Page 5 of To Steal a Duchess

Lady Wittby halted them just to the side of the chapel, out of earshot of any of the lingering guests. Dorian spoke before she had another chance to.

“I understand that your family has now been put in a difficult situation,” he said, clearing his throat. “And I apologize to be the one to unveil such audacious news, but I could not, in good faith, allow your family to be blindsided by a villainous man such as Sarling.”

Lord Wittby nodded grimly. “I had no idea. He always seemed so… so charming.”

“I imagine that is how Lady Eloise got herself entangled with him. He knows how to speak to people, how to turn a room in his favor.” Dorian spoke with certainty, for he had watched the Marquess for the past several days, ensuring he was the man Dorian thought him to be.

And he had proven every speculation true, even down to following young barmaids into back alleys.

Dorian always made sure that the marques got spooked before he could do anything, giving the girls a chance to flee.

“He takes advantage,” Dorian continued, “and I could not sit by and let that happen to you.”

His gaze slid to Lady Eloise, whose calming, pretty blue eyes blinked curiously at him. She must be wondering how he’d done this, how he was so certain that Lord Sarling was who darker rumors suspected him to be.

He merely stared back at her for a moment before inclining his head toward her father.

“Lord Wittby,” he said, “I meant what I stated in the chapel. I will marry Lady Eloise.” He heard the smallest intake of breath from the young lady herself, but he ignored it. He had to focus on what was right, not her feelings. “I do not know if Lord Sarling already received your daughter’s dowry, nor do I care to. Either way, I do not have any regard for such a thing, and I do not need it. I will marry her regardless.”

“Without a…” Lord Wittby whispered in disbelief. “Without…”

“Yes,” Dorian said, impatient with their slow approval. “Furthermore, for the loss of this day, and because I know your social standing means a great deal to you, I would like to offer you some business proposals. It shall make you richer beyond any wealth you have already seen, Lord Wittby.”

At that, the man’s eyes glittered at this, and his face broke into a beaming smile. Dorian knew he just about had the earl.

“Think of it.” His voice dipped lower, became silken and persuasive. “Business contracts… with a duke. A very renowned one, at that. I am certain you know that the Oldcliff title goes back many, many generations and is highly respected.”

“Indeed, I do. The late Duke of Oldcliff always seemed somewhat unreachable, but you…” Lord Wittby chuckled. “You are doing your father’s memory a service, Your Grace, and I could not be prouder of my daughter that she has managed to have such favor of being saved by you. She is my most precious treasure, and only a man such as yourself can prove himself truly worthy of her.”

Dorian’s mouth twitched at the mention of his father. Still, he remained politely stoic.

“Indeed,” he finally responded. “I am certain you are proud of her.”

Dorian knew differently, but he let nothing of that show. Instead, he glanced down as his boots shifted toward Lady Eloise. He paused, noticing a petal peeking out from the underside of her slipper.

Lady Eloise followed his gaze, and she quickly scuffed it off.

When he looked up at her, her cheeks were slightly flushed, and he had the sense he had caught her out about something. What, though, he didn’t know.

“Lady Eloise,” he said, focusing on her properly, “I have ruined your wedding day, but I do not wish to leave you without an option.” He paused, taking her gloved hand. “Will you marry me, my lady?”

Even the words coming out of his mouth felt wrong; he never let that show. Although he thought perhaps the lady knew how he felt, for she hesitated, as he had before asking.

But he had to save her. She had asked him for a way out, and he had provided, but he could not leave her without a way forward. Dorian’s honor stopped him from doing so.

Her rosebud-shaped lips parted as though she searched for words that were not cooperating enough to leave her. Dorian could not help but wonder how badly she wished to say no, and to flee the chapel. He held her gaze, his fingers tightening around hers in an attempt to reassure her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lady Wittby nudge her shoulder into Lady Eloise’s, jostling her.

“Come now, darling,” she hissed, covering the harsh tone with a light laugh. “Do not be rude and keep His Grace waiting for an answer.”

Lady Eloise glanced at her mother, nodding as she bit her lip, before she turned back to Dorian.

“I—” She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, as if steeling herself. When she reopened them, her smile was composed perfectly into politeness. It was the mask of a lady doing what was expected of her and simply biting back her true feelings. “I would be honored to accept your proposal, Your Grace.”

Her words were polished, and Dorian couldn’t help wondering if the way she spoke was how she truly talked, or if it was all an act in the face of her parents. Dorian cast his mind back over the only other words he had known from her; they had not sounded like she did now.

Any question about it got lost in Lord and Lady Wittby’s cries of joy. Lady Wittby clapped her hands together. “Oh, how wonderful! My beautiful daughter, a Duchess to become.” She kissed her daughter’s forehead as Lord Wittby shook Dorian’s hand.