The knock on the door came but an hour after Olivia had made her decision.

The family was still gathered in the drawing room, the air around them filled with tension. While her mother and Helen embroidered and her father sat reading the morning papers, Olivia had moved to lie on the window seat with a book in her lap, her gaze out the window on the street below, and her mind somewhere else completely.

Upon the Duke’s arrival, her father left the drawing room to speak with him in his study. Olivia nervously bit her fingernails as she waited for them both. How ridiculous that two men should be deciding her future as she sat here like an idiot. There was nothing, however, she could currently do about the matter, and so she waited, albeit impatiently.

As she swung her leg back and forth over the window seat, she determined how best to approach this marriage — how she could still have her freedom while ensuring her sister’s future remained secure. She came to a resolute decision, feeling she had all the practicalities of the situation arranged in her mind. Then the Duke was shown in.

It seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room when he entered, for she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath as he stood framed in the doorway, the light from the tall window shining off the golden tones of his sandy curls. Olivia felt heat climbing through her cheeks as she sat rooted to her seat, staring at the man who had brought such passionate feelings forth from her only the previous night. She took in his strong, hard body, the chest she had run her hands over, the silken locks of his hair she had intertwined her fingers through, and the lips that had shown her what desire really meant.

His slight nod to her finally broke the spell that had overcome her, and her rampant desire was replaced by guilt and regret over their actions from the night before, and her mother’s discovery that had forced them into this situation.

A hiss from Lady Sutcliffe finally brought Olivia to her feet, and she curtsied ridiculously as the Duke stepped into the room, followed closely by her father.

“Your Grace,” her mother purred, clasping her hands together in front of her, “how lovely to see you.”

As if he had called upon them out of societal politeness.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head toward her, although none could miss the frost that cloaked his eyes as he regarded her.

“Well,” the Earl began, in an attempt to cut through the stiffness that had engulfed them all. “It is settled. His Grace will marry Olivia as soon as a special license can be proffered. We shall have the ceremony in the parlor, I believe, as it shall be a small, private affair.”

He beamed and gave a nod of his head to them all. Olivia let out a small snort at her parents’ reaction, as if this had been a proper courtship and betrothal of two parties, while nothing could be further from the truth. The Duke, a pained expression on his usually jovial face, looked far from a man delighted to be entering matrimonial bliss. And she, well, she would have nothing to do with this if it weren’t for her younger sister.

“May I have a moment alone with the Duke?” Her voice rang out through the room, which became silent but for the ticking of the long-case clock from the landing and the footsteps of servants in the corridor as they all turned toward her.

“I suppose it does not make much difference any longer,” her mother said in a clipped tone. “Come, Helen.”

Her sister meekly followed her mother out the door, as did her father, though he stopped to give the Duke a pointed glare. The Duke inclined his head, silently acknowledging the warning her father gave.

When the door clicked behind them, Olivia was once again very aware of the presence of the tall, broad man she had so eagerly fallen into the arms of the night before.

As fast as her heart beat, she refused to turn in fear from this man who would soon become her husband, and she looked up at him, meeting the jeweled tone of his eyes.

“I will have you know, Your Grace, that none of this was my intention,” she said, a determined set to her chin. “In fact, I would not have agreed to marriage were it not for my sister.”

“Your sister?” he inclined an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she responded. “I care not for my own ruination, but I do not want to see Helen affected by … the scandal. She is out now herself and she would very much like a husband of her own. I do not want to bring such disgrace to our family so as to affect her prospects.”

He cleared his throat.

“I must apologize, Lady Olivia,” he said, his voice polite and stilted, the voice of a stranger and not the warm baritone to which she was so accustomed. “I should have put more thought into my actions before taking you into that blasted box.”

“Yes, well…” she said, a slight smile touching her lips. “One cannot say I was not in agreement.”

The silence stretched between them.

“Was that all you wished to say to me?” he questioned.

“Yes. No. I — I know this is not what you want,” she began, now unable to meet his eyes. “If you wish a marriage in name only, I shall understand, however … however I need to know this from the beginning.”

“Why?” His one-word question had her eyes flinging up to meet his.

“Why?” she repeated dully. “So I know … how to regard you.”

He gave a grunt of derision. “And how do you currently regard me, Lady Olivia?”

The heat filled her cheeks once more as she took a few steps away from the safety of her window view towards him. “I regard you as a man who enjoys the company of women. Many women. Who has made well known his disregard for marriage and who would prefer to remain a bachelor. Who now finds himself betrothed to a woman because he was caught acting upon his desires, and who now regrets ever leaving the ballroom at the Argyll Rooms.”

* * *

As Alastair listened to Olivia’s words, he realized how very true they were. He knew the gossip, the words that had likely been whispered into her ears about him. And yet he had never truly cared about it. Never, that is, until this moment when the words came forth from her lips to his ears.

They rattled something within him, something that made him want to refute what she was saying, and yet, he could not. For he did enjoy women, he did not want to marry, and he would prefer to remain a bachelor. Somehow despite the truth in what she said, however, he did not regret those moments in the box at the Argyll Rooms. When he had kissed her, the feeling that charged through him was unlike any he had ever felt before. He didn’t want to marry her, no — but yet he couldn’t deny he still ached for her.

“I can see I’m not incorrect in my assumptions,” she continued, her tones now crisp and businesslike, not unlike those of her mother’s from just minutes earlier. “Very well, then. I shall make an agreement with you, one that will benefit us both. We shall marry, in name only, to save both our reputations. However, you may choose to do as you wish — visit your clubs, gamble your money, t-take your women. In turn, I may choose to do as I please. You will not question me, or provide me with orders. I will not bring shame to your name, but nor will I be at your every command. Agreed?”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly and stared serenely upon him, as he stood in shocked silence looking at her. To be married in name only … he couldn’t deny that the one aspect of this wedding he had been looking forward to was bedding his soon-to-be wife. And yet the offer she provided him was quite tempting. He could continue living as he wished, and in turn he had to do nothing but leave her be? But of course — he didn’t wish to have responsibility for another, and by each of them taking their freedoms they could have what they both wanted.

He smiled his first true smile since Lady Sutcliffe had strode in upon them yesterday.

“Agreed.”