He reluctantly returned his attention to me. “If not money, another ring? Diamonds?”
Diamonds? Good heavens! What sort of rare, irreplaceable jewel was on my finger? I picked at the gold casing around it, and the duke stiffened.
“Stop that. You will damage the jewel.” He again looked to Peter as though he wondered why my brother did not have me in better form.
What, exactly,couldI ask for? He’d offered money, nowdiamonds. Was there a line? How far could I push it? My mind raced through ideas. What did I truly need above all from someone like a duke? Not money, though that was always nice. Not anything of substance, for Peter saw to all my needs. I truly did notneeda cottage for living; I could live in the dower house on our estate if I wanted solitude. What I wanted most—what I lacked—was ... friends.
Society.
I remembered it perfectly. During my first Season, I’d made acquaintances, listened in circles, and learned, but I hadn’t felt the need to spend time securing friends when I had Peter, and Peter had Sir Ronald. Of all the regrets, that one I felt keenly.
The duke shook his head in frustration. “I can offer you three hundred pounds. Would that suffice?”
My mind went utterly blank.
Three. Hundred. Pounds?
I leaned back, watching as the duke stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax his evidently building tension. Tension that was worth three hundred pounds. More, even, since I suspected he was likely paying low for his first offer.
Amelia’s eyes were popping out of their sockets. She mouthed something likeYes, but Peter was very clearly trying to urge me further with a stare that I knew meant,Keep going.
I offered the duke a smile. “Perhaps wecouldwork out an exchange. Though, of late, I have little need of money.”
We stared each other down our respective noses. I knew I should be frightened of him. Instinct told me he could be very dangerous. And, yet, I had lost so much and fallen so far, what could this man, duke or not, possibly do to hurt me?
“Let us not play coy. Everyone has a weakness, Miss Wood.” He enunciated my name as though it were dirt beneath his boots. “Indeed, I have read about yours in the papers.”
Peter stood abruptly. “I shall have to beg your pardon,” he ground out, all humor drained from him. “You will not speak to my sister with such a tone in our home.”
My confident shoulders sank. Not afraid of hurting my feelings, was he? We might as well speak plainly, then.
“Peter,” I said, my gaze still firmly locked with the duke’s. “Amelia looks as though she could use a breath of fresh air.” I nodded to Amelia, who struggled to stand before taking Peter’s arm. She whispered something near his shoulder, and though his eyes were fiery daggers, he relented.
He swallowed hard. “We will wait just outside the door.”
“Very well.” I flicked my hand to hurry him off.
The duke and I listened as their footsteps pattered upon the carpets and through the sitting room door, neither of us so much as breathing.
Then, alone, the room so quiet one could hear a pin drop, I said, “I’m not the only one whose name has been in the papers. I recognize yours.”
“Do you?” He lifted his nose. Narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, have you read anything particularly fallible? Abhorrent? Scandalous?” He waited for the space of three breaths to prove some point before continuing, “No. You have not, and that is the difference between you and me. One word from me, and you might find your name filling more than one page in next week’s papers.”
Well, then. The true Duke of Marlow had finally joined the conversation. “Is that a threat?”
He shrugged, sitting back. His long legs stretched out between us. “It does not have to be. This negotiation can be as simple as you wish it. Simply sell me back my ring. I shall pay you handsomely. You could”—his gaze washed over me—“buy yourself a new dress.”
I ought to feel insulted. I raised a brow. “If you’ve actually read the papers, then you would know I have no need of nice dresses, Your Grace. Nor of your money. Nor do I care if you slander my name so thoroughly that every household in England speaks it ill. Your Grace can have no understanding of what it is to be forgotten, rejected, and utterly withdrawn.” I leaned forward in my seat. “I would welcome the attention.”
His piercing blue eyes trailed my face, and I itched for a mirror to see what he was seeing. Dust and dirt. Strands of hay. Freckles from too much sun.
The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. As though he was amused.
“I actually believe you,” he said, half lost in his own thoughts. “But I will not leave without that ring. I cannot return to London without it.”
Again, I pressed my lips together, unyielding. His offer would have to be good. Unbelievable, even to someone of means. Something to keep me occupied and happy for a long while.
He looked at me. “Shall I appeal to your compassionate heart? Do you have one?”
