Page 6 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

The words hit her like a physical blow, stealing her breath and sending her stumbling backward against a chair. Of all the possibilities she had considered, marriage had not been among them. The very idea seemed too absurd, too impossible to credit.

"I would say," she managed when she found her voice again, "that such a request would be presumptuous in the extreme, even from a dying man."

"Would you indeed? And if I told you that your alternatives are to accept such a proposal or find yourself on the London streets within the week?"

The brutal honesty of the statement sent ice through her veins. She had known her situation was desperate, but to hear it stated so baldly, so cruelly, made her realize just how completely she was at his mercy.

"I would say that you are no gentleman to threaten a lady in such a manner."

"I am no gentleman at all, Miss Hartwell. I thought I had made that abundantly clear."

"On the contrary, Your Grace. You are very much a gentleman, which makes your current behaviour all the more disappointing."

He laughed then; a sound utterly devoid of humor. "Disappointing? My dear Miss Hartwell, I fear you have not yet grasped the reality of your situation. You are alone in the world, penniless, and entirely dependent upon my charity. Disappointment is a luxury you can ill afford."

"And yet I find myself experiencing it nonetheless. How inconvenient."

"Indeed, it is. For both of us." He studied her face with that same intensity, searching for cracks in her composure.

"Your father believed that a marriage between us would solve both our difficulties.

You require security and position; I require.

.." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"I require an heir to prevent my cousin from inheriting the title. "

"How romantic."

"Romance, Miss Hartwell, is another luxury neither of us can afford. This would be a marriage of convenience, nothing more. You would gain a title and financial security; I would gain the prospect of legitimate issue. The arrangement would be entirely practical."

"And entirely cold-blooded."

"Precisely. I find sentiment to be remarkably overrated."

Evangeline stared at him, trying to process the magnitude of what he was proposing. Marriage to a Duke—it was beyond her wildest dreams, yet offered in such terms that it felt more like a business transaction than a romantic proposal.

"You assume I would accept such an arrangement."

"I assume you are intelligent enough to recognise necessity when it stares you in the face. Unless, of course, you have some other prospect of which I am unaware?"

The question was rhetorical, and they both knew it. She had no other prospects, no other options, no other hope of survival in a world that offered few choices to impoverished women.

"And if I were to accept this proposal what would be expected of me?"

"You would be the Duchess of Ravenshollow. You would manage my household, represent my interests in society when necessary, and in due course, provide me with an heir. In return, you would enjoy all the privileges and securities that accompany such a position."

"And what of other aspects of marriage?"

A flush of heat crept up her neck as she forced herself to ask the question that propriety demanded she avoid. But if she were to enter into such an arrangement, she needed to understand its full implications.

"You need have no concerns on that score, Miss Hartwell. I am aware that my appearance would make such intimacies distasteful to any woman of refinement. The marriage would be one of convenience only, at least until such time as an heir becomes necessary."

The matter-of-fact way he dismissed the possibility of any woman finding him attractive was almost more heartbreaking than his physical scars.

Yet Evangeline found herself wondering if his assessment was accurate.

Beneath the damaged flesh and bitter cynicism, she could glimpse the man he must have been—intelligent, powerful, undoubtedly magnetic when not consumed by self-loathing.

"I see. And how long do I have to consider this generous offer?"

"Until tomorrow morning. I leave for London next week on business matters, and I would prefer to have the matter settled before my departure."

"How wonderfully efficient of you, Your Grace."

"I have found that prolonged deliberation rarely improves difficult decisions. Either you accept the realities of your situation or you do not."

"Indeed. And if I do not?"

His expression grew colder still. "Then I shall settle your father's debts as promised and provide you with funds sufficient for a month's lodging in London. What becomes of you after that will be entirely your own concern."

The threat was delivered with such casual cruelty that it took her breath away.

Yet even as he spoke the words, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped his walking stick.

He did not like making such threats, which meant there was still hope for the man beneath the beast's mask.

"How very generous," she said with sweet sarcasm. "A month to find employment or starve. I confess myself overwhelmed by your magnanimity."

"Sarcasm does not become you, Miss Hartwell."

"Perhaps not, but it suits my mood remarkably well at present."

They stared at each other, each taking the measure of the other. Finally, Evangeline broke the silence.

"I shall give you my answer tomorrow morning, Your Grace. I trust that is acceptable?"

"Perfectly acceptable. Mrs. Cromwell will see to your needs until then."

"Thank you. And Your Grace? For all your protestations about not being a gentleman, you have behaved with considerably more honour than many titled men of my acquaintance."

With that parting shot, she turned and walked toward the door, her spine straight and her head held high. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her break, no matter how thoroughly he had shattered her expectations.

"Miss Hartwell."

His voice stopped her with her hand on the door handle. She turned back to find him watching her with an expression she could not read.

"Your father was proud of you. He wrote of your courage, your intelligence, your refusal to be cowed by circumstance. I begin to understand what he meant."

The unexpected compliment caught her off guard, revealing a glimpse of the man he might be beneath his carefully constructed armor of cynicism and rage.

"Thank you, Your Grace. That means more to me than you might imagine."

And with that, she fled the library before either of them could say something that might make the impossible choice facing her even more complicated than it already was.

As the door closed behind her, Evangeline realized that her hands were trembling. Not with fear, as the Duke had clearly expected, but with something far more dangerous.

Recognition. Despite his scars, his cruelty, his deliberate attempts to frighten her away, she had glimpsed something in those dark eyes that called to something deep within her own soul.

The beast might be wounded, bitter, and half-mad with pain, but he was still a man. And tomorrow, she would have to decide whether that man was worth the risk of binding her life to his.

The choice, she suspected, had already been made. She simply had to find the courage to accept it.