Page 22 of Wedded to the Sinful Duke

Her uncle did not get up. He simply stared at her then at the man who had been there for quite a while, judging from the comfortable expression he was wearing.

“You?” she gasped, barely managing to breathe in. She felt as if a claw had grabbed her by the throat, squeezing menacingly with each new word she wanted to expel into the world. “What… what on earth are you doing here?”

He bowed before her respectfully, taking her hand into his own, without her even offering it, and bestowing a chaste kiss upon it. Then he took a reverent step back, creating some distance between them, something she was not certain he even knew how to do, and yet, he was now being courteous beyond her wildest imaginations.

“I am doing the only natural thing, my sweet siren,” he said in a voice dripping with gentility and affection. “I am asking for your hand in marriage, of course.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened in astonishment, her hand rising to her chest. She didn’t know what to say to that. The blush on her cheeks was evident. She was certain of it. Yet, what she didn’t know was what caused it: anger or some secret attraction.

“Ciara, my dear, please…” Her uncle gestured at the other chair, situated by the Duke’s side. “Take a seat.”

Reluctantly, she did as he bid her. A moment later, the Duke took a seat as well. It all reminded her of some business transaction that needed to take place, and she was at the center of it. She had never imagined her marriage proposal to look like that and even less, for the man in question to be a well-known rake. It all sounded like a bad dream, and she desperately wanted to wake up.

“You know, Your Grace, that although Ciara is living under my roof, I am not her guardian,” Uncle Brendan explained. “Her hand is not mine to give.”

Ciara tried her best to read his facial expressions. He obviously didn’t approve of that man sitting there in front of him, asking for her hand. However, with everything that had happened, he knew, just like she did, that it was the only thing that could save her already crumbling reputation.

But what sort of a reputation would she have married to a rake? She felt helpless and desperate but most of all, enraged.

“I know that,” the Duke nodded, taking his eyes off of Ciara only for short glimpses at her uncle, but his eyes always traveled back to her. “I have taken the liberty of visiting the Viscount of Hartfield. He and his lovely wife are more than happy to allow their daughter to marry me and become a duchess, so there is absolutely no objection on their part.”

“What if there were an objection from me?” Ciara blurted out, but she immediately regretted it. Her past self had taken over for a moment, but clarity hit her immediately. She was being childish, not taking into account the bigger picture and the fact that this was the best solution to the predicament she had found herself in.

However, instead of the Duke, she heard her uncle respond curtly, behavior that he was not akin to often, “May I remind you, Ciara, that after what happened, this is the only way to stop the gossip that has been circling the ton and hold your head up high in public.”

She knew what he was referring to. And worst of all, she knew that he was right. She didn’t have any counterarguments, other than the mere fact that she didn’t want to marry a rake, especially not one as arrogant and conceited as the Duke of Silverbrook.

She glanced at the Duke just once. That was all she needed to see the look of victory in his eyes as he tried to suppress agrin. For some reason, he was content with the situation, and she could not, for the life of her, understand why. However, she knew that she had no other way out. Going back to the nunnery was something she would never allow again. That place was the closest thing to hell she had experienced, and even marriage to this arrogant man was better than that.

“I apologize, Uncle. You are right,” she addressed her uncle softly and turned to the Duke. “Very well then,” she said through pursed lips, still finding it difficult to control her displeasure with the situation.

She forced herself to curtsy in the most polite manner possible although she could see gloating in the man’s eyes as she did so.

“If you will excuse me,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking as she walked straight out of her uncle’s study with her heart beating in her throat, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe.

She rushed out into the garden, hoping for some fresh air, but the world seemed to conspire against her, forcing her into a mold that demanded of her to be something else, something she was not.

“Ah, Becky!” Jonathan was caught slightly off guard upon seeing Rebecca in the main hallway of his townhouse upon his return. “What brings you here?”

She had obviously arrived only moments prior, her hand clutching several rolled pieces of paper which clearly, she intended to show him.

“This,” she said annoyed, offering him the papers.

He frowned, accepting them. One glance assured him what they were. Just a scandal sheet, one that had featured him often in the past several years. Not that he blamed them. People loved reading about other people’s misery and stupidity. That made them forget about their own. They also loved reading about other people’s shame. That was their favorite.

“And?” he shrugged, handing it back to her. He allowed his valet, who appeared out of nowhere, to take his coat, turning to him. “The Countess and I shall be having tea in the drawing room, Parkinson. Please have some tea sent there.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Parkinson bowed, disappearing with his master’s coat and leaving Jonathan alone with his cousin.

“And?” Rebecca gasped, echoing his own question.

He ignored it, heading towards the drawing room. He didn’t need to turn around to know that she was following him. He could hear her soft footsteps echoing on the floor.

As soon as they entered the drawing room, she hastily closed the door behind her. She locked eyes with him, looking both shockedand furious. It was a look he had seen many times. In fact, he had seen it so often that it had lost all of its power.

“What do you mean and?” she demanded to know. “Have you lost all humanity in your pursuit of Dionysian pleasures?”

“Dionysian?” he echoed, laughing. “I love it when you are so poetic, Becky.”

---