Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ I can brush my own hair tonight, Clara,” Leah said, as her maid bent to take the brush from her hand.
“Are you sure, milady?” Clara asked, pausing and looking hesitantly from the brush to Leah’s face. “I can do it for you.”
“I don’t mind,” Leah said, smiling at her maid. “I think I’d like a few minutes alone for myself to consider everything the past few days have brought.”
“Very well, milady. Have a good night.”
The maid shut the door behind her, leaving Leah alone. With a small sigh, Leah turned to the mirror and lifted the brush to her hair. Her long, dark locks had been let all the way down, and they cascaded around her shoulders.
Her hair was still curly from the hot iron this morning, which her maid had used to put her hair into a fashionable coiffure for the promenade she had taken with Lord Eaton. The afternoon promenade had gone very well, and as Leah began to brush out the curls, she allowed herself to feel a small measure of hope.
Lord Eaton was a good man, she thought. Perhaps a little studious and dry, but a good man. And he had been attentive all afternoon, asking her questions about herself, giving thoughtful replies. The conversation was easy, especially after Nottington’s lessons.
And he seems to really like me. He had even brushed his hands very lightly against hers as they’d walked next to each other. That bordered on flirtatiousness, if you asked her.
Yes, it had gone very well, and she was hopeful that he would propose in the next few days. Which she desperately needed, because the end of the fortnight her brother and Nottington had promised her was coming to a close. Lucien hadn’t been able to guarantee that he could keep Dubois away any longer than that.
A proposal is imminent , she told herself sternly as her heart began to race in her chest. You won’t be forced to marry Dubois.
Why, then, was there a very small part of her that was dreading Lord Eaton’s proposal? Why was there a small part of her that hoped he changed his mind? Why did her stomach turn to knots when she imagined marrying him?
Shaking her head, she tried to push these thoughts away. They were ludicrous. Lord Eaton was her best bet…
At that moment, there was a thumb against the window, and Leah nearly jumped out of her skin.
Whirling around, she stared at the window. It was dark out, and she couldn’t see anything because of the flickering candlelight inside: only her reflection was visible. She stared at it for a long moment, her heart hammering.
Maybe a bird flew into it… Or a stray tree branch hit it…
She had just looked away when it happened again. Thump! It didn’t sound like a bird. It sounded like someone… knocking.
Jumping to her feet, Leah ran over to the window and pulled it open. She looked down, and, to her astonishment, found herself staring into the eyes of the Duke of Nottington. He was clinging to the edge of the windowsill and the lattice underneath the ivy, which she was shocked to see could support his weight.
“What are you doing?” she cried, and he immediately shushed her.
“Be quiet,” he said. “You don't want your brother, or anyone, to find me here.”
“Well that’s because you shouldn’t be here!” Leah said, although she obediently lowered her voice.
“Stand back,” he commanded, and she did. With strength she couldn’t even imagine, the Duke hoisted himself up onto the windowsill. To her shock and embarrassment, she found her eyes going to his arms, wondering just how strong he was underneath his jacket…
She looked away just as he tumbled forward through the window and into the room.
“Be quiet!” She snapped, as he let out a soft grunt. “Someone will hear you!”
“You try climbing up lattice without letting out even the smallest sound,” the Duke grumbled, dusting himself off and then standing up. He glowered at her. “It was very difficult, I should have been groaning the entire way up!”
“No one asked you to climb up here!” she hissed. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking? Someone might have seen you! They might have thought you were a burglar and called the Bow Street Runners!”
“No one saw me,” the Duke said. His eyes met hers, and they blazed with a wild intensity. “But I had to see you.”
Leah’s mouth went dry, and it took her a moment to remember she was supposed to be angry. Crossing her arms, she said, “Then you could have come in the normal way. You are known here--you even sometimes stay the night. The servants wouldn’t have turned you away. Then you could have just snuck down the hall and knocked on my door like a normal person.”
“A normal person trying to have a liaison!” The Duke said, snorting. “That would certainly have looked bad for you had someone seen me.”
“You’re a rake,” she shot back. “I’m sure you know how to sneak over to a woman’s room without getting caught.”
The Duke flushed, then crossed his arms and gave her a superior look. “It doesn’t matter, because I couldn’t have come in the front door. The servants would have told your brother I was here, and I don’t want him to know I’m here.”
“Why?” she countered, her heart fluttering with nerves. “If this is about my lessons, he can be informed of them. You don’t have to do them in secret in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not--I just--I had to see you.” The Duke suddenly looked on edge, and he raked a hand through his tousled hair, making it even more messy. It was a good look on him. It gave him even more of a wild, adventurous look than he already had.
She swallowed, the hair on the back of her neck prickling.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he began to pace back and forth in front of her.
“Why do you suppose something is wrong?” the Duke asked, looking at her sideways.
She raised an eyebrow. “Because you broke into my room in the middle of the night--climbing up the side of the house, no less!--and now you look as if you have seen a ghost.” It was true. He was very pale, and there was a strange, wild look in his eyes she had never seen before.
“I--” he turned to look at her, and suddenly he froze. He was staring at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly.
“W-what?” Leah asked, suddenly self-conscious. She glanced down at herself. That’s when she realized it: she was in a complete state of undress! In fact, she was wearing only a thin white chemise. In her alarm at finding the Duke at the window and then helping him inside, she hadn’t even thought about the fact she was wearing so little. He hadn’t seemed to realize it either. But now he was gazing at her in a way that made her feel very warm and very embarrassed.
“You--you should not see me like this,” she stammered, her arms coming to her chest as she attempted to cover herself.
“Let me,” he said, his voice very hoarse. He turned to her bed, where her dressing gown was lying across the end of it, and brought it over to her. “Lift your arms,” he murmured. She did so, unable to disobey in her state of shock and embarrassment.
He gently placed the dressing gown over her. Reaching around her, he took both ends of the tie and tied them together in front of her, all while being careful not to touch her.
Leah’s heart was in her throat. Never in her life had she been this close in proximity to a man, especially when wearing so little, and especially alone. She thought she was going to faint.
Unbidden, memories of their kiss in the garden came to her. She remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the way her whole body had responded to his touch, had wanted more, had completely betrayed every ladylike instinct that she had been taught. And she wondered, absurdly, what would happen if she were to stand up on her tiptoes now and press her lips to his.
It would certainly ruin your plans to marry Lord Eaton! She told herself sternly, even as her stomach filled with a hot, aching sensation. It would ruin everything!
And he would certainly reject her. He didn’t want to be entrapped into marriage with her. That’s why he was working his hardest to make sure she found someone else to wed. But as she gazed up at him, she was sure she saw a flicker of something in his eyes--the same intense heat she had seen in them when she had kissed him in the garden.
Time was suspended between them. His hands were still at her waist. Not touching her, but still on the tie of her dressing gown. It would be so easy for those hands to wrap around her waist and--
She couldn’t let herself think past that. It was too dangerous.
She blinked and sighed, and the Duke blinked as well. He stepped away from her, letting his hands fall to his sides. To her relief, the look in his eyes was a little less wild and a little more kind.
“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he murmured, his voice husky, as if his throat had also gone dry. “I was desperate to see you, and I didn’t want to have to deal with questions from your brother.”
“Oh,” she said, her own voice croaky as well. The word desperate had made her heart race again. “And why were you so desperate to see me?”
“I need to know if any of the gentlemen have proposed yet,” he said. “Or if any of them seem close. There are only two days left, and I need to know if one of them is close to a proposal.”
Ahhh. Her stomach dropped, and she felt a cold heaviness fill up her stomach. He is worried that he will have to marry me, now that the deadline of his deal is so close.
Her stomach lurched, and she had to force herself not to look too upset or angry. She didn’t want to marry him either, but she had thought, when he climbed a building in order to see her in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t be because he was so desperate to know he wouldn’t be forced to become her husband.
“N-no,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “No one has proposed yet. But I believe that Lord Eaton is very close.”
“Really?” The Duke didn’t look nearly as excited by this as she had thought he would be. “Is there no one else?”
“There are others who have asked me to dance, but no one serious. His attentions have been so consistent and flattering that I haven’t had the time to put as much effort into other suitors.”
The Duke ran a hand through his hair again, a distracted look on his face. He began to pace again. Meanwhile, Leah sank slowly into the chair at her vanity, watching him closely.
“You are nervous about honoring your side of the bet, should two more days pass without Lord Eaton proposing,” she said slowly. “But I promise you--he will propose.”
“What?” the Duke glanced at her. “No, no, it’s not--that is to say--Lord Eaton is not the most reliable.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “What are you talking about? You encouraged the match! You promised me you wouldn’t interfere again!”
“I’m not!” he said, a little too loudly, and she gave him a warning look. “It’s just that--” He took a very deep breath, stopped pacing, and turned to face her. “There’s something very important I need to ask you.”
“Okay,” she said nervously. “Ask me.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Crossing to her, he knelt down in front of her, so that their eyes were level. There was an intense look in them that scared her. It was… fear. The Duke was scared about something. It made her heart ache, and she had to resist the urge to put a reassuring hand on his cheek.
“What is it?” she murmured, leaning closer to him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
His eyes seemed to burn for a moment, and his lips parted, as if there was something he longed to say. But then he shook his head just a fraction of an inch, as if to tell himself no.
“I need to know,” he croaked, “if you would rather spend your days as a spinster than marry Lord Dubois.”
Leah blinked. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been this question.
“Of course I would!” She said at once. “But is that even an option? Lord Dubois has said he will make me marry him, that he will force the courts to honor the contract.”
When the Duke didn’t say anything, her panic began to increase. “What about Lord Eaton?” she asked. “Do you have reason to believe he no longer intends to propose to me?”
But the Duke still didn’t answer. At the same time, the intensity in his face vanished, replaced by a look of relief; contentment.
“What’s going on?” she insisted, but he shook his head.
“I just needed to make sure,” he said. “It’s always good to have a backup plan.”
“What backup plan?” she leaned forward and grabbed his hand, her fingers digging into his wrist. She knew she was being unladylike, but he wasn’t making any sense, and worse, he was scaring her. “Tell me what is going on! This is my life, Your Grace! I have the right to know.”
“Not yet, I need to make sure...” he said, and his eyes became more gentle--more understanding. “But we will speak soon.”
He stood, and she was forced to release his wrists. “Goodnight, Lady Leah,” he said, bowing low. “I am sorry again for coming here in such an uncouth manner and scaring you.”
“You can’t go,” she said, jumping to her feet, but it was too late. He was at her window, and within seconds, he was lowering himself back out of it. She couldn’t yell at him to stay, or call after him as he descended the lattice--that would only get them both into trouble. But as she watched him descend, she felt a great swell of anger.
He has no right to come here and ask me cryptic questions! This is my life, not his! And I deserve to know what is happening. For the Duke to come here and hint at things but not tell her made her just as powerless as Lord Dubois and his marriage contract made her feel. It was not a good feeling. She had thought that the Duke was better than that, that he wouldn’t make her feel that way.
But even greater than her anger was her fear. Something had happened. She didn’t know what it was, but she had a terrible feeling that things were about to change for the worse.
Dorian didn’t like to be home. Perhaps that was the reason he had stayed away so long in Europe. Every time he walked over the threshold of his family’s ducal townhouse, the same feeling of anger, regret, and guilt washed over him.
It was even more powerful now, considering what he knew he had to do.
Nottington House was dark, and few servants were about. When he answered the door, the butler looked surprised to see Dorian. Which made sense; Dorian had been finding almost any excuse not to stay here ever since he’d returned to London.
Usually, he spent the night drinking at his club, only to stumble back home in the morning--or to one of the houses of the many gentlemen who considered him a friend--and sleep off his hangover on their settees.
“Up all night with one of your mistresses?” His friends would chortle as they rang for tea or coffee to be brought for him. He would simply smile and demur like he always did.
But now, he was finally home, and as the butler took his coat, the usual uneasiness crept into his stomach and up his spine, making him shiver with dread.
“Can I bring you anything, Your Grace?” the butler asked, but Dorian shook his head. “Some brandy or port?”
“No thank you, Hardwick. Not tonight. I just want to be alone.”
Of course, in this house, he was never truly alone. There were too many ghosts haunting its every room.
Dorian set off down the corridor, not sure where his feet were taking him at first, until he found himself standing outside of his study. As he put his hand on the door handle, a strange feeling pricked up his spine; it was the feeling like he was being watched. But he didn’t bother to turn around to try and catch whoever was spying on him. He knew who was watching him, and they weren’t behind him. They were inside this study.
Dorian twisted the door handle and pushed open the door. Inside, darkness greeted him, along with the stuffy smell of old books and a dusty room that hadn’t been opened in quite some time. He felt as if the scent had punched him in the gut.
Slowly, Dorian stepped into the room. It was so dark he couldn’t see anything. He went to the windows and pulled back the curtains, letting in the moonlight outside. The silver light filtered into the room, illuminating the desk, the chairs, the quills and ink, and the large portrait on the far wall.
The portrait was of a tall, severe-looking man, with auburn hair flecked with gray, a strong jaw, aquiline nose, and blue-green eyes that seemed to cut through the room and into Dorian’s skin. The man was handsome--or at least, he would have been, had he not carried a look of deep disapproval on his face, which the painter of the portrait had somehow managed to capture. Or maybe it was Dorian’s imagination.
As he looked up , Dorian’s whole body tensed. The white-hot rage was an old, familiar companion, but somehow it felt new every time he saw the portrait.
“Hello, Father,” he said out loud to the room, to the portrait. “It’s been a long time. What--two years?” Yes, it was at least that since he had been in this room and looked up into his father’s cold, loveless eyes. “I’ve been flirting my way across Europe since then. You would have been furious with me.”
Even if this wasn’t technically true--really, he’d been hiding out and teaching himself how to cook--it felt good to say it to his father’s portrait. It somehow made it sound true.
This portrait was the only evidence left in the house of the late Duke of Nottington’s existence. There were no other portraits. None of his books or letters. Nothing that spoke to the long and financially lucrative life Dorian’s father had led.
He had made sure to get rid of everything. Everything except this portrait. It was his way of reminding himself of what he was doing and why he was doing it. His way of keeping himself from straying from the path he had set himself on all those years ago. His way of making sure he let his father down in every way possible.
But now, as Dorian gazed up at the portrait, he felt doubt flooding him. He didn’t know what was right anymore. On the one hand, there was the vow he had made to his father and himself. On the other, there was Lady Leah, alive and in desperate need of help. To help her meant to betray the promises he’d made to himself.
But not to help her would be to betray Caroline’s memory. And to betray myself, as well, and the promise that I wouldn’t allow anything like that to happen again.
Dorian’s hands curled into fists by his side. He stared up at the portrait for another few minutes, not moving, barely even breathing, before finally, he made up his mind. Turning away, he left the room, closing the door behind him with a definitive snap.
“Where’s Hardwicke?” He muttered to himself. “Maybe I will have that drink after all.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What have you discovered about the contract? Was it forged?”
Lucien tried not to sound too desperate as he leaned toward his solicitor, but it was difficult. The man had been pouring over the contract for almost a fortnight, and Lucien had held off on pressuring the man to come to a conclusion for that entire time. But he couldn’t be patient any longer. The deadline that he’d given Leah--that he could hold Dubois off for a fortnight--was coming to a close, and he needed to know if his case against Dubois was hopeless or not.
His solicitor, Mr. Hartfield, Esq., folded his hands and looked at Lucien very seriously. Lucien felt his heart drop. He had a bad feeling he knew what was coming.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Hartfield began, “I have read through this contract very carefully. I have examined the signature, and then compared it to all the signatures I still have of your father. I have even gone back through previous contracts your father signed to see if there was any wording in this that he had rejected before in similar contracts, just to see if there was any way of refuting it.
“But I’m afraid that there is no way to prove to a court of law, that the contract is fake. The signature matches your father’s perfectly.”
Lucien felt as if someone had dropped a pile of lead into his stomach. He sat back in his share, the taste of bile rising in his throat. It couldn’t be true… His father couldn’t have signed this. He would never have condemned Leah like that.
Would he?
Lucien looked up to see the solicitor watching him apprehensively. He licked his lips and coughed, and Lucien got the impression that there was more he wanted to say.
“Is there more?” he asked. “Go on, you can tell me.”
“I also found, among your father’s personal effects that he left to our firm when he died, several letters from Lord Dubois. Letters that are relevant to this contract.”
Lucien felt his mouth go dry. “What do they say?” He had a feeling it wasn’t good, from the way the lawyer was looking at him.
“Well, in them, the deal is discussed at length. It seems that Lord Dubois had proposed the deal to your father, at some earlier date, most likely in person. Your father, apparently, refused the deal.”
“Then that is good!” Lucien said, seizing upon this at once.
“There is more,” Mr. Hartfield said patiently. “In the letters, Dubois intimates that your father has changed his mind. Or at least, that he is considering changing his mind. There is a piece of land that Lord Dubois owns, which he has offered to sell to your father, in exchange for your sister’s hands. This land is said to contain coal, and while Dubois has not yet exploited it for that resource, your father hopes to, in order to save the estate.” Mr. Hartfield cleared his throat again. “As you know, your father left the duchy in considerable debt.”
“Yes, he was a profligate spender,” Lucien said impatiently. He had been trying to right his father’s wrongs and save the finances of the estate ever since he’d become the duke. “But turning a piece of land that is rumored to have coal into a profitable coal mine would have taken years! It doesn’t seem like the kind of practical thing my father would do--especially if it involved selling my sister to a man he hated!”
“Well, yes, you would think,” Mr. Hartfield said with a heavy sigh. “But it seems that he was becoming desperate, or at least that is how Dubois makes it out in the letters to your father. I think your father worried about the state of the duchy that he would leave to you. And you must remember, he was not expecting to die so young. He probably thought he would see the profits of the mine in his lifetime, and that the duchy would be returned to full health by the time you became duke.”
“And my sister?” Lucien demanded. “Does he mention in these letters why he no longer cares for her happiness?”
“No, he doesn’t mention that,” Mr. Hartfield said, smiling wryly. “The letters are all from Dubois. But Dubois does say at one point that while the Duke and Duchess married for love, he understands that not all the Duke’s children can do so. Not with the estate in so much trouble.”
“Trouble my father caused!” Lucien yelled, before taking a deep breath and trying to get control of himself. It wouldn’t do to yell at his solicitor. It wasn’t his fault.
“Yes,” Mr. Hartfield said. “It is unfortunate. And to your father’s credit, Dubois never says that your father has said yes. But the tenor of the letters suggests that your father was wavering and that Dubois was beginning to feel certain the contract would be signed. The letters do not unequivocally point to him agreeing to Dubois’ proposal. But I am afraid, especially if Dubois has the letters from your father, that they will carry great weight with a judge. They are persuasive. Even I, who knew your father well and never believed he’d be capable of something like this, am persuaded by these letters.”
Lucien was dumbfounded. He was also furious. He had always known that his father was a self-involved, frivolous man who put his relationship with his wife above his children’s best interests. But he had never thought it could come to anything this villainous. He had never thought his father would willfully harm his children--only accidentally harm them through neglect.
At last, he looked back up at Mr. Hartfield and cleared his throat. It was time to focus on the practicalities and not get waylaid thinking about how his father had wronged their family.
“What do you recommend that we do?”
“I recommend that Lady Leah marry someone else, and quickly,” the solicitor said. “Otherwise I am afraid a judge will rule in Dubois’ favor. Even if he does not, these revelations will rock the ton , and I cannot imagine it will be good for Lady Leah or her sisters.”
“I understand,” Lucien said. “Thank you for your advice and counsel.” Mr. Hartfield nodded and began to pack away his briefcase. Lucien leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. He had to talk to Leah. Now. Find out if any of her suitors were about to propose. There was no time to lose.
“Do you mind if I don’t show you out?” he asked Mr. Hartfield. “I am feeling rather ill at ease after this meeting.”
“Of course,” Mr. Hartfield said, bowing. “I understand it comes as quite a blow.”
After the solicitor was gone, Lucien turned his chair around to face out into the garden. It was a small garden, but as he stared out into it, memories of the times he and Emery had strolled there filled his head, and he felt a sweet calmness settle over him. His wife, his love… He knew not everyone could marry for love, but he would have wanted that for Leah as well. Now, she would be condemned to marry whatever man would have her, as long as he was better than Lord Dubois. His heart went out to her. He wished there was more he could do. Feeling powerless like this was hardly a feeling that the Duke of Dredford enjoyed.
There was a knock on the door, and Lucien grunted, “Enter,” before turning around and seeing Dorian standing in the doorway.
“We need to talk,” Dorian said, closing the door behind him. “It’s important.”
Lucien looked worried . Dorian knew his friend well enough to know that. He was a little surprised to see it, though. Lucien Grove, Duke of Dredford, was not the kind of man who ever showed his stress. But seeing as how they were just a few days away from the deadline Lucien had given, and Lord Dubois’ threat loomed greater than ever, he could understand his friend’s concerns .
“You stink,” Lucien said, wrinkling his nose as Dorian sat down across from him. “Were you drinking all night again?”
“Yes,” Dorian admitted. There was no point in lying about it.
“You need to get your life together,” Lucien said, shaking his head.
“I know.” Dorian shook his head, marveling at the irony. “That’s why I’m here.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Is this about Leah?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“It’s more that I hoped. My solicitor was just here.” Lucien swallowed, and Dorian saw a flash of fear cross his face. “The contract isn’t faked.”
Dorian felt as if someone had just slapped him across the face. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath, unsure of what to say or do.
Do I tell him what Lord Dubois told me ?
He wasn’t sure he should. On the one hand, it would give Lucien false hope, when really, there was no hope. Dubois had an airtight case, and there was nothing that the testimony of one man--a bia sed man, at that--could do to change things.
On the other hand, Dorian had never lied to his best friend. Especially about something this important.
He took a deep breath and decided in a split second to say nothing. There was no point in wasting time fighting a losing battle. There was only one way to save Lady Leah, and it wasn’t through the courts.
“My father… he really considered the deal,” Lucien was saying, a faraway look in his eyes. “He had bankrupted the estate and he considered this option, of selling Leah’s hand in marriage, for a profitable piece of land.”
“I know,” Dorian interrupted.
Lucien blinked and stared at him. “You… know?”
“Dubois told me last night when I cornered him in a public house. I know everything. I also know that we can’t beat him, not through legal means.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. “We? When did you become so intimately involved in this, Dorian? I know you just want out of it.”
“No,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I came here today to tell you that I have spoken to the Archbishop.”
“What?” Lucien gaped at him. “Why?”
“I have asked for a special license.” Dorian swallowed, the words already drying out his mouth. “I am going to marry your sister. As soon as possible.”
A deafening silence filled the study. Lucien’s mouth had slightly fallen open, and he was gazing at Dorian in wonder.
“You… you want to marry her?” he repeated. “But, Dorian--”
“I want to marry her considering the alternative,” Dorian said, his hand tightening in his lap as he remembered Dubois’ words the night before.
“I understand that you want to save her,” Lucien said gently, his eyes searching Dorian’s face now. “And I appreciate you coming to the help of my family. But Dorian, you swore you wouldn’t marry.”
Another long silence filled the room. Dorian couldn’t quite meet his friend’s eyes. “I know what I swore,” he said quietly. “But I also compromised your sister, and it is my duty to save her.”
“There are other options,” Lucien said sharply. “Lord Eaton, or--”
“No, there is only me.” Dorian looked up at Lucien. “Lord Eaton will not marry Lady Leah. Dubois has frightened him off—quite skillfully, I must admit. All the men of the ton will be scared off. There are few who will stand up to him. I am one of those few.”
Lucien gave him a long, piercing gaze. “I want you to think very hard about this.”
“Why are you trying to talk me out of this?” Dorian asked, narrowing his eyes. “When you caught me with Lady Leah, you insisted we wed. This is your only chance to save her from Dubois!”
“I know, I know,” Lucien said quickly. He stood abruptly and turned to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s just, you are my best friend. And I know how opposed to marriage you are. I also know that you will not make my sister… Well, you will treat her well. But it will not be a love match.”
Dorian felt again like someone had slapped him. He had to shake his head to relieve the stinging sensation.
Lucien turned back around and met his gaze. “I suppose that learning of my father’s insensitivity toward my sister is making me rethink some things. It is making me realize that I do not want to be like him. I don’t want to force you to marry my sister, even though you did kiss her, if it will make you both miserable. I want to be different from my father and put the feelings of my loved ones first.”
“And I appreciate that,” Dorian said, his voice raspy. “But this is what I want: I cannot allow your sister to marry Lord Dubois. I would do anything in my power to stop that. And this is in my power to do. Let me marry your sister. Let me put an end to this nightmare.”
Lucien said nothing for a long moment. Dorian held his breath, not knowing what to expect. He had thought Lucien would agree right away, but this new side of his friend was disconcerting. He’d always wanted his friends’ and family’s happiness, but now he was willing to sacrifice for it.
Lady Leah is right. His wife really did change him.
“Very well,” Lucien said at last. “I will allow you to marry my sister. You are right: it is the best path forward.”
“It is the only path forward,” Dorian corrected.
Lucien nodded. “So, do you want to tell her? She is upstairs now.”
Dorian hesitated. He knew that the right thing would be to go see Lady Leah and tell her what was going on and why he was insisting that she marry him. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew that when he saw the disappointment in her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to handle it.
She deserves so much better than you. You cannot give her the life she wants, the life she deserves.
Dorian swallowed and looked away. “You tell her,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I fear that I have too many things to do today to prepare for the wedding.”
“But--”
“I will have the contract sent to you,” Dorian said, standing up. “And I will let you know the moment I have the special license. The Archbishop is a friend, and he assured me I should have it by tomorrow. Which means Lady Leah and I can wed in two days.”
“Dorian--you really ought to--”
“I will see you in two days,” Dorian said. He was already at the door. It didn’t matter what Lucien thought he ought to do. If he were to speak to Lady Leah, to see that spark in her eyes fade and see her face change to polite acceptance, he might not be able to keep his resolve and go through with this.
He wouldn’t let her down like that. Not when he was all that stood between her and Lord Dubois.