The words hit him the moment he crossed the threshold of his study in his London home. Magnus paused, coat still dusted from the day’s travel, as he found Rowan seated rigidly in the dimly lit study. Rowan’s eyes practically burned with disbelief.
Magnus removed his gloves slowly. “I was going to.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Going to? Do you not trust me enough to share the most significant decision of your life? Or did you think to face this alone?”
Rowan Clawridge, the Duke of Langridge, was a man whose presence commanded attention without effort. He was known for his sharp intellect and cold ruthlessness in society. Rowan possessed a dark sense of humor that often left others bewildered. Magnus was sometimes frustrated as he was theonly one who truly understood Rowan’s humor. It was perhaps this very edge that kept others at a distance, leaving Rowan with few companions besides Magnus. While many whispered about Magnus’s own ruthlessness, he knew that Rowan operated on an entirely different trajectory, a calculating force of nature few dared to challenge.
“Tell me everything,” Rowan demanded, voice low but insistent. “Do not leave out a single detail.”
Magnus met Rowan’s inquisitive gaze. He strolled over to his chair behind the desk and sat. “It wasn’t planned,” he began carefully. “I simply took advantage of a situation that presented itself with little effort. I had been considering the need for someone to help care for Eugenia for some time. When this rumor surfaced, absurd as it was, I realized there was no need to embark on a tedious search for a bride of convenience. The most convenient candidate was right there.”
Rowan arched a skeptical brow, folding his arms across his chest. “Convenient, yes. But hardly the sort of convenience one expects when dealing with matters as delicate as marriage and family. You’ve always been a man who prefers control, Magnus. Yet this feels more like a gamble than a calculated move.”
Magnus allowed himself a brief smirk. “Perhaps. But sometimes the best moves are made when one embraces chance rather than resists it. Dorothy Lockhart is bold—too bold for her own good, some would say. Yet that same fire is exactly what Eugenia needs. I don’t intend for this to be a mere formality; it’s a responsibility I cannot shirk.”
“You’ve never been one for half measures. I only hope you understand the weight you’re placing on both Eugenia and this lady.”
“I do,” Magnus said. “I’ll see it through, no matter the cost.”
Rowan’s voice cut through the silence. “Who is she?”
“Dorothy Lockhart is the daughter of a viscount,” he responded.
“Is she beautiful?” Rowan pressed, leaning forward with a sly grin.
For a moment, Magnus’s mind drifted, and he found himself thinking not just of her face but her eyes. The way they held a restless spark he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know why he was drawn to them, but deep down, he sensed that in time, the reason would reveal itself. He thought of her curly brown hair, the delicate smoothness of her skin that seemed to glow softly in the light, and the subtle, comforting scent she carried, something faintly floral, yet earthy, like fresh rain on spring grass. Her petite frame, somehow belying the fierce spirit within, and how her chest rose and fell with each nervous breath.
“Yes,” he said finally. “She is beautiful.”
Rowan snorted softly. “Oh, but things like that don’t shake you, do they, Your Grace? I never understand why. An average man would be so easily smitten by beauty.”
“I am not average.” Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care much for physical beauty.”
Rowan smirked, voice dripping with dry amusement. “You don’t care much for anything at all.”
“Why are you here, Rowan?” Magnus questioned, his patience thinning.
Rowan’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m here because you’re about to do something monumentally foolish, and I’m your only chance at salvaging what little dignity you have left.” He tapped a finger against the armrest. “More importantly, why wasn’t I invited to this secret council of matrimony?”
Magnus shook his head. “It’s just an hour spent in a church, Rowan. I hardly thought it warranted a royal summons.”
“Oh, but it’s not just an hour,” Rowan said, wagging a finger. “You’re about to become a married man. You’re crossing into a whole new world, Magnus. This is important—momentous! You might want to keep me in the loop next time.”
Magnus rolled his eyes, unconvinced.
“Only you could treat marriage like a trip to the tailor’s. Mark my words,” Rowan sighed, and he dropped his hand. “All right, Magnus. Enough with the dramatics. Tell me how you did it. How did you ask for her hand?”
“How did I ask for her hand?” He gave a small shrug. “I demanded it at her wedding.”
Rowan blinked, momentarily speechless. “At her wedding?”
Magnus nodded, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Indeed. I arrived when she was about to walk down the aisle, confronted them with the rumor, then made my intentions clear. I would marry her since I allegedly ruined her. I spoke to her father, and he gave his blessing.”
Rowan chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Only you, Magnus. Only you would turn a wedding into such chaos.”
“I caused no chaos,” Magnus argued.
“Of course, you would think that,” Rowan said. “But you’re truly only doing this for Eugenia? Not because you suddenly realized that you had turned thirty years old, and you were lonely, and unmarried?”
