Chapter 6 #2
The words struck with uncomfortable accuracy. Anthea felt her carefully constructed composure crack slightly.
"That is not your concern," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. She knew all too well how her scandal would affect Poppy and Veronica.
"Is it not?" He studied her with those unsettling green eyes. "I may be new to Society, Miss Croft, but even I can see that your stepmother had plans for your sisters. Plans that involved me, if I am not mistaken."
Anthea's breath caught. "How did you—"
"I have some experience identifying an ambush, Miss Croft.
Military training serves one well in that regard.
" His expression softened slightly. "And I spoke with Lord Ashworth after the ball.
He confirmed certain... suspicions I had about your stepmother's schemes.
He knows her reputation for matchmaking machinations. "
So that was how he knew. Ashworth must have explained the entire situation.
"Even so," she said, lifting her chin, "I have no intention of trapping you into marriage through scandal. I did not orchestrate last evening's events."
"I know." His voice was steady, certain. "Lord Ashworth helped me understand what truly occurred. Your stepmother arranged for your sister to be caught with me. You interfered to protect her. And in doing so, you compromised yourself."
She blinked. "You... believe me?"
"I do." He moved closer, and Anthea had to resist the urge to retreat. "Which is why I am making this offer. Not because I was trapped, but because you sacrificed your own reputation to protect your sister. That kind of loyalty... that is rare. Admirable, even."
Anthea found herself at a loss for words. She had expected accusations, suspicion, perhaps even anger. Not... respect.
"Your Grace," she began carefully, "I appreciate that you feel honor demands this offer. But I must be clear—I have no interest in marriage. To anyone."
"So you said last evening," he acknowledged. "And I heard you. But circumstances have changed, have they not?"
"Have they?"
"You need a way to protect your sisters and secure their futures," he said. "I need someone who understands Society. Someone who can navigate the ton's politics and teach me the unspoken rules I do not comprehend." He paused. "We can help each other achieve our goals."
It was logical. Practical. Everything Anthea claimed to value.
So why did some part of her feel oddly disappointed by his very pragmatic proposal?
"You speak of marriage as though it were a business arrangement," she said slowly.
"Because that is precisely what I am proposing," Gregory said. "I am not asking you to love me, Miss Croft. I am not even asking you to particularly like me. I am asking you to enter into a practical arrangement that benefits us both."
"And what would this arrangement entail?"
"We will negotiate terms," he said. "Ground rules for our marriage. You help me with Society. I provide resources and connections for your sisters. And beyond that..." He paused, his gaze steady on hers. "Beyond that, we live our own lives. Respectably. Cordially. But separately."
A marriage of convenience. Exactly what she had overheard him contemplating.
"You want a teacher," Anthea said flatly.
"I want a partner," Gregory corrected. "Someone who can help me achieve my goals whilst I help them achieve theirs. You need influence and resources to protect your sisters from your stepmother's schemes. I can provide both. In return, you help me navigate a world I do not understand."
"And you expect nothing else?" Anthea asked carefully. "No... marital expectations beyond this partnership?"
His expression remained carefully neutral. "I expect honesty. Loyalty to the terms we agree upon. And discretion. Beyond that, you are free to live as you choose."
It was perfect. Logical. Exactly what she should want—a marriage that required nothing of her heart, only her knowledge and connections.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly. She swallowed past it, forcing her expression to remain composed.
"I..." Anthea started, but Gregory raised a hand.
"Think about it," he said, his voice carrying unmistakable authority. "Consider what I am offering. I will call upon you again tomorrow for your answer. But know this, Miss Croft—this is your one opportunity. If you refuse, I will not ask again."
"You sound very certain I will accept," she said, an edge entering her voice.
"I sound very certain that you are practical enough to recognize a mutually beneficial arrangement when it is offered," he corrected. "You love your sisters. You wish to protect them. This is how you do it."
He was right. Damn him, he was right.
"I will consider your offer," Anthea said finally, her voice steady despite the chaos in her mind.
"That is all I ask." He bowed, the gesture formal and precise. "Until tomorrow, Miss Croft."
And then he was gone, leaving Anthea standing in the middle of the drawing room with her mind in complete turmoil.
She had been so certain she would refuse him. So determined to maintain her independence, her hard-won solitude, her carefully constructed walls.
But he had not asked for her love. Had not demanded anything except honesty and practical assistance. Had offered her exactly what she needed—a way to protect her sisters whilst maintaining her emotional distance.
It was perfect. Logical. Exactly what she should want.
The door burst open and Beatrice swept back in, her face flushed with fury.
"What did he say?" she demanded. "Did he offer? He must have offered—why else would he come?"
"He offered," Anthea said quietly.
"And?" Beatrice's expression was a twisted mixture of rage and calculation. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him I would consider it."
"Consider it?" Beatrice's voice rose to a near-shriek. "You will accept immediately! This is exactly what I—" She stopped herself, visibly fighting for control. "This could still work. You marry the Duke, you help your sisters secure good matches. It is not what I planned, but—"
"But nothing," Anthea interrupted coldly. "If I accept his offer, it will be on my terms. Not yours. And you will have no say in how I choose to help my sisters. Is that understood?"
Beatrice's face mottled with fury, but before she could respond, Veronica and Poppy slipped back into the room.
"Well?" Poppy asked tremulously. "What happened?"
Anthea looked at her stepsisters. She would not let Beatrice destroy them. Would not let them suffer as she had suffered.
But accepting Gregory's proposal meant trusting him. Meant believing his offer was genuine. Meant risking everything she had spent three years protecting.
"I have until tomorrow to decide," Anthea said finally. "And I promise you both—whatever I choose, it will be for the right reasons."
Even if she was not entirely certain what those reasons were anymore.
But as she climbed the stairs to her chamber, she could not escape the memory of dark green eyes. Of a man who wanted her honesty, not her love. Who offered practical partnership, not romance.
Who had stood close enough to make her heart race, then walked away without a backward glance.
Think about it, he had commanded.
And damn him, she would. Whether she wanted to or not.