Page 11 of His Stolen Duchess
Lysander’s eyes swept over the crowd, their murmurs swirling like a gathering storm. The tension was thick; each word a sparkthreatening to ignite a wildfire of scandal. He saw the cruel calculations in their glances and knew that their gossip would spread faster than flames in dry brush.
The torn, soaked dress clinging to Georgina, the church steeple looming just beyond the park. It all painted a perfect picture, one that would shatter her reputation beyond repair.
His fists clenched at his sides. There was no stopping what was already in motion.
Theton’s appetite for ruin was insatiable, and they had just handed them a feast. This wasn’t just a misstep; it was the beginning of an unraveling, and Lysander felt the weight of it settle like a noose tightening around them both.
“I know that look,” Thomas said, finally approaching his friend. “What are you planning?”
“Something foolish, no doubt.” Lysander turned and approached the older man. “Sir, are you the lady’s father?”
“Her uncle,” the man said.
“And is it true she was fleeing her wedding today?”
The man let out a long sigh. “Unfortunately, it is.”
Lysander nodded. “And she is in your charge?”
“Yes, I am her guardian,” he confirmed.
Lysander nodded again, the weight of his decision pressing on his chest.
“Sir, I would like to resolve this problem and ask for your niece’s hand in marriage.”
Chapter Three
“I…” the uncle stammered. “You wish to wed Georgina?”
“Yes,” Lysander responded. “She’s in a bind. Her ruin is certain once this scandal hits the papers. I don’t have time to chase a wife, but I will need one. This agreement benefits us both. It’s practical. It’s necessary.”
The man thought about it for a second. “And you are…?”
“Lysander Cunningham, Duke of Windermere.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Your Grace,” he bowed. “My name is Francis Walford, Earl of Ridgewell.”
“Then we are in agreement, Lord Ridgewell?” Lysander asked.
Lord Ridgewell looked from the Duke to his niece and beckoned for her to join them. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. I may warnyou, though, that my niece has a mind of her own.” He shot Lady Georgina a glare. “But perhaps you’ve already witnessed that.”
Georgina approached them tentatively, her eyes shifting between Lysander and her uncle. Her tattered dress dripped as she stood before them, and the shawl her sister had given her was already damp.
“Do you understand what will happen to you now?” Lord Ridgewell asked.
Georgina pursed her lips together, her demeanor far quieter than when her ex-groom had been present.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she told her uncle. “I just couldn’t wed him, Uncle Francis.”
“And you thought running away was the best solution?” Ridgewell gritted his teeth.
Lady Georgina looked him in the eyes. “Yes, because I knew you’d force me to wed him no matter what I told you.”
Lord Ridgewell stiffened.
“Your reputation will suffer,” he said. “Ourreputation will suffer.”
“If you had been open to listening to reason, you’d be thanking me for not associating him with our name,” she whispered.
