"You are under pressure. You are being honest without intending to be." "That does not mean you can simply agree to marry me." He tilted his head slightly.
"Why not?" Because this is absurd. Because I do not know you. Because you are terrifying. Because I was never meant to be chosen by someone like you.
Instead, she said, "Because marriage is not decided in gardens." "Yet many have been," he replied calmly. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Rosalyn could feel eyes on her from every direction.
Her mother stood near the fountain, pale and rigid, staring as if she were watching a dream or a disaster. The Duke held out his arm. "Walk with me," he said. "We are being observed."
She hesitated. Every sensible thought told her to refuse, to laugh this off, to escape before it ruined her completely. But she had already been ruined, had she not? Five seasons, five years, no offers, no future, only warnings and deadlines, and a man her father intended her to marry within two months.
A man whose hands lingered and whose smiles made her skin crawl. Rosalyn placed her gloved hand on the Duke's arm. The garden erupted into sound behind them. They walked in silence until they reached a quiet corner near a stone wall covered in pale roses.
The Duke stopped and turned to face her. "You regret it already," he said. "Yes." "That is acceptable."
She stared at him. "You are serious. Entirely. Why me?" He did not answer at once.
He studied her face as if she were a puzzle rather than a person. "Because you do not want me," he said at last. "That is your reason?" "It is the most important one."
She let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "I assure you, Your Grace, there are many women who do not want you." "Most of them want my title," he replied. "You want escape."
The word hit its mark. "You were desperate," he continued evenly. "So am I." Her pulse quickened.
"Desperate for what?" "A wife." "That hardly narrows it." "I need an heir," he said.
"And I need a marriage without illusions. No romance, no expectations of affection." Rosalyn folded her arms. "You make it sound like a business contract." "It is."
"And what do I gain from this arrangement?" He met her gaze without flinching. "Protection. Independence. A title that ensures no man may touch you without consequence."
Her breath caught despite herself. "And love?" she said quietly. "You offer none of that." "I offer honesty," he replied, "which is more than most."
She thought of her father's ultimatum, of the merchant waiting patiently for her to break, of a future chosen for her without her consent. She thought of the man before her, cold and blunt and terrifyingly direct. "How soon would you expect an answer?" she asked. "Tomorrow," he said.
"If I am to call on your father, I must do so before gossip turns against you." "You planned this." "I responded to opportunity." "You cornered me."