Prologue #3
He snorted. “I doubt it. If you are thinking of making me a cosy home and delivering brats by the dozen, you may think again. I never intended to marry, my dear. I had planned for the title to die with me, unless Gideon produced a male heir, in which case he may pass the thing on with my blessing. But I’ll not continue our wretched line, so if you are hoping for a family, you have backed the wrong horse. ”
Cilly blinked but showed no other reaction. She had prepared herself for a marriage of convenience after all; she had not expected love, of all things. But she had thought perhaps—she stiffened her spine—it was of no matter. She would be a doting aunt to Hetty’s children.
“That was not part of my offer,” she replied coolly.
Surprise flickered in his eyes, there and gone, but she had his undivided attention now.
“I will make you respectable,” she said.
For a moment he only stared at her, and then he threw back his head and laughed and laughed.
She waited patiently, watching as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and composed himself once more.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said, his voice still thick with amusement. “That took me rather by surprise.”
“Did it? I cannot think why, considering it is what you want so very badly.”
He stiffened, gazing at her like she’d grown two heads. Cilly stared back at him, unblinking. She was not wrong about this. She was not wrong. She couldn’t be.
“What on earth makes you think so?” he demanded, and the words throbbed with anger, yet there was something else there too, underneath it all, a slight crack in his defences.
Beneath the rage and the defiance and scorn, hidden under so many layers, was the desire to be welcomed, to be liked, loved even.
Because who didn’t want that at heart? He was only human after all, not really the devil made flesh that the scandal sheets made him out to be.
“It doesn’t matter what makes me think it, only that it is true, and I can give it to you.”
He snorted in disgust and turned his back on her but did not deny it.
“And that is all, is it? I give you the protection of my name, my title, I give you a home, and you make a few introductions? That hardly seems fair.”
“I said I would make you respectable, not simply introduce you to the right people. I will make it so that you are welcome everywhere, so that no one looks at you and swiftly guides their innocent daughters out of the room. I will make your name worthy of admiration, I will give you back your honour.”
He swung around then, his eyes burning with some fierce emotion so potent that she gasped. “My honour? Is that not what you are depending upon in this moment to come to your rescue and marry you instead of throwing you to the wolves?”
Cilly swallowed hard and gave a taut nod.
“It is. Because I believe you are honourable at heart, else I should never have done such a wicked and reckless thing. But no one else believes that, Rivington. I cannot give you back what you already possess, that is true—but I can ensure everyone else can see it too.”
“I see.” There was no inflection behind the words, no suggestion that he might accept her devil’s bargain.
“That’s not all,” she added desperately, knowing she had one last card to play.
It was not the strongest card she possessed, for those were already on the table, but she knew it had value, more than he might realise, if only he was reasonable enough to consider what it meant for him. “I will be your friend.”
He made an incredulous sound. “My friend?” he repeated, as if she had said something outrageous or indecently lewd.
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “And friends support each other. Friends do not allow other people to belittle or hurt them, or gossip about them. Friends do all in their power to ensure the other’s happiness and well-being and they stand by one another, no matter what.”
“No matter what.” He repeated the words, considering them, calculation glinting in his eyes in a manner that made her wonder which one of them was really the devil here.
She had always known he was dangerous. From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, her every instinct had flared to life and screamed—run!
But she had not run, she had been rooted to the spot, unable to tear her gaze from his, unwillingly fascinated, held captive by his charisma, his beauty, and his sheer animal grace.
He tilted his head to one side, putting her in mind once more of a great bird of prey considering if there was enough meat upon a mouse to make it worth his while.
Cilly held her breath, for she had the unsettling sensation that, for the first time, he was not merely looking at her but reassessing her. She almost let out a squeak of alarm as he moved suddenly, striding across the room to stand before her. He held out his hand.
Cilly gazed at it dubiously for a moment before sliding her fingers into his. They tightened, and he shook her hand as he might with a man.
“You have a deal, my lady. May you not live to regret it.”