“Are you laughing at my plight?” he asked.
“I am observing it,” Anne replied. “If I find amusement in it, that cannot be helped.”
“Somehow, an observation feels even less forgiving than mockery.”
“I am not here to be forgiving.”
“That is unfortunate,” he said lightly, though his gaze remained on her longer than was necessary, “because I was hoping to begin improving my reputation.”
Anne sobered. “I have not come to discuss your reputation. The ton discusses it enough.”
Something in his demeanor shifted, the amusement fading slightly as he straightened. The air between them shifted at once.Anne felt it first, the return of everything she had spent the night trying to organize.
She had tried to place the man before her, labeling him as a cruel man or a foolish one or one who simply did not understand his privilege, but none of it felt right. Meanwhile, he did not move toward her or away from her, only watched her with an attention that had not an ounce of performance in it.
“I came,” she said evenly, “to give you my answer.”
He nodded once, as though he had expected nothing less. “Well, that is the first encouraging response I have received today.”
“I was not encouraging you.”
“I will take what I can get,” he replied.
Tempest snorted sharply as if in disagreement.
The Duke did not look away from Anne when he spoke again. “You should know I have survived horse bites, racing debt, and half the women in London who insisted they could improve my character, and yet somehow, Lady Anne, you remain the most difficult creature I have encountered.”
“Then you are clearly accustomed to the wrong kind of company.”
“You and I are in agreement there. For what it is worth, you should know that I hate all of it. I hate that I am looked at as a man who must be tamed like that horse or revered as some miraculous thing. I do not—I would not want that from you if we were to marry.”
“You’re not presuming my answer suggests that,” she acknowledged. “Although that does not mean that I shall think highly of you.”
“There it is,” he said. “That tone. I was beginning to worry that you had softened overnight.”
“I have not softened.”
“I am relieved.”
“I have simply decided,” she continued evenly, “that I have no interest in becoming another woman impressed by your compliments. Much like yourself, I have received my fair share of empty words that have nothing to do with who I am and everything to do with my position, and I do not need more of them.”
“Most women,” he said after a moment, “do not usually announce that to me directly.”
“They would not dare, but frankly, I have very little left to lose, so I might as well be honest with you.”
Tempest shifted behind him, but the Duke did not turn. Whatever amusement had been guiding him a moment before seemed to settle into something less performative.
“Then let us be honest and practical,” he said. “If you are here to refuse me, you should hear my proposal properly first. There is no sense in rejecting something you do not fully understand.”
“I understand enough already.”
“Humor me,” he insisted. “If what I have to say matches what you believe, then there is no harm in confirming it.”
She hesitated only briefly before nodding.
The Duke moved away from Tempest, closing the small distance between them until the noise of the yard felt slightly distant. When he spoke again, it was without charm, or at least without the version of charm he had displayed before.
“You would remain here at Ashford Hall,” he began. “As my wife in name. We shall have separate rooms, separate lives where necessary. I have no intention of demanding companionship you do not wish to give, and I will not expect affection as part of the agreement. In return, you remain with the horse, and you are not displaced by your mother’s decisions or anyone else’s convenience. You would also be among the most powerful members of society, but something tells me you do not care for that part too much.”
