers sat.
Cecil sat with Lionel and Godric, the Duke of Ironwell – his brother-in-law and friend – at their usual table near the back of the room, a glass of port in hand as he half-listened to his companions' discussion. He wasn’t paying close attention to what was being said, but he simply liked the way their voices blended into the noise around them, giving his mind a momentary reprieve from his thoughts.
On the small stage at the far end of the room, a young woman was singing – her voice pleasant enough, though Cecil paid little attention to the song itself. He did not need to, though, because they were always the same – always something melancholic about lost love and faded roses.
What he did notice was the way her eyes kept drifting toward their table, lingering on him in particular. She was truly pretty – auburn hair, pale skin, a figure displayed to advantage in a gown cut just a touch too low for true respectability.
When their gazes met, she smiled – a coy, inviting thing – and Cecil found himself lifting his glass in acknowledgment. The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and the singer's smile widened. She held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before turning to acknowledge the rest of the room.
“– do you not think, Cecil?”
Cecil turned his attention back to the table, realizing Godric had asked him a question. “I apologize. My mind was elsewhere.”
Godric chuckled, glancing toward the stage. “I can see that. Though I must say, I expected you to be more focused now that you have a wife to find. Should you not be conserving your... attentions?”
“One does not preclude the other,” Cecil said with a shrug, taking a sip of his port, sighing at the pleasant burn that dripped down his throat. “Besides, I am merely appreciating the performance. There is no harm in that.”
Lionel snorted. “Is that what we are calling it now?”
Cecil grinned despite himself, offering a half-hearted shrug. Godric laughed as he set down his own glass and leaned back in his chair, speaking casually.
“Well, I must congratulate you on surviving theton'sexpectations now that you are a duke. It cannot be easy, having every mama in London sizing you up as potential prey for their daughters. Every eligible young lady suddenly is discovering they share a handful of common interests with you must be quite terrifying.”
Cecil shrugged, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he watched the light catch and refract through it.
“It is not as daunting when you come to terms with the fact that we are set apart by our motivations. For me, marriage is merely a responsibility I must endure. It was never meant to be so emotional. One chooses a suitable partner, produces heirs, and maintains the family line. What they seek is all unnecessary and pointless – love and affection. They all amount to needless complications.”
Lionel leaned back in his chair, regarding Cecil with an expression that was far too knowing for comfort. His eyes – the same dark eyes his sister possessed – studied Cecil with an intensity that made him want to shift in his seat.
“Love may be rare,” Lionel said slowly, “But respect and honesty matter more. Choosing the wrong woman out of convenience would be cruel – not just to her, but to yourself as well. You would be condemning yourself to decades of dissatisfaction.”
Cecil felt his jaw tighten. “I am perfectly capable of being satisfied with a practical arrangement.”
