Chapter 8
“Ihave agreed to allow Camelia to marry His Grace, the Duke of Brentmere,” he announced.
His words hung heavily in the room.
Camelia’s mind reeled until she heard Margaret applaud ecstatically beside her. Her sisters hugged her tightly.
I am marrying a duke. God help me.
“You will be fine, Camelia,” Iris whispered soothingly in her ear. “We will always be here for you.”
Camelia pulled back from her sisters’ embrace, her gaze settling on their faces, each one etched with a vulnerability that steeled her resolve to shield them at all costs.
“You’re marrying a duke, Camelia!” Margaret gushed with the widest grin.
“I am,” Camelia responded softly and smiled at her sisters.
Although the dread was there, a quiet relief bloomed within her. She had ventured into that shadowed alley, unaware it would lead her to the Duke.
The Duke’s proposal was unforeseen, but it did not change her purpose. By accepting this marriage, she had secured her family’s salvation. Or would, once she fulfilled her new duties as his wife and Duchess.
That means I will share his bed.
A rush of heat surged from her core at the thought of consummating what had begun between them. Her eyes lifted, veiled by the soft fringe of her lashes, to study him as he spoke with commanding assurance to her father.
He was tall and strikingly handsome, but he exuded a magnetic darkness that both beckoned her heart and stirred a tremor of fear within her.
“It’s for the best, Camelia.” The Earl faced her wearily. “His Grace has helped us and offered to settle our debts and protect Margaret. It’s a solution we cannot refuse, and we are eternally grateful, Your Grace.”
“I understand, Father, and I agree.” Camelia stood up and approached the Duke. She curtsied before him. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She chanced a look at him. The Duke’s eyes darkened as he peered down at her.
What awaits me in this marriage?
Excitement and fear filled her as she tried to breathe calmly in his overbearing presence.
“You will all be free from Lord Montague as promised. I will make sure that he will never set foot on your estate again,” he addressed her father, and they exchanged a look of understanding.
Lord Lempster strode towards them and sat in his armchair.
“We have a wedding to plan, Father! How exciting! I do hope all goes well,” Margaret chirped, and her family began to talk about the wedding while Camelia stood before the Duke in heated silence.
The Duke’s gaze turned back to her and never left; she sensed his burning look and felt her skin prickle in response. She trembled slightly and cussed herself for her lack of control.
“There is one condition yet to be settled,” he declared firmly, and the room hushed at once. “I will return tomorrow to discuss it.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Lempster said earnestly.
Another condition? What more does he want?
Camelia’s heart pounded as the Duke said his goodbyes and moved towards the door. She couldn’t let him leave without answers.
Slipping away from her sisters, she followed him silently into the garden and waited until they were completely alone.
“Your Grace, why would you declare our engagement so suddenly? What could possibly compel such a decision?” she whispered, her voice soft yet tinged with urgency.
The Duke’s expression was unreadable, though his eyes gleamed with something dangerously tempting.
“It’s a done deal, Lady Camelia,” he said. “Make peace with it.”
“Oh, I am at peace with it, Your Grace, truly,” Camelia murmured softly. “I only wonder… why?”
“Why not?” the Duke countered, his tone light yet edged with challenge.
Camelia faltered, caught off guard by his retort.
He pressed on, his voice lowering. “You were prepared to surrender yourself to me in that alley. Isn’t marriage a far more honorable path?”
She nodded, her agreement unspoken but firm, though her thoughts lingered on the heated exchange between him and Lord Montague.
“Does Lord Montague have any bearing on your proposal?” she ventured cautiously.
The Duke’s jaw clenched, a flicker of tension betraying a deeper truth. Camelia’s breath caught, sensing a hidden story.
Abruptly, he halted, turning to face her and stepping close, his frame pinning her gently against the garden’s verdant hedge. The air fled her lungs as she braced for his touch, but his hands remained at his sides. His piercing, deep blue eyes held her captive.
“Lord Montague’s reputation is no secret to half of London,” he said, his voice low and resolute.
“My proposal has spared you and your family from his machinations. I urge you to accept it without hesitation and consider yourself fortunate that it was I who found you in that alley, not another man.”
His warning lingered in the air as he turned and resumed his walk through the garden.
Heavens, what secrets does he guard so fiercely, and why does his nearness stir such reckless longing within me?
“Did you tell my father how we met?” she demanded as she followed after him. “Does he know what I… what I tried to do?”
He smirked, a rakish tilt of his lips that set her nerves on edge. “Not to worry, little flower. Your father doesn’t know that his delicate daughter isn’t so delicate after all.”
“You’re a rake!” she snapped, her cheeks burning.
How dare he mock me?
The Duke paused and turned back to her, his hand catching her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. Camelia’s lips parted involuntarily.
“A rake? That’s bold, coming from you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her lips.
He grabbed her hand and placed something cold in it. Camelia was tempted to look at it, but his deep blue eyes held her still.
“Not long ago, you were ready to give yourself to me. Do you remember that, little flower?”
Camelia’s breath hitched as she pulled away from his grasp.
“It’s a mystery why you rejected me and then volunteered to marry me,” she said with defiance.
What game is he playing?
He leaned closer, his eyes darkening. “Did my rejection disappoint you, Camelia?” His voice was a low and seductive rumble. His fingers trailed lightly down her arm, sending a shiver through her. “Were you hoping for a different outcome?”
He’s toying with me.
She froze under his touch, speechless, while his fingers lingered on her skin. Her mind was a whirl of confusion when he drew back. She craved to feel his touch again, hot and rough against her smooth skin.
Why does he affect me so?
“I’d have thought you’d show gratitude to the man who saved your family.
” His voice cut through her spiraling thoughts as the heat of his body teased her senses.
“Perhaps I will have to teach you a lesson for your insolence when you become my wife.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “A suitable discipline that will leave you breathless and begging for my mercy.”
Camelia let out a soft gasp, but before she could muster a response, the Duke turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the garden, her thoughts and body in utter chaos.
Why did he refuse me then, only to bind himself to me now?
She retreated to her chamber, the weight of the morning’s events pressing down on her.
Alone in her bed, she paced restlessly, her mind replaying what had happened in the alley.
The Duke’s shadowed eyes locked on hers, the strength of his grip as he had pulled her close, the moment she had offered herself and he had turned away.
“Why marry me?” she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely audible.
What does he gain from this, and what happened between him and Lord Montague? Was it pity, duty, or something deeper that I can’t yet fathom?
A man like him, with power and wealth, choosing a woman who had nearly sold herself to save her family, made no sense. Yet his words echoed in her mind.
My Duchess.
The possessiveness in his tone, the way his eyes had darkened when he had held her chin, stirred something within her she couldn’t ignore.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts a whirl of desire and doubt.
If he’d taken me in that alley, would I have regretted it?
The question lingered, unanswered, as she imagined his breath hot against her neck, claiming her with a fierceness that matched the intensity of his gaze.
The fantasy of him on her and inside her was fleeting but potent, leaving her flushed and restless. Her body ached with a need she barely understood.
He torments me.
She uncurled her fist, still holding on to the object he had placed there, and found her missing hairpin in the center of her palm.