"Innocent?" The Earl's eyebrows rose again. "Your Grace, the young lady was clearly..."
"Clearly what?" Adrian's voice dropped to dangerous levels. "Clearly injured? Clearly caught in the storm? Clearly given shelter by her employer rather than sent out into dangerous weather? Which part of that strikes you as scandalous?"
"The part where she emerged from your private library at dawn, looking thoroughly..." the Earl paused, searching for a delicate way to phrase it, "...disheveled."
"She spent the night in a chair, fully clothed, waiting for the storm to pass. Nothing improper occurred." The lie came easily, though it burned like acid on his tongue.
"Your Grace," the Earl said carefully, "even if that's true and I'm not insinuating that it is not, the appearance alone is damning. You know how society works, how the ton feeds on scandal. The truth matters less than the perception."
Adrian turned back to the window, his hands clenched behind his back. Below, Eveline had disappeared from view, but he could still see her in his mind's eye; the way she'd looked in the firelight, the way she'd felt in his arms, the wayshe'd whispered his name like a prayer.
He'd known this would happen, had warned her repeatedly about the dangers of association with him. But he'd been weak, selfish, unable to resist the gravitational pull of her presence. And now she would pay the price for his weakness.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly, knowing every man had his price.
"I beg your pardon?"
"For your silence. For your wife's silence. What do you want? Money? Political support? That dispute over the northern boundary of your estate? I could ensure it's resolved in your favour."
The Earl was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice held something that might have been genuine regret. "Your Grace, I'm not attempting to blackmail you. I'm simply stating facts. My wife was already suspicious about Miss Whitcombe's position here. This morning's discovery will confirm every speculation she's been nurturing."
"Then convince her otherwise."
"Have you met my wife? I couldn't convince her the sky was blue if she'd decided it was green." The Earl moved toward the door, then paused. "There is, of course, one solution that would silence all gossip immediately."
Adrian knew what he was going to say before the words were spoken. "No."
"You haven't heard..."
"I know what you're about to suggest, and the answer is no."
"Marriage would transform scandal into romance. A duke falling for his clever cataloguer? Society loves nothing better than a love match that crosses social boundaries, provided it ends in wedding bells."
"Miss Whitcombe deserves better than a forced marriage to salvage her reputation."
"Does she? Better than becoming a duchess? Better than wealth, position, and the protection of your name?" The Earl studied him shrewdly. "Or is it that you think you deserve better than a wife forced upon you by circumstance?"
Adrian's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. "Get out."
"As you wish, Your Grace. But consider this...by this evening, Miss Whitcombe's reputation will be in tatters. By tomorrow, she'll be a complete social pariah. If you truly care for the girl, as your actions suggest you do, you'll act quickly to protect her. Pride is a cold bedfellow, Your Grace. I should know—I've been married to mine for thirty years."
The Earl left with a bow that managed to be both respectful and somehow pitying. Adrian remained at the window, watching the sun climb higher, painting London in deceptively cheerful light.
Marriage.
The word sat like lead in his stomach. He'd sworn after Juliette's betrayal that he'd never marry, never give another person that kind of power over him. But Eveline already had power over him, didn't she? She'd had it from that first encounter in Hatchard's, when she'd dared to challenge him over shelf space andRoman history.
But to trap her in marriage, to force her into a union born of scandal rather than choice? How was that different from any other cage society built for women? She'd told him once that she'd rather have her books than a husband who didn't value her mind. Would she still feel that way when those books were all she had left, when society turned its back on her entirely?
He thought of her face when the Earl had appeared, the way the color had drained from her cheeks, the way she'd whispered "It is finished" with such devastated certainty. She'd known immediately what this meant, what it would cost her.
And it was his fault. His weakness. His selfish desire to keep her close despite knowing the danger.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. Graves entered, his expression carefully neutral, though Adrian could see the questions burning behind his professional facade.
"Your Grace, I've taken the liberty of having the library tidied. All evidence of last night's... incident... has been removed."
"Evidence?" Adrian laughed bitterly. "The only evidence that matters has already left, Graves. Lord Hatherleigh saw what he saw. Drew the conclusions he drew. No amount of tidying can undo that."
