“Well, I rather hoped to avoid a chaperone.” He continued to smile, looking most pleased with himself. “That is why I wrote as the Duke of Stotbury. I knew then you would come. After all, you seem to have a habit of bending to the man’s will.”
She shifted her weight between her feet, staring at the man before her, feeling the scorn coming off him.
“We need a chaperone,” she said again, keeping her tone quite plain. “If you do not call one here this instant, I shall walk out of this room.”
“You will not.” Lord Chilmond shook his head. “For there is something I wish to say first.”
He stepped forward, and she shifted the armchair, keeping it firmly between the two of them, in some strange sort of cat-and-mouse game.
“You see, to ask such a question as this, the lady should be alone, unchaperoned.”
“My Lord, I—”
“I must speak to you.”
“Whatever you have to say can surely be said in the presence of my brother.”
Dorothy felt fear spike through her body. Being alone with Lord Chilmond was enough to make her wary, but the fact that he had forged a letter to get her here? It was underhanded, manipulative, and cruel.
“Let me call him here now.”
She marched toward the door, intent on sending for her brother, but Lord Chilmond was too quick. He reached the door before her and blocked her escape with his body. To avoid walking straight into him, Dorothy backed up fast, putting as much distance between them as she possibly could. Rather than choosing an armchair as a shield, this time, she selected a rather large rococo settee instead.
“Fine, have your wish.” She waved a hand at him. “Ask what you must. But know this, as soon as you finish asking your question, I will leave this room and go to my brother.”
“I have come to ask…” Lord Chilmond stepped toward her again.
The air between them bristled for a minute. The way he smiled, she supposed he thought was alluring. She found nothing alluring in it at all. She felt a strange longing to be back in Stephen’s company, despite their argument the night before. In fact, she would have rather been beside anyone but Lord Chilmond, at that moment.
“… to ask you to marry me,” Lord Chilmond finished as he stopped on the other side of the settee.
Dorothy had to bite her tongue not to laugh. It was absurd, not only the idea of him asking her to marry him when they knew so little about each other but to go about it in such a way.
“You are in jest, no?” she managed eventually, though her smile faltered when he glowered at her.
“You will accept.”
“Will I, now?” This time, she did laugh at him. “You seem to have misunderstood the concept of asking a question. You have asked, and this is my answer, My Lord. I am grateful for the… erm, the compliment of your question.” She struggled to think how to reject his proposal politely when nothing about this deceitful moment felt polite at all. “Yet, I cannot accept. You and I do not love one another, and though you have been attentive, that does not equate to—”
“I do not think you understand the full situation.” He stepped forward again, moving to the back of the settee.
“I beg your pardon?” She backed up.
“I’ll speak plainly.” He folded his arms across his jacket. His face hardened to such an extent that he was quite unrecognizable. His dark brown eyes narrowed so much that they looked beetle black. “I saw you and the Duke of Stotbury together last night in the garden.”
Dorothy felt as if she had been kicked in the gut. She stood motionless, staring at him as her mind raced to understand that he was going to blackmail her.
“I saw the two of you on your elicit midnight walk, and your… your kiss.” He rather spat out the last word and then shook his head. “Unless you wish everyone to hear of it, you will accept my offer. Imagine it. Your reputation dragged through the mud, your name whispered by every tongue not only in London but in the country, too. What scandal!” He laughed, taking great pleasure in his manipulation. “Is that what you’d like, Dorothy?”
Dorothy turned her back to him and pulled at her hair.
This cannot be happening.
Despite his threat, she was not thinking as he was. She did not think of her own reputation and how it would be damaged but of Stephen’s. He was the one who cared about maintaining a good reputation, about being seen as a commendable and reputable duke. What would it do to him to have his name dragged through the mud and plastered across the scandal sheets every day of his life?
“No,” she murmured and walked away from Lord Chilmond.
Not looking at what she was doing in her panic, she tripped on a stool and fell onto an armchair, facing the back cushion and clutching the arm as her mind worked fast.
