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Emma quickly shook her head. “My mother is innocent.”

He nodded once and looked down at her. “I am here.”

Emma’s heart swelled, but she did not have time to relish this new and unbelievable turn of fortune as a heavy dread settled in her stomach, furrowing her brows.

“It might be too late already,” she said. “The Marquess is in my father’s study. They have been in there a while, and they mighthave signed the contract already,” she added, praying fervently for some intervention from the heavens. A miracle even. A miracle to set her free.

“It does not matter, Emma.” George kissed her hand again. “The most important thing is if you will have me as your husband?” he asked, his sincerity evident in his eyes.

This question surprised her. Even more so, his earnestness. If this were all just a dream, then she wished never to wake up.

She nodded her response, and he raised one brow. “Miss Lovell speechless?”

She chuckled. “She certainly is, for an insufferable Duke is making an offer for her.”

“Is she inclined to accept?”

“Yes, George. She is most inclined to have him as her husband,” she said, her heart soaring with a happiness she had scarcely dared to hope for.

He beamed at her. “I will find a way to make Neads relinquish the contract. It shall not be a problem,” he reassured her. “Now, which way to the Baron’s study?” he asked.

The butler, who had stood witness all the while, wore a mighty grin on his face as he said, “This way, Your Grace.”

George proceeded to her father’s study, and Caroline rushed to embrace her. “You shall be well and safe, my dear. You shall be happy!”

“Yes, Mother!” After a moment, Emma exchanged a look with her mother and found they were thinking the same thing. “We should follow him.” Caroline nodded her agreement.

They walked in to hear George declaring, “I am here to offer for Emma.”

“That is preposterous!” Neads cried. “I have already signed the contract. Not to mention the numerous payments I have made,” he added indignantly.

“I am afraid the ink is already dried, Seymore,” her father said. Emma’s heart sank at those words, though she was not surprised.

“Now listen here, Dewsbury, and listen carefully,” George’s voice dipped into a dangerously low tone, his demeanor shifting to one of steel, “I may not have a stellar reputation in society, but I doubt the English aristocracy care for such where the hierarchy is concerned. I am certain they will be all too willing to shun a baron out of society once a duke tells them to. You will be no more than a ghost, Dewsbury. And I shall relish every moment of making you and all your businesses invisible. Not just in England, but across the continent as well,” George added, his voice cold.

Emma could have sworn she heard her father gulp nervously. He suddenly appeared very small as George towered over him, the confidence draining entirely from his demeanor.

“Are we clear now, Dewsbury?” George asked, his tone brooking no opposition.

The Baron nodded. It was all he could do, really, Emma thought triumphantly.

“I will not have this!” the Marquess’s voice rang out, shattering Emma’s brief moment of satisfaction. She had almost forgotten his presence and the reason for it. “I acquired her first. I have an agreement with the Baron. Do we not, Dewsbury?” he added, turning to her father.

“I... well...” Tristan stuttered, his confidence visibly shaken.

“First of all, Emma is not an object of your possession, Neads,” George ground out. “And second, by all means, you may refuse to back down if you wish your sources of income equally drained, buried, and forgotten.”

Neads gave him a murderous glare before turning to her father. “You will return the initial sum I paid you, Dewsbury, or I shall be the one to render you a ghost in society before Seymore does,” he spat. With these final words, he turned and stormed out of the study, his footsteps heavy and echoing through the hall.

Emma sagged against her mother at last, relief washing over her. She could scarcely believe that she was finally free from the Marquess's grasp.

“Now, where were we?” George turned back to her father with a wicked grin. Tristan swallowed nervously, his eyes darting between George and Emma. “Ah, yes. I believe you were about to tear that contract to pieces and toss it into the hearth, Dewsbury,” George said, his voice deceptively calm.

“Ah, yes, yes,” her father stammered, quickly tearing the document and tossing it into the fireplace as instructed. The flames consumed the paper, erasing the last remnants of her unwanted betrothal.

“We shall be wed in a week,” George declared, turning to Emma with a bright smile on his face.

A smile that banished the dark clouds looming threateningly over her future. He took her hands in his and pressed tender kisses into her palms before saying, “Thank you for giving me the honor to be your husband, Emma.”