evening? Did you steal away from Auntie Feather-wit?”
“Her name is Aunt Fanchette,” Lady Calliope gritted.
“Did you come here unaccompanied?” he demanded, ignoring her correction.
Only a woman with the brains of a chicken would be pleased by the sight of her niece returning from a night alone with a man to whom she was not wed, her dress in tatters. Only a fool would have believed his story of footpads and his own heroics.
But aside from that, he disliked the notion of Lady Calliope flitting about London alone at this time of the evening. Anything could have happened to her.
The sole reason for his concern was his need of her dowry, naturally. He was not truly concerned, he reassured himself. He despised her for what she had done.
His betrothed pursed her lips. “Why should you care how I arrived here?”
He raised a brow. “If something ill befalls you, how can I marry you?”
Lifting his whisky to her in a mock salute, he drained the remnants of his glass.
“You are despicable.” Her voice was cold.
He had certainly been called worse.
Sin shrugged. “I am honest.”
“I brought my own carriage here,” she said. “A footman accompanied me.”
He wondered if it was a handsome and brawny one. That had been one of Celeste’s old tricks, fucking the servants. Once, it had been a groom. On another occasion, two of the footmen at once. She had always made certain he would catch her.
That had been half of the fun for Celeste.
He clenched his jaw. “Do not go sneaking about in the night again.”
Her spine stiffened. “You have no right to issue orders to me.”
“Yet.” He gave her a grim smile. Matrimony held no allure for him, aside from necessity.
Raw, bare, ugly necessity.
“Ever,” she bit out.
Holding her gaze, he poured himself another whisky, this one fuller than the last. “Go home, Lady Calliope.”
“Not until you give me an answer.”
Fucking hell, why did she have to be so determined? He took a lengthy sip of his whisky, relishing the burn. “I already gave you the only answer you are going to get from me. Go home. Return to your Aunt Featherbrain and plan our nuptials like a good little betrothed.”
Her lip curled, her reaction to his dismissal exactly as he had supposed it would be. Feral. “No.”
He strummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. It had not been dusted since what seemed like the reign of Richard III. Give or take a century. “You have not the right to deny me. How many times must I explain this to you, Lady Calliope? I have all the power in this farce of ours. You persecuted me for no good reason, and you were not careful enough about hiding your tracks. You trusted the wrong people. I hold all the trump cards.”
“You cannot expect me to marry you in this fashion,” she protested.
Devil take it, one day into their arrangement, and she was already attempting to weasel her way out. He should not be surprised, he knew. But he was irritated, just the same. He had gotten what he wanted from her: her concession. He did not bloody well want to have to win it again.
“I can, and I do.” Doing his damnedest to keep his stare from lingering upon the pink fullness of her mouth, he took another draught of spirits. “I have been quite clear. You marry me in return for my silence. That is all.”
“I require proof that you did not murder my brother,” she said.
Her words seemed to echo in the silence of the chamber.
Rage surged within him in the seconds afterward.
Again with this nonsense.
“You require proof,” he repeated with a calm he did not feel.
“Yes, that is what I just told you.” Her gaze did not waver this time, searing his. “You want me to marry you and to provide you with an heir. I cannot give myself to a man I believe responsible for the death of my brother Alfred.”
No, no, no. This was not what he wanted to hear. Mayhap if she was desperate enough to avoid marrying him, she would shoulder the burden of her actions and face all the scandal that would rain down upon her. She could not vacillate on him. He did not have the ability to wait much longer.
A muscle began to twitch in his jaw. “Yesterday morning, you said you could.”
“Yesterday morning, I was at your mercy,” she dared to counter.
That was bloody well it.
Sin rose and prowled around his desk, not stopping until he