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"I will take you home," he continued. "But if we go now, and anyone sees you, the damage will already be done. It will far too big of a stain on your reputation."

"People will talk," she said. "But I had already been warned of that before."

Oliver was not quite sure what she meant. But he continued on to make his point.

"Talking would be the most generous thing, my lady. They will do much more, beginning with the scandal sheets. A rumor of this sort will not only make your life harder, but also that of your family's."

"I do not want that," Alethea said quickly. There was a surety in her voice now that had not been present before. Oliver took it as a sign that she must care deeply for her family.

"There is a way to shield you from scandal. But it is not a pleasant one," he spoke again, looking at his brother.

Theodore's head snapped up. He understood exactly. "No."

Oliver ignored him.

"If we were to say that this.. incident occurred with honorable intent," he said, choosing his words with care, "and that you are to become my brother's bride…"

"No," Theodore blurted, stepping forward. "You cannot be serious."

"It would explain the abduction,' Oliver continued on to ignore his brother. He had caused enough trouble as is. "Misguided, yes, but born of affection. And if a wedding were announced promptly, no one would dare say otherwise. It would protect both your reputation and ours."

Alethea's lips parted. Oliver could sympathize with her. No lady wanted her marriage to be decided in this manner, and have such little say in it.

"You cannot ask this," Theodore cried. "I love Joyce, and my plan had been to marry her."

"You had no plan. What you had instead was a fantasy. A selfish fantasy that nearly ruined two women's lives in one night," Oliver chided his brother.

"I can't marry Alethea," Theodore said, pleading now. "I don't love her. Surely, my lady, you can make my brother understand just how silly he is being."

"So you decide not to marry her," Oliver replied. "And then what? What becomes of her reputation?"

"People will eventually forget," Theodore argued, albeit weakly. "But I shall never be able to get over my love for Joyce. It would be cruel for you push this fate onto me."

"You speak of love as if it absolves you of consequences. It does not," Oliver replied.

"I won't do it," Theodore said, as stubbornly as before.

"I do not want to marry him," Alethea said suddenly. "And I certainly do not want to be passed off as the lesser bride simply because I was the one mistakenly taken."

"You are not lesser," Oliver replied, his tone softening.

"That is very noble of you to say. But one cannot help but make that deduction based on the reaction your brother seems to be having to me."

"You should not take this personally," Theodore replied.

"Enough," Oliver raised his hand, stepping into the conversation. He had enough of his brother making the situation worse. With one long look at Theodore, he sighed and then spoke again.

"I will marry her."

The room fell silent. Alethea wondered for a moment whether she had imagined the words. She watched as the Duke stared down his younger brother.

"You can't possibly mean that," Theodore blurted.

"I can," Oliver said. "And I do."

Alethea's fingers curled against her sides. It was a strange thing to be spoken about like one was not present. A brewing scandal that must be adequately dealt with, but not a person.

"You do not even know her."

"She is standing right here," Alethea cut in, feeling herself grow annoyed.

Both men turned to her then, as though reminded she had not ceased to exist once their brotherly argument had begun. She looked at the duke.

"I do not require rescue, Your Grace," she said evenly. In earnest, she had dealt with far worse in her life. This scandal, if it becomes one at all, would be a mere inconvenience if anything.

"No, you might not. But the situation does. May I?" he asked, extending a hand.

Alethea stared at it. She should have refused. But then something inside of her compelled her to behave differently. She placed her palm in his.

He said nothing more to Theodore, who stood frozen by the fireplace, pale and stunned. Instead, Oliver turned and led her from the room. Alethea followed, her feet moving of their own accord. Her thoughts had long since stopped making sense. When they reached the carriage, he turned to her again.

"I will take you home now," he said. "The house will be quiet, and if we are fortunate, no one will see you arrive."

"And if they do?" She swallowed.

"Then," he said simply, "I will do what I said. I will come to your house tomorrow and ask for your hand."

She blinked at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"You would marry me simply because of this?"

"I would marry you because it is the only honorable path left."

"And what if I refuse?" she asked.

"Then I shall have to respect you for it," he replied. "Though I'll admit, I would prefer you did not."

His answer was not what she had been expecting. Despite his anger, he still seemed to be giving her a choice. It made her feel seen, even if in a small way.

"And what," she asked softly, "would I be agreeing to, exactly?"

"If you say yes," he said, "you will have a title, a home, and the protection of my name. You will want for nothing."

"I never wanted for much."

"Then you shall have more than you expect."

"And what will you want from me?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Only that you stand beside me. The rest we will learn. You may take your leave now."

His warmth disappeared from her fingers and she was guided inside the carriage. When it began to move, Alethea stared out the window, her hand still resting where his had been.

Even if she tried to make sense of the last twenty four hours of her life, she would not find herself able to. So much had happened. She always knew that her return to society would be eventful. But to this degree? She could have never even fathomed.