before returning to the floor with a thud, punctuated by the sudden sensation of sawdust in her mouth, as she witnessed the plaid in all its glory, falling in perfect pleats to his knees, below which perfect, muscled calves, the likes she had never before seen, curved and tightened.
Good God. The man was Herculean.
No wonder the ladies adored him.
Her gaze traveled to the edge of the fabric, drinking in the curves and dips of his knees. She swallowed, the act a challenge, wondering how it was she’d never noticed the precise shape of a knee.
She shook her head. How ridiculous. She didn’t care about knees. Not when her freedom was on the table.
“My money.”
He leaned against the table and looked down at his papers. “From what I understand, you receive five thousand pounds on your twenty-fourth birthday.”
Blood rushed through her, making it difficult to think, and she let out a long breath, and laughed, relief coming light and beautiful, making her happier than she’d been in a long time.
Happier than she’d ever been.
Bless his great Scots heart.
It was enough to leave London. To buy a cottage somewhere. To start anew. “In nine days.”
“The same day the painting shall be revealed,” he said.
“At once, a welcome birthday gift and a wicked one,” she replied with a little self-deprecating laugh. “An irony, as I cannot remember the last birthday I received a present at all.”
“There is something you should know, Lily.”
And through the happiness, she heard the name he’d never called her. The name she called herself—the one she’d shared with Derek. The one he’d shared with the scandal sheets he enjoyed so much.
The one that had become Lovely Lily. Lonely Lily.
Her gaze snapped to his.
There was a catch.
“As you remain unmarried, you receive the money at my discretion.” He paused, and she loathed him in the moment, hearing the words before he said them. “And I require you to marry.”
Chapter 5
LOVELY LILY LIVID . . . DEFIES DUKE! DISAPPEARS!
“You cannot force me to marry.”
It was the sixth time she’d said it. It seemed Lily had a knack for repeating herself when she was frustrated. What was more, it seemed that she had a knack for ignoring him when she was frustrated.
Which was likely for the best, because the fury on her face when he’d presented her with the terms of his guardianship and his plan to get her married made it very clear that she would have happily knocked him to the ground if she’d thought she could.
She might still try to do just that, which was why he was keeping his distance, watching her pace the room. He’d taken enough of a beating in the ring the night before.
She hesitated at the far edge of the room, staring out the large window that opened onto the house’s handsome back gardens. Angus and Hardy had taken up watch by the fireplace, lying with their large grey heads on their paws, eyes following the hem of her skirts. Alec watched as her hand worked the fabric of those skirts before she turned back to him, her anger returned. “You—” She stopped herself. Took a deep breath.
Alec would have wagered his entire fortune that she wanted to say something utterly unladylike. In fact, he wasn’t sure if he was impressed or disappointed when she looked back to the gardens and said, “You can’t.”
He didn’t even know the woman. He shouldn’t care how this situation made her feel. Indeed, it shouldn’t matter how she felt. It should only matter that he was one step closer to being gone from England.
Damn England.
The only place in the world where this kind of idiocy mattered.
He took pity on her nonetheless. “According to Settlesworth, you’re right. I cannot make you marry.”
She spun around to look at him. “I knew it!”
She would marry, nevertheless. He crossed his arms and leaning back against the hearth. “How old were you when your parents died?”
She came toward him, as though she could force him to return to the topic at hand, but seemed to collect herself once more. “My mother died when I was barely one year of age. In childbirth with a babe who did not survive.”
He saw the sadness in her eyes. The regret. The desire for something that would never be. He was drawn to that familiar emotion like a pup on a string. He stepped toward her. “I am sorry. I know what it is to spend a childhood alone.”
“Your parents?”
He shook his head. “Barely present. Better absent.”
“I