Chapter Three
Cassian Oberon, the Duke of Duskbourne, was able to relish his solitude for only one brief moment before the mysterious woman who had followed him into the retiring room boldly announced that she had a proposition for him.
Cassian stilled, regarding her more closely. Fire burned in her gaze, as well as an unmistakable defiance that cut through the polite blandness of every other woman he had endured tonight.
Striking, he thought. Though not in the manner of delicate beauties. There was steel in this one.
His mouth curved into the barest shadow of a smile, which was more sardonic than warm. “If anyone were to find us here alone, my lady… could you imagine what they would say? The gossip would be relentless.”
Her reply felt like an earthquake. “My reputation is already tarnished, Your Grace. I have little left to lose.”
Something in her tone caught him: honesty sharpened to a blade. It was not a trait easily embodied by a woman of the ton, who so often had to resort to manipulations and lies.
“Then, firstly, you could tell me the name of the woman so reckless with her reputation.”
She inclined her head, composed as though she stood in a drawing room rather than a gentlemen’s retreat. “Lady Charlotte Montclair.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed. The name stirred a memory, which was clouded with whispers from clubs and drawing rooms years ago.
A duke’s sister, once seen at every season, then vanished so completely that tongues wagged with speculation.
Some said she had taken ill, others that she had turned pious and withdrawn.
Yet here she was. Not frail, not hidden away. Bold, steady, and very much alive.
For the first time in years, Cassian felt the faintest flicker of intrigue.
“I will speak plainly, Your Grace.” Her voice did not falter. “I propose marriage.”
He stilled, the glove in his hand now completely forgotten.
She continued, calm and unyielding, like an army general proposing the best plan of attack.
“A marriage of convenience. No affection required. You would be spared the endless parade of matchmaking mothers and the expectations of romantic folly. And I would, in turn, be freed from the ignominy of spinsterhood and the shadows of my past. A union of duty, nothing more.”
Her words struck with the precision of a clean blade, unembellished and utterly merciless in their clarity.
Cassian felt his brow arch, though his expression remained otherwise inscrutable. “You propose marriage,” he repeated, the syllables edged with disbelief.
“Yes.” She did not blink. “You are a duke who does not wish to be hounded by society’s expectations. I am a lady who no longer believes in love. Between us, there would be no risk of disappointment.”
Her eyes, so fiercely blue, held his without wavering.
Defiance and composure twined together, and Cassian, who had spent years mastering the art of silence, found himself regarding her with a kind of dark fascination.
A woman proposing to him, in such an unflinching manner, as though it were the most natural transaction in the world. He had never seen its like.
At last, Cassian allowed himself the smallest exhale of laughter, albeit cold and humourless. “You astonish me, Lady Charlotte.” His gaze swept her once again. “Most women who seek a duke would at least feign a sonnet or two.”
“I have no interest in sonnets,” she said simply.
For a long moment, Cassian said nothing. He only studied her, this woman who had walked straight into a gentlemen’s retiring room and delivered a proposal as though she were striking a bargain over land.
Before he could stop himself, he closed the space between them. The faint rustle of her skirts brushed the silence, and her breath caught, yet she did not retreat. Intrigue sharpened his curiosity, and with deliberate precision, he reached out and tilted her chin upward.
Her eyes met his, fire answering steel.
“Do you have the faintest notion,” he murmured incredulously, “how absurd this is? Reckless, even. For a lady to follow a man into such a place… alone.” He let the word linger. “It invites ruin.”
Her chin did not waver beneath his hand. “I told you, Your Grace. My reputation is already tarnished. I have little left to lose.”
Something twisted in his chest at the cool certainty in her tone. It was a glaring echo of a pain he had long buried. He released her at once, as though burned.
“You should not have come here,” he said, colder now, as he drew back. His eyes swept over her once more, searching for weakness and finding only iron.
Without another word, he turned, his stride measured as he pulled open the door and stepped back into the dim corridor. The ballroom’s music floated faintly from beyond, but Cassian heard only the echo of her voice and the clarity of her audacity.
A proposal without affection. A marriage without risk.
It was absurd and reckless… unthinkable.
And yet, despite himself, he found his thoughts lingering on Lady Charlotte, on her defiance and on her daring to speak to him as no one else had in years.
By the time he reached the hall again, Cassian realized with grim irritation that Lady Charlotte Montclair had carved herself a place in his mind.
***
“You will scarcely believe what I am about to tell you,” Cassian said, his tone so dry it drew Gideon’s full attention at once.
Lord Gideon Harrow, who was sprawled in his chair at White’s with a brandy glass dangling carelessly between his fingers, raised a brow.
“Coming from you, Oberon, I should prepare myself for a tale of crop rotations or a speech on the corn laws.”
Cassian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “A woman proposed to me.”
The brandy nearly sloshed over Gideon’s hand. He sat upright with a bark of laughter that earned a scandalized glance from a nearby earl. “A woman?”
“Yes.”
“Proposed marriage?” He asked, as if anything else was far more reasonable.
“Yes.”
Gideon leaned forward, grinning with unabashed delight. “The stoic and untouchable Cassian Oberon, Duke of Duskbourne, was caught unready by a lady with more nerve than sense? God help me, tell it slowly, I mean to savour every word.”
Cassian’s grey eyes narrowed, but against his will, he felt the words pressing forward.
He recounted the entire story with grim precision: the retiring room, the sudden intrusion, the steady fire in her eyes, and her astonishing declaration.
He ended with a shake of his head, as though even in retelling, he found it unbelievable.
“She asked for a marriage without affection,” Cassian said at last, emphasizing the final part. “Convenience. Duty. As though such a thing could be arranged like the purchase of a horse.”
For a long moment, Gideon simply stared.
Then he threw back his head and laughed as only rakes did, richly and without shame.
“By God, there are such women! And she sought you of all men? I am astounded, Oberon. Positively astounded. Most ladies I know would faint dead away before daring so much as a glance at you.”
“It was reckless,” Cassian said curtly. “If anyone had discovered her in that room alone with me, her reputation would have been in tatters.”
“And yet she came,” Gideon countered, as his eyes gleamed with mischief. “And spoke plain as day. You must admit, it takes courage. Or desperation. Perhaps both.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. He had thought the same, though he refused to say it aloud. “It was absurd,” he said instead. “Unthinkable.”
Gideon swirled his brandy, the smile still tugging at his mouth.
“Unthinkable, perhaps. But I cannot recall the last time anything unsettled you, Oberon. And now…” He leaned back, studying his friend with rakish amusement.
“Now you are telling me this story at White’s, which means the lady has succeeded in doing what half of London has failed to do: occupy your mind. ”
Cassian said nothing, but the faintest flicker crossed his eyes.
Gideon’s grin widened. “Well, well… I do believe I should like to meet this Lady Charlotte Montclair.”
Cassian set his glass down with a sharp click. “You do not understand. She is dangerous.”
Gideon arched a brow, wholly unbothered. “Dangerous? She is not a highwayman, Oberon, merely a lady with more fortitude than most.”
“Fortitude?” Cassian’s voice carried an edge. “I would call it foolishness. That kind of directness… it unsettles propriety. It unsettles…” He stopped himself short.
“Unsettles you,” Gideon supplied smoothly, and now, there was a sly grin curving his mouth. “And that, my friend, is why you call her dangerous. Admit it, she is unlike anyone you have encountered.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “Too unlike. She does not shrink. She does not flatter. She demands.”
“And precisely therein lies her merit,” Gideon countered, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.
“A woman who demands nothing of your heart, Oberon, is the very woman you require. She is not some simpering debutante. She would not ensnare you with sonnets and sighs. A duchess who will not ask for love, now that is perfection itself.”
Cassian’s hand curled around his glass, though he did not drink. Gideon’s words struck too close to the truth, to the quiet thought he had been fending off since last night: a union without affection, without risk. Safety draped in scandalous boldness.
“It is reckless,” he repeated, though the force behind his protest was waning.
“Reckless?” Gideon smirked. “Perhaps. But is it not better than the alternative? Every ambitious mother in London thrusting her daughter beneath your nose until you are forced to marry some pliant girl who will flutter her lashes and expect your devotion?”
Cassian’s lips pressed into a line. He could picture it too easily: simpering youth, false tenderness, the slow suffocation of demands he could not give.
No. He would not relive such folly.
Gideon tipped his glass toward him, speaking with utter earnestness. “Consider it, Oberon. For once, fate may have handed you precisely what you need.”
Cassian looked away, staring into the amber liquid in his own untouched glass. Silence stretched, taut as wire.
At last, he exhaled slowly. “Very well. I will arrange a private meeting with her. Tomorrow.”
Gideon’s grin was swift and triumphant. “Excellent. I should very much like to be there when you respond to her proposal.”
Cassian shot him a withering look, but Gideon only laughed.
Still, even as the din of White’s swelled around him once more, Cassian could not shake the image of fire-blue eyes meeting his with fearless resolve.
Dangerous, yes. Absurd, yes.
Yet tomorrow, he would see her again.
And the thought both unsettled and intrigued him beyond bearing.