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“You asked me to be your duchess for a reason. And that is because you know I love Thomas and will be a mother to him. I am the easy choice, the wise choice, the only choice. You know this, and I suspect you are unwilling to wade through the marriage mart to select a diamond who will have my compassion and love for little Thomas. You know I might be the only lady willing to accept him in your life, our life, despite his illegitimacy, and help him grow with love and respect, and dare not blame this sweet boy for his parents’ failings or stupidity. While your diamond may not gainsay your choice, she could make Thomas’s life miserable—and yours. As the saying goes, ‘It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and angry woman.’”
She gently rubbed her thumb across his cheekbone and over the elegant ridge of his jaw, feeling through her gloves the puckered ridges of a scar.
“I will say yes to be your duchess if you can assure me a bit of my own happiness, Duke.”
A frown split his brows, and she continued before he could interject. “I will love him as if he is my son. I love little Thomas. I will raise him with every respect as if he is my son. However, I will need my own children, sons and daughters, one day. I want them. Please.”
A perilous stillness fell between them.
“Is that your only counter-bargain?” His eyes narrowed on her face. “Ah, there it is, what did you think of just now to merit that flash of raw hunger in your beautiful eyes? What else do you want, hmm?”
Love, she wanted to cry, then felt extraordinarily foolish. Had there ever been a marriage of convenience that led to actual love, where they cherished and trusted each other? Even if there were, staring into the duke’s indifferent eyes, Verity couldn’t imagine such a fate possible for her with this man. The sense of loss was jarring and unexpected, for she had been living a life of exile from social graces and acceptance, with little hopes of a contented future with a husband and children to call her own. She would be exceedingly foolish to give up on this chance. Here he offered a shelter of sort from the harsh, cruel world to which she had been exposed to, and she still got to keep her sweet little Thomas. “I want nothing else,” she whispered.
She had the curious sensation that she had startled him.
“Ruthless pragmatism. I like it,” he drawled, dipping his head a little bit lower. “You will understand I value pragmatism and logic in my duchess.”
Verity allowed her hand to fall away from his jaw. “That is all you will get from me.” As if she would ever be so foolish to entangle her heart with a man so icily indifferent.
That smile—there it went again, in the barely-there curve of his mouth.
“I require faithfulness and loyalty.”
“Good,” she whispered, frightened and out of sorts, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake. “I require the same.”
“You shall have it.”
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “There is a rumor that you have a mistress back in town who routinely sends you letters professing her love.”
He jolted, then swiftly masked his reaction. “I gather you are an avid listener to gossiping.”
Verity smiled at him, and she gathered it was fierce given that his eyes gleamed. “I admit my weakness, and that I read the scandal sheets.”
“Yes. I have a mistress.”
The slow thud of her heart was painful. They stared at each other for a long moment, his gaze icily calculating and Verity hoping hers showed her aghast resolve. “See that you end it, Your Grace.”
Silence fell as they studied each other. “Done.”
The ache in her belly soothed. “Good,” she once again whispered.
Unexpectedly he smiled, and it lent him a wicked, sensual air. “Very well, Lady Verity. Let us seal our bargain with a kiss.”
