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Chapter Sixteen

“ O h no,” Dominic muttered.

How could the ballroom lose its luster right away?

He reminded himself that it had never been to his liking. He stood stiffly in the corner, the music thrumming in his ears, but he remained aloof, a solitary figure amidst the lively throng.

Why had the violins transformed into war drums?

Even worse, he saw mamas and their debutante daughters heading his way. Some of them he’d already met, ready to draw his attention in some tediously pleasant way, while the rest looked like they were about to miss the last éclair on the table.

Clearly, they were just realizing that the stag hunt weekend was about to end. And he was the last éclair .

He had grown weary of fluttering fans and painted smiles, and even more so of the hollow chatter, now that he knew what Marianne tasted like. Everyone else seemed to fade into insignificance by comparison.

“Your Grace,” the woman began, her tone dipped in feigned sweetness, “my daughter simply adores horseback riding. Would you mind if she visited? Of course, with a proper chaperone.”

“May I present my daughter, Lady Esther. Does she not look most charming in that soft rose-tinted gown, Your Grace?”

The voices blended together until Dominic could no longer discern one from the other. Each flattery and eager request bled into the next, growing more tiresome with each passing moment.

The stag hunt, he thought, would have been a mistake if not for Marianne.

“If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he said as politely as he could, with a tight smile. Again, it was all he could give since Marianne escaped him once more.

He scanned the crowd, and instead of landing on a beautiful brunette, his eyes landed on the man who orchestrated the whole weekend.

Lord Grisham.

The man seemed focused on him, as well. Barely a moment later, the Marquess was on his way toward him.

Dominic groaned inwardly.

“Your Grace,” Lord Grisham greeted.

“I need a word with you. In private,” Dominic said.

Grisham’s eyes glimmered with excitement—not the pure one—as he smiled and inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace. Meet me in my study in five minutes.”

Marianne’s heart was still pounding as she tried to feign boredom. Her hands, on the other hand, told an entirely different story, for her fingers gripped her fan so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

She had kept chatter at a minimum, since her mind was still on fire with the memory of the Duke’s kiss.

The memory of his passionate embrace lingered not only because it was her first taste of intimacy, but also because of the intensity in his eyes, which haunted every corner of her mind.

Did men often look at women that way to get what they wanted?

“You are too quiet,” Elizabeth remarked, oblivious to the mess in her head.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I am just tired,” Marianne lied, hating each traitorous second of it.

It was not nothing at all; it was everything .

Before Elizabeth could probe her with further questions, their father approached.

His deliberate but almost soundless steps were enough to make their spines straighten.

His gaze locked onto Elizabeth, sharp as a blade, and the smile that followed was all ice—familiar, calculated, and meant to unnerve.

“My dear Elizabeth,” he said. “The Duke of Oakmere has requested an audience. Come to the study.”

“Now, Father?” Elizabeth asked, looking deathly pale.

“ Now .”

Those thin lips, the hard edge to his voice—there was no room for argument. Then, he turned sharply on his heel, leaving neither sister space to protest. Elizabeth had no choice but to follow.

And Marianne… she was left behind to wonder.

Why did the Duke seek her sister’s company?

The answer gnawed at her. It had to do with the kiss— their kiss. The one she had fled from.

What would a man like the Duke do after such a moment? When the woman he kissed vanished into the crowd without a word. Would he demand an explanation—from the wrong sister? Or was he about to remind Marianne, in the cruelest of ways, that dukes were not made for foolish, impulsive affection?

As their father walked away, Elizabeth turned to her. “Marianne,” she begged, reaching for her hand as she always did when she needed support and comfort. “Please come with me.”

The terror in Elizabeth’s eyes was too great for Marianne to ignore. She nodded almost immediately.

“Of course,” she said, though her heart sped up.

What was she about to confront in her father’s study?

When they arrived at the door, it was already ajar and needed only a little push. Their father stood by the hearth, looking smug with a glass of brandy in his hand.

And then Marianne’s eyes landed on the Duke. His arms were folded behind his back while he contemplated the fire.

What did she expect?

Even though it pained her, she almost expected that the Duke would turn around and take a look at his prospective bride, but he was too distant for someone who had requested Elizabeth’s presence.

“Come inside,” their father ordered, his voice far too light—an unnatural sweetness that unsettled Marianne more than any fury ever had.

That tone meant one thing: he believed he was winning.

But then he caught sight of Marianne.

His smile faltered for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing just slightly, as though she’d disrupted the arrangement he’d already laid out in his mind.

“I hadn’t expected both of you,” he emphasized with a stiff, practiced smile. “But no matter. Do come in. The Duke of Oakmere has something he wishes to say.”

The sisters hesitantly stepped inside.

Marianne stayed by Elizabeth’s side, bracing herself for what was to come. Lord Grisham narrowed his eyes at her, and she tried to act as if she didn’t see his glare. She knew he would not dare say or do anything to them in front of the Duke.

The Duke turned as they entered, his gaze flicking briefly over Elizabeth before settling—unexpectedly—on Marianne. But it was only for a heartbeat. Then, he looked away, addressing Lord Grisham in that same composed, cool manner.

“I had hoped to speak with you privately, my lord,” he began, “but this may prove more efficient.”

Marianne stood near the door, her hands folded tightly in front of her. Efficient. That was all this was to him—an efficient transaction. Her stomach dropped.

“I’ve appreciated our partnership,” the Duke continued. “It has served both our estates well. I believe it is time to take the next step—forge a more permanent alliance.”

There it was.

Marianne’s chest burned. So that was what this was. He had kissed her— kissed her —and now he would pretend it never happened.

Of course, he had come for Elizabeth, whose beauty made sense. Elizabeth, whom their father paraded like a prize mare. Marianne should not be surprised.

But still, something inside her coiled. Her eyes darted to Elizabeth, who already wore a smile of gracious triumph.

“Ah,” Lord Grisham said, his expression brightening with satisfaction. “It would be an honor, Your Grace.”

Marianne stared at the Duke. She couldn’t read him. He looked at Elizabeth then, just as she had expected. So why did it sting?

Then, suddenly, his gaze shifted and locked onto her.

“Lord Grisham,” he declared, “I would like to marry your daughter.”

Marianne’s breath caught.

Her father all but beamed. “Your Grace, it would be my greatest pleasure to offer Elizabeth?—”

“Marianne,” the Duke added quickly. “Lady Marianne.”

Silence fell like a stone.

Marianne stared at him.

Her father opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I-I beg your pardon?”

The Duke blinked once. Twice. As though coming out of a dream.

Marianne’s heart pounded. He didn’t mean it, he was going to correct himself?—

Yet he nodded as if to confirm what he’d just said.

“I would like to marry Lady Marianne,” the Duke repeated, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet—no flinch, no flicker of hesitation.

He meant it.

For a heartbeat, she could not breathe.

“I wish to marry Lady Marianne,” he said again, slower this time. And he was still looking at her.

This time, his words seemed to have finally registered. Lord Grisham was no longer smiling. Elizabeth looked at her sister questioningly, but Marianne had no answer to that silent question. None at all.

She reached for Elizabeth’s wrist, this time not to steady her sister but to steady herself. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought everyone could hear it, and that her breaths were enough to shatter her ribs.

Still, through her blurred vision, she caught her father recovering from his initial shock and displeasure, forcing his expression into one of agreement.

“Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise,” he said too lightly. “Certainly you don’t know my eldest daughter quite well yet. She is strong-willed and?—”

“I am stating an intention, Lord Grisham. I am not seeking your approval,” the Duke interjected firmly.

Marianne could only imagine what would happen to her or any of her sisters, or even their brother Daniel if they spoke like that to their father. The cane would not be enough.

But this was the Duke of Oakmere. And he could not be questioned.

Not by her father, anyway.

“No,” she said forcefully, surprising even herself.

All heads turned to her.

“No?” the Duke echoed, looking at her with a furrowed brow.

“I refuse to marry anyone,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Not like this.”

A stunned silence fell over the room.

Marianne could feel every eye on her—the Duke’s, Elizabeth’s, and worst of all, her father’s. Slowly, she turned and looked at each person gathered in the study.

Elizabeth’s expression flickered between shock and something almost like hope. Lord Grisham’s face, by contrast, had gone rigid, his smile replaced by something tighter, sharper. He moved toward her, his steps slow, almost leisurely—measured like those of a predator.

Her body tensed. She expected the worst.

A slap, right here in front of a duke. Or perhaps, more insidiously, a soft pat on the cheek paired with a patronizing smile, and some thinly veiled command to stand aside so her sister could marry the man instead.

But no blow came.

Instead, her father bent close, the scent of brandy still clinging faintly to his breath. His voice was a whisper that only she could hear—cold, knife-sharp, and coated with calm.

“If you throw this chance away,” he warned, his voice low and venomous, “your sisters will feel every lash of the consequences. And Serafina?” His eyes glinted with cruel amusement. “It would be a shame if the poor creature wandered out one night and never came back.”

Marianne’s heart slammed against her ribs. A slow chill spread through her limbs.

She had always known who her father was behind the mask. But something about his words—the soft cruelty in them, the promise of pain that was no longer just hers to bear—left her paralyzed. Not even the silk of her gown could hide the way her hands had begun to tremble.

Lord Grisham pulled away, the warmth in his tone now perfectly restored.

“Please respond appropriately to His Grace,” he commanded smoothly, as though he hadn’t just made a veiled threat against her younger siblings and cat.

She felt her throat close up, and her vision blurred, but she forced herself to breathe—once, twice, until she could speak without faltering.

“Very well then,” she relented, her voice flat but even. “I accept.”

A hush fell over them again.

The Duke looked at her as though something vital had vanished from her eyes. But she could not dwell on that. Not when her siblings’ safety—and Serafina’s—hung in the balance.

So, she stood tall, she wore her acceptance like armor, and she did not look back at her father.

The Duke nodded at her acquiescence, uttering, “Good.” Then, to Lord Grisham, he said, “I will head back to London soon. There, I will obtain a special license. Leave the preparations to me.”

Lord Grisham looked unsettled, but it seemed that the Duke was intent on going through with his plans.

“No arguments,” he said in a cold voice. It was not something she’d expect from someone who wanted to marry her—not that she expected to marry at all. “No delays.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” her father said with a slight bow.

The Duke turned to Marianne and Elizabeth, executed a brief bow, and departed without another word.

Marianne stared after him, her eyes fixed on the doorway and the empty space he left behind. Her thoughts spun in a thousand directions, tangled between disbelief and growing dread. A part of her wanted to scream, another part wanted to crumble in tears.

But she couldn’t run, not if she still meant to protect her siblings.