Lord Windon closed the door to Lord Rochester’s study and walked down the hallway. He was alone in the expanse and he took his time, walking at a leisurely sedate pace. If only his thoughts would be in the same mien then he would be a happy man.

He sighed and muttered a curse under his breath. He had never been a happy man. That was hardly a pursuit that a man would lend himself to. A man went about being manly. He was accomplished, even if it was vain to proclaim himself so, but he was not happy. Here he was, more than an amateur in sport. He had his marks in pugilism. He was a master of fencing, he was a crack shot, a veritable horseman. He might not give a whit for being a tulip of fashion. He abhorred frippery, but his station and circumstances dictated he step out only in the very best, something his valet took excess pride in achieving. But he had never been happy.

He remembered a time when he was yet a boy, and his mother's voice had called to him. Then he had been happy. He could not quite recall what was the cause of such jollity was, but he recognised his happiness then. With the nostalgia of childhood, the fleeting image would bring an ache to his heart. No more. That memory had been long replaced by his encounters with Amelia. Sweet Amelia, beautiful Amelia. The woman he will marry, who had changed his entire life and who hated him with a hatred so strong it could come alive. Amelia who would rather languish in her room, preferring her own company to a chance in his own.

Her actions were kind, comparatively, he thought in a retrospective mood. She could have come down to face him. She could have stated her opinion strongly and wilfully enough to bend him ‘til he broke. He had broken for her before. But she rather stifle herself than stay a moment longer in his presence. The ghost of their embrace tantalized him from the moment he woke up to the moment he slept. They rose even in his dreams to torture him until he felt sure the proof of his desire would stain the sheets. He could not abide a moment longer in this roof with her right at his reach and completely out of his touch. The irony of this situation didn’t escape him. When they had joined for the first time, she was so beyond his reach that it was something akin to a crime. Now, she was soon to be his by every right on earth, yet he couldn’t dare to touch her.

He continued on his way, walking past an open door when a single word stopped him.

"Lord Windon." He turned to see, but even before then he knew who was calling. The only person who would say his name in that tone of voice that was soothing and at the same time stern. "Let us have a word." Amelia gestured into the room. She didn't say the words with scorn. Of anger or disgust. She didn't have to, the calm quiet tone was a call to arms.

He stepped into the day room and almost lost his breath.

Amelia stood just inside the room waiting for him. Her hair was left to hang by itself, not in an elaborate coiffure. Her skin, freshly scrubbed, shone against the pale dress. Lips, eyes, cheeks all were dewy with health. They disarmed him, more fool he was.

Robert sighed. Her maid had made an excuse on accounts of illness. It was clearly a lie. Why he had thought it would not be evaded him.

"I hear you are leaving," she stated calmly.

"It would not be proper for me to stay," he returned in the same vein.

"Without telling me?" Now her anger bled through, causing a slow burn.

"I left a letter with your father," he offered and the immediate effect of his words hit him. He should learn that she could not be dissuaded from her stance.

"Lord Windon." He hated the cold impersonal way she said it.

"Robert," he corrected through clenched teeth. His own anger was rising.

Amelia subsided and tried again. "You said you would wait for my answer."

The abrupt change tried him sorely. "That was before the incident in the gamekeeper’s lodge, I took the liberty of signing the betrothal contract."

"If you fear for my reputation..." She started to launch her attack.

"It was a concern of mine," he retorted in a cool voice aimed at making her think less of his act, his need.

"My household would not..." She paused, looked away from him, and continued. "There was no reason to protect me from..." Clearly, she could bring herself to say the words, so unsure, unlike herself.

It stung, that even in her mind she shied from it. "We could have made a babe," he countered with an edge in his voice. 

Amelia paused at that then started again. "Still, that is no reason to..." Sign the contract? Bind her to him irrevocably?

"It is reason enough. I will not have any child of mine a bastard," he continued but with an edge of steel.

"That is all you care about, is it not? Your duty." Gone was the woman shying away and unsure. Gone was her reticence.

"I will indeed do my duty by my child, as should you," he returned with a vehemence that did not even check her.

"Life is more than duty!" She declared, indignation bristling in every pore.

"Of that I am aware." His voice was low. His pain obvious, filling each word to overflowing.

"Why?" The words were low, so low he almost didn’t catch it. As it was, he had to lean in to catch it. Up close he saw her throat working with the heavy words. He caught her faint lemon scent.

She quieted, clasping her own hands in a white grip. "Why do you want to marry me?" she asked again, raising her wide, red-rimmed eyes to his own.

"It is done, Amelia," he turned away from her, unwilling to see the effect of his actions. “The contract is signed and the banns will be announced tomorrow. We wed soon.”

"What spurred you to consider me a match? You proposed before..." She stopped again, and it hurt him. Her refusal to acknowledge what transpired between them.

"Our union, Amelia. Say it," he demanded.

She conceded with a soft sigh, "Our union."

He savored her brief moment of surrender. "I will have a wife perfectly suited to becoming the next duchess and you will have a husband to take care of you," he explained.

"I do not need a husband," she bit out, barely restrained.

He lost his control at the thinly veiled disgust in her voice. "No matter how you rail at this world, see reason. I am not the author of your woes. I share in them too, this slavery to the rules of Society. Let us play our part well and without undue friction. Perhaps someday a world will exist where a female does not need the protection of a husband to live as she pleases, or anybody else for that matter if she doesn’t want it. All I know is that our world isn’t so, and if we rail at it, it still wouldn't stop in its colossal stride to treat our concerns kindly." She was quiet through his diatribe.

She recovered fast, her return shot deadly. "So, I will play in this farce?"

"It is no farce. We will be married," he answered in the same vein.

"In name only!" Her words filled the room, tore every hope out of his chest and steeled him. She turned her head away from him and sighed.

"Even so, it will be done. Betrothal contracts are binding," he reminded softly and headed for the door.