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"I have come to ask for your niece's hand."

The man's forehead wrinkled, "Why?"

"Uncle Tommy!" Lavinia cried, embarrassed, "you cannot ask him that."

"Well, I have not heard a thing about you in this house, Your Grace, so forgive me if this comes as a bit of a shock," her uncle said.

"We were formally introduced at Livingston house," Victor stated, "We danced and we talked, and this is what we both want. We greatly admire and respect each other."

Even as he said the words, they felt less than enough. But they were more than many of thetonmarriages were built on. If her uncle was waiting for a grand declaration of love or anything of the sort, he was going to be very disappointed.

"Is that so?" Lord Hartfield turned to his niece. "You want to marry this man?"

When she blinked, Victor swore he had seen something like loss and defeat in her eyes and it made him curious again about why she had accepted this union.

Were her affections engaged elsewhere?

And why did the thought of that make him want to hit something?

"Yes, Uncle. I do," her voice was firm and sure.

"In that case," Lord Hartfield hesitated, "we should talk in my office. I believe we have a lot to discuss, Your Grace."

"Of course," he agreed and began to follow the older man out the door, but at the last moment, he glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing there; beautiful, brave, but defeated.

"Goodnight, Lavinia."

"Good night, Your Grace."

She dropped into one of her careless curtsies and then slipped past him quickly, making sure that no part of them brushed against each other, like she didn't want to spend more time than necessary in his presence.

It wouldn't bode well for many relationships, but it was perfect for both of them.

The success of their marriage of convenience was based on their abilities to keep this as clinical as possible. They needed as many boundaries as they could get.

CHAPTER 8

"How about this one, Miss?"

"I look like an overripe tomato in that dress," Lavinia discarded the fourth gown she had tried on that afternoon with an irritated groan.

None of the dresses felt right and she didn't know why she was over thinking it anyway.

It wasn't like she was dressing to impress a man who was courting her.

The Duke didn't care for her in any way. He wouldn't see her in a pretty dress and suddenly realize that he was a fool for ever thinking he could be able to keep his hands off of her.

She sighed. The books she read were beginning to rot her mind.

"This one?" The maid waved a lilac dress at her and she ignored it, tempted to fish out the green dress she had worn two nights ago when the Duke had come over to see her uncle.

She had felt like a princess when his eyes had swept over hers from the bottom of the stairs. Like she could walk on the clouds and float through life.

That was what she wanted to recreate.

Why she wanted it, she had no idea. She wasn't trying to impress the Duke. That would be absurd. There was no reason to anyways. They were already engaged.

Moreover, it was a business relationship. He didn't plan on giving her more of those burning kisses so she could as well wear a sack cloth to meet him.