From the tightness in his jaw to the pure, undeniable hate in his eyes, the man looked ready to strangle me. Instead, we endured a moment of silence as he collected himself, then he said, “Then may I also include an addendum: her untimely death should have no direct nor indirect link to you or your associates.” He muttered something further aboutaccidentalandnatural causes, and after reading over the whole a final time, I agreed.
There. Everything accounted for, to the very dot.
Favorable, indeed. I wouldn’t have to spend a pound to right cousin Gabriel’s mistake, and better—once Miss Wood arrived in London, all I had to do was walk beside her three times. I did not have to engage with her at all otherwise, though, yes, she’d be introduced to my mother and family. But I did not have to answer to them.
Indeed, as long as they were happy and thriving, I had done my part. My life was not theirs to arrange, and should they meddle, I would make that perfectly clear.
Sitting back in Mr. Wood’s leather armchair across from his desk, I could feel the tension in my shoulders finally relaxing. Another problem solved. I was almost, finally, finished.
A light knock sounded on the door.
“Come in.” Mr. Wood blew softly on our drying contract.
“Is it finished?” Miss Wood took a seat beside me. Her hair had been arranged. And she’d put on a brown pelisse, buttoned high, as though to cover up the mess that was her day dress. No more evidence of dirt on her cheeks, nor on her hands ... and no ring.
She smelled of dirt and hay and something sweet. Apples?
Her hazel eyes flicked to mine, and I cleared my throat. Underneath all that dust and dirt was a very attractive woman. Somewhere. “Indeed. If you’ve a pen, I am prepared to sign and leave the two of you in peace.”
“Georgiana must read it first,” Mr. Wood said, pushing the paper across to her. “She may want to amend.”
My jaw clenched, and I breathed deeply to relax it. Who, exactly, did these Woods think they were? The contract was sound. I watched Miss Wood’s brow furrow ever so slightly as she read. My guess was she’d used her beauty to advantage more than her mind, if the rumors that had gone round about her cavorting in the middle of a ballroom were true. Not that I cared.
Miss Wood set the paper on her brother’s desk, her porcelain face a smooth mask. “Interesting. I appreciate the bit about my untimely demise.”
Her dark stare said otherwise.
“Is there anything you would like to add?” Mr. Wood tapped his pen on his desk. “Anything you need for your outings?”
The man was urging her on. If they wanted my money, they should have taken the first deal.
“She will want for nothing under my care,” I assured them in an effort to keep anything further from being written down. “If there is nothi—”
“I’d like a line added where the duke might not speak ill of me, nor confirm nor deny our arrangement if asked during or after our time together, nor shall he seek to harm me or incriminate me or treat me as any less than he would a close, personal friend.” The woman crossed her arms, that little haughty chin raised.
I sat up straighter. If only she knew I did nothaveclose, personal friends to emulate. “Miss Wood, this is simply not how contracts are written. You cannot add every single possibility and expect us to agree. There are a myriad of obstacles that might occur at any given moment that are beyond my control.”
“Your control?” she said, lowering her chin. “I was under the impression a duke’s word was as good as gold. If you cannot keep me from harm, treat me well in word and deed, and maintain your honor over time, then I do not know what we aim to accomplish here. I cannot bargain with a man I cannot trust.”
Trust? I almost laughed. Lack of trust was exactly why we needed this contract to begin with. “As long as you hold that ring, you will be safe from any harm from me, verbal or otherwise.” Besides, would any of thisreallyhold up in a court of law toheradvantage? Likely not. “But, by all means, write it down, and I shall sign it.”
She grinned as though she’d won.
Her signature was loopy and large—Georgiana Wood.
Mine, admittedly, less elegant, more slanted—Duke Marlow.
I’d signed myself away like a working-class man, and I supposed I had just agreed to do a job. I reminded myself of the payment—Grandmother’s ring—and the reality of my future drawing nearer. The dukedom was recovered. My father’s legacy nearly secure.
I had one last venture to see through, and a wife to court. The Marlow name would finally, again, be one to fear.
ChapterFour
Georgiana
He’d left on his horse without a second glance, his coat billowing in the wind behind him.
Peter closed the door behind us as we reentered the house, with Amelia quiet between us.
