Page 8 of Duke of Chaos

“If you are insinuating there is a better target then you’d best get to the point,” he spat out, annoyed with how little control he seemed to have over his mind this evening. “Who is this perfect lady of whom you speak?”

Lydia, her gaze still locked on his, answered, “Me.”

“This is no laughing matter, Ezra,” Lydia said desperately, watching the otherwise stoic man start to laugh.

“Are we already speaking one another’s first names?” He quipped. “My, you move fast.”

Her cheeks burned with shame as he continued to laugh at her idea. She had known it was a risk coming to him like this but after hours of thinking it was the only option she could come up with. If her theory was proven correct, which it was, and all he needed was a wife to soften his appearance, then she would do. She was older, yes, and a known spinster, but her reputation of kindness and grace was highly regarded throughout the ton.

Still, she had not expected Ezra to laugh at her. Ezra rarely laughed and seldom reacted to anything, but he was laughing at her now and it stung her more deeply than she wanted to admit.

“If you want to be addressed as a nobleman,” she spat out, “Then act like one.”

“I was merely startled at your suggestion,” Ezra replied, still chuckling, “You are…well, you are a spinster. A well-behaved spinster, yes. Perhaps you will even have some mothers vie for your skills as a governess in the future. Still, you are a noblewoman who has a history of purposefully rejecting marriage. The wives may understand, perhaps even empathize, or feel jealousy about your freedom. But I need a lady who will impress my gentlemen counterparts. I need someone who has not made themselves so clearly…independent.”

Lydia’s mind raced as she tried to minimize her injured feelings and concoct a reasonable argument. What Ezra said was hurtful, yes, but it was the truth, and the freedom of her youth was now costing her the chance to save her sister. Men, especially older men of the ton truly did seem to despise women who did not desire a husband.

“Ezra, please,” Lydia breathed, pushing all her bravado aside as she met his level stare.

“Tell me how to fix this. I cannot let you have my sister. Juliet is…she is not like me or Alice or Helena. She is purer than any of us and she is in love. I cannot…I cannot…”

Lydia lost her words, emotion winning over her, and she felt her throat grow tight as a stinging sensation annoyed her eyes. Feeling the tears start to well up, she looked back down at the floor, defeated. There was no arguing Ezra’s point. What wastrue was true in English society, and a spinster, no matter how pretty and well-behaved, was still looked down upon.

She did not expect to feel Ezra’s fingers curl under her chin, nor did she expect to feel the jolt of warmth that made her veins hum from his touch. It did not spark or burn but soothed and comforted her wounded pride. When she had touched him in a similar way earlier, it had felt different. Aggressive, but enjoyable, like claiming power. But this felt entirely different. She felt vulnerable. Safe. But with Ezra?

Her mind spun with confusion as Ezra tilted her chin up until she was forced to look into his fathomless, frozen blue eyes, and she shivered at the ice she saw in them. Cold.Socold. But she could not look away. Not even when her mind screamed at her to do so. Those dangerous eyes. No wonder he needed to soften his image. A death stare from him would no doubt prove fatal.

He had become too wild and untamed. The man had let his claws and fangs grow too sharp, and he needed someone gentle and sweet to file them down. Someone who would not betray him in his rare moments of vulnerability.

“You truly wish to take Juliet’s place?” he asked calmly, his deep voice low and curious.

She forced herself to nod and whispered a silent plea to herself to stop trembling. She had been so fierce, so powerful just moments ago; where had that all gone?

“Yes, I do,” she replied evenly, keeping her eyes on him. “No matter the cost.”

Ezra’s eyes unlocked from hers as he pulled back an inch as if to survey her person. He studied her so closely that she realized she’d slipped out of her unladylike seated position, and her spine was arched forward toward him. She tried to correct herself, but Ezra’s grip on her chin tightened, and his eyes snapped back up to hers.

“Even if I ask you to remove your dress and offer yourself to me right now?”

He said the words in such a low, practical manner that Lydia almost didn’t catch them. When she finally did, she felt every muscle in her body grow tight with warning and excitement. She wrenched from his grip, and jumped to her feet, exclaiming “Ibegyour pardon?”

Ezra smirked as he let go of her chin and an emotion she could not read flittered across his eyes.

“Not at any cost, apparently,” he answered dryly, sitting back.

Lydia’s cheeks flamed, but she was not sure if it was from his words or the way his fingertips still felt branded on her chin.

If she did not give him what he wanted then she just proved his point. If she did do it, not only would she forfeit her modesty, but also risk falling prey to a cruel trick that would leave her andJuliet all the more desperate. It was not uncommon for men to seduce young ladies into early consummation, only to abandon the promise of marriage as soon as the act was over.

“You ask for a price no woman should forfeit,” she replied with venom. “But seeing as you are…you,I should not be so surprised. Perhaps if you were to marry me, I could show you that there are better ways to get what you want.”

Ezra’s eyes lit up at her bold response, but he only continued to study her in that intense, almost invasive way.

“I shall tell you what,” Ezra said finally, rising from his hunkered position to walk back to his drink cart, “Since this has been so entertaining I shall propose a counteroffer. A serious one.”

Though still wary, Lydia perked up immediately, rising to her feet.

“Present your proposal,” she demanded. Ezra looked at her for a moment in his usual calm manner, then obliged.

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