Page 4 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

He took a step back, reinstating the small distance between them. The blue light from the window illuminated the sharp planes of his face, casting him half in shadow, half in an ethereal glow.

“I see.” He tilted his head slightly and looked to be considering the severity of her mien before he spoke again, choosing his words carefully. “While I cannot offer you such… deep-seated affection, I offer you the next best thing: an arrangement with superior terms. The status of a duchess rather than a marchioness, and the assurance that I, unlike my cousin, understand the meaning of honor and will not leave his betrothed stranded at the altar when the time comes to make good on my promise.”

Beatrice studied him with bewilderment, searching for a hidden motive in his impassive features.

Whilst she had only just heard of the Duke of Stagmore, she had not considered the report Isabella gave of his behavior to be a favorable one. He might be admired for his wealth and influence, but he was also known as a confirmed bachelor whose pursuits lay decidedly outside the realm of matrimony.

Those qualities did not stir admiration in Beatrice, nor did she imagine the current state of his reputation could protect either of their actions from scrutiny.

“Why would you make such an offer to a woman you have never met?” she asked.

“I have my reasons,” he replied, the set of his mouth suggesting that further inquiries on this point would be unwelcome. “Chief among them is the restoration of my family name. The question is not why I should offer, but why you would refuse. Unless, of course, there is something about your arrangement with Philip that you have not disclosed?”

The subtle implication in his tone—that she might have played a role in Philip’s disappearance—sparked a flame of indignation within her.

“I assure you, Your Grace, I am as surprised by today’s events as anyone.” She hesitated, her loyalty to her friend warring with her present circumstance. “I had no idea he planned to flee.”

“Then we understand one another,” he declared, his tone suggesting that the matter was settled. “Shall we inform your father of your decision?”

“I have made no decision,” Beatrice protested, though even as she spoke, she found herself considering the advantages of his proposal.

As the Duke said, a duchess outranked a marchioness, and he was here, standing in front of her, offering for her hand. That was more than she could say for her friend, Philip.

He stepped closer again, close enough this time that she could detect the subtle scent of sandalwood that clung to his impeccably tailored coat. “Lady Beatrice, I offer you a solution that preserves your dignity. The choice seems rather straightforward.”

Beatrice met his gaze, feeling a curious shiver run through her at the intensity she found there. In his eyes, she glimpsed not the practiced seduction of a rake, but something altogether more complex. A determination that hinted at motives beyond those he had articulated.

So, she asked, “And if I accept, what precisely would our arrangement entail?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, transforming his severe countenance momentarily. “You shall have your freedom, within reason, and the protection of my name and rank.”

His gaze held hers a moment too long, the air between them charged with an unexpected awareness that made Beatrice’s pulse quicken despite the pragmatic exchange of words.

But she could not keep her suspicions from rousing in her belly. Now, she studied him with newfound wariness.

“Most gentlemen would consider a bride who was previously abandoned ill-fated.”

A hint of amusement flickered across his features, so brief she might have imagined it. “I am not most gentlemen, My Lady.”

Beatrice nodded. “That is true,” she said. “You are not most gentlemen. You are a rake.”

This time, her words made his lips curl into a smile that made him seem even more devastatingly handsome than before.

“She has teeth, doesn’t she?” he murmured.

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed on him.

He continued before she could say anything about his snide comment. “You would be the Duchess of Stagmore, with all the privileges and responsibilities that accompany the title. Surely some gossip would be inevitable, but do you not think our predicament and my… less-than-stellar reputation can be to your advantage?”

Beatrice arched an eyebrow again. “My advantage?”

The Duke shrugged. “Think about it. The notorious Duke of Stagmore falls in love with Lady Beatrice at first sight. He is so smitten that he marries her immediately because his cousin couldn’t go through with it.”

Her other eyebrow joined the first to rest high on her forehead. “Is that your idea of my advantage? The fact that I was jilted by Philip remains a focal point.”

The Duke tilted his head to the side. “That might be true, but ladies love nothing more than love stories and fairytales. They will quickly shift their focus, not to the fact that Philip couldn’t fulfill his promises, but to the fact that I fell in love with you at first sight, and stole you for myself.”

Oh.