Dorothy took a slow breath, straightening her back as the challenge settled over her. “Very well, then,” she said. “Which of the rumors about you are actually true, Your Grace?”
A faint smile curved his lips as he moved toward one of the armchairs, settling himself on its arm casually, as if the grandeur of the room could not ruffle his composure. “That depends,” he replied. “What have you heard?”
Dorothy hesitated, then met his gaze squarely. “That you are... cold. Ruthless. That you hold no patience for many things. That your temper is as sharp as your reputation.” She paused, cheeks warming. “That you are a man difficult to know, even harder to please.”
Magnus nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Most of that is true. I am not a man who gives to softness or idle conversation. Patience is a scarce commodity, and my temper… well, it serves as a warning to those who would waste my time.”
He studied her thoughtfully, the silence stretching just enough to make her wonder what he would say next. “But there is more beneath it all,” he said quietly. “As there is with any man. However, you, unfortunately, might never see beyond this surface that I show to you.”
Dorothy found herself caught between intrigue and caution, wondering which parts of Magnus remained hidden behind those dark, measured eyes.
“But come on now, Miss Lockhart,” he added with a faint grin. “That cannot possibly be the worst rumor you have heard about me.”
Dorothy hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. She wasn’t sure if she should speak it aloud, but his invitation left her no choice. Swallowing her fear, she pressed on, “I’ve heard... that you have made grown men cry. That you have ruined men so thoroughly, in their desperation to seek you or do business with you, they have gone to extreme measures. There was even arumor... that a man took his own life because of you, because you refused to see him.”
She looked up, searching his face for any sign of reaction. “Is that true?”
Magnus’s expression darkened for a brief moment, eyes narrowing. “That is all beneath the surface,” he said quietly, “and I did just tell you that you won’t see what lies beneath.”
Dorothy’s frustration flared. “But you were the one who said I could ask. You can’t revoke that now.”
“Ah, but I can refuse to answer,” he said and rose to walk over to the window. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask about that.”
“So, are these rumors true, or are they false?” she probed.
Magnus inhaled sharply. “Do you have any more questions for me, Miss Lockhart?”
Dorothy scoffed in disbelief. “I just asked a question, Your Grace.”
“I did not hear a good question,” he replied.
Dorothy’s frustration bubbled up as she began to pace the length of the drawing room, her steps quick and uneven. “Let me ask you this,” she said suddenly, stopping and facing him witheyes alight with confusion and disbelief. “Why me? I still don’t understand it. No matter how much I try to think it through. Even if you needed someone for your niece, you could have chosen anyone. Why did it have to be the one person who was on the verge of ruining your reputation?”
Without a word, Magnus slowly turned and closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming as he stood so close that Dorothy could feel the warmth of his breath brushing her skin. The tension hung thick in the air, but she did not step back. Instead, her heart pounded against her ribs as she held his gaze.
His voice dropped low, almost a whisper, but it carried a sharp edge beneath the softness. “Think of it as part punishment,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “For trying to rope me into your scheme. For dragging my name through the mud.”
There was something raw, almost vulnerable in that admission, an intimacy that unsettled and intrigued her all at once. The room felt smaller, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
Dorothy’s gaze flickered downward, drawn irresistibly to his lips. Gathering courage, she asked softly, “Shouldn’t you be used to your name being dragged by now, Your Grace? Given how often it’s spoken in society?”
Dorothy caught herself staring at his lips longer than she intended. Quickly, she looked up, meeting his eyes, and realized with a jolt that he had noticed. Then, to her surprise, his gaze slowly drifted downward, landing on her own lips.
That silent, deliberate motion sent a strange, charged rush through her, a heat that prickled her skin and tightened her breath. Her heart quickened as the charged moment stretched between them, wordless and raw.
Startled by the intensity, she stepped back sharply, breaking the spell. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she tried to steady the sudden flutter in her chest as the quiet settled once more.
Magnus broke the silence first. “I should go now. I’ll see you at the altar.”
Dorothy nodded, swallowing the flutter in her chest. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
As he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him, Dorothy practically stumbled toward the settee. She sank down heavily, pressing her hands to her knees as she tried to catch her breath. What had just happened?
Why did it feel as if a slow, fierce fire was burning from inside her, leaving her both unsettled and strangely alive?
CHAPTER FIVE
“You are getting married, Magnus, and you did not think to tell me? Your closest confidant?”
