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“You would pay me back by simply attending all social events with me, turning on your best ballroom smile, and helping me return to the good graces of the ton. Of course, I will also need your dowry to repair my manor. You might have noticed that it was in great disarray during your last visit.” He gave her a rueful smile.

Louisa had indeed noted that Colborne House needed repairs and silently wondered about the Duke’s financial situation. She knew it was in no way his fault, but it still worried her. Repairing it would be best for both her and her soon-to-be husband. While she did not require a lot to be comfortable, she fancied living in a home that was at least sufficiently organized.

“Just that?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Just that,” the Duke confirmed with a nod.

“B-But you are a duke. Surely you would require an heir?” she asked tentatively, shifting self-consciously as his eyes flashed with more heat and slowly roamed down her body.

“You are not required to do anything other than what I had stated earlier, Miss Louisa,” he reassured her, looking away justin time, as she was contemplating reaching for her fan to cool the heat that seemed to consume her whole body.

“What of your title? It would end with you,” she pointed out, a frown creasing her brow.

“Do not worry about that, dear,” he said with a half smile. “I have a relative who would inherit the title when I die. You do not have to break a sweat over it.”

“So, do you agree? Do you have any other questions?” he asked.

“I just feel like I have more to gain from this marriage than you do. We might also be throwing away any chance of making love matches,” she said, biting her lower lip anxiously.

“I have never intended to make a love match, and I never will. I might not promise you love, but you would have my protection and my loyalty. I would be faithful to you for as long as I walk this earth.”

“Even if we do not have marital relations?” she pressed, her cheeks flushing. “I know that men do have needs—needs that are supposed to be satisfied in the bedroom. How will you remain faithful when I do not offer you that satisfaction?”

“Do not worry yourself about that, my dear. I would worry about that myself. Just know that I keep my vows,” he replied, looking away dismissively.

“If I am to agree to this, I have expectations.”

“Whatever things you require will be taken care of.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what I have to say,” she said, smiling.

“Consider it done. We will be wedded in a week by special license. I will obtain one from the Bishop,” he declared with finality, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

When Percival set out to make this offer, he had been doubtful of its success. The first problem he had encountered was choosing what to wear. Seeing as he had not been in polite company for the better part of two years, he had not needed formal dress.

At that moment, staring at the contents of his wardrobe, he cursed himself for neglecting to acquire some of the finery that came with his title, never mind that he did not feel he deserved it.

It was at that moment that good old Tobias stepped in to save the day. Apparently, he had some of Michael’s clothes altered. His brother was about the same height, but his time in the armymust have given him broader shoulders because the coat felt snug around the shoulders.

Percival had to hire a hackney to go to the heart of Mayfair, where Langham Manor was located. It was a well-kept building, a far cry from the state of his home. When he had introduced himself as a duke, the butler was only too happy to allow him in. When he had finally seen his quarry, he was once again struck by the uniqueness of her features. She was petite but had curves that teased him endlessly. Her hair was twisted in a loose bun, with some tendrils escaping to frame her face, giving her a youthful look.

Her sister stood beside her, with nearly identical features. They might look the same, apart from the scar, but something in his quarry’s soulful brown eyes ensured that he recognized her at an elemental level.

It seemed the restlessness in his soul called to hers.

When he proposed, he had expected her to reject him passionately. He was even ready to use blackmail if need be. Imagine his surprise when she accepted his terms without much resistance. Just when he was about to seal the deal in a manner of speaking, her mother stepped back into the room, with a maid bearing refreshments hot on her heels.

“My apologies for the delay, Your Grace,” she said with a nervous smile. “We had to make a fresh batch of biscuits.”

She set down a tray laden with different types of cakes and cookies, complete with a tea set.

“Thank you, My Lady,” he returned with a smile.

He didn’t much care for sweets, but looking back at his betrothed, he could see the longing glances she cast at the overflowing tray from time to time, as if she wanted to reach for it but was not allowed to.

Using a napkin, he picked up one perfect cream muffin.

“Here, my dear,” he said, offering it to her. “Think of it as an early betrothal gift.”