Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,14
And yet . . . even as he wanted that to hold true, there was an unwanted concern about what should happen to her if he walked out . . . “So you want me to stay until she’s married?”
“Yes, and, well, I’d hoped you could form a relationship with her while you are here. Get to know her. Squire her about ton events. Balls. Soirees. Dinner parties. The customary,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand.
The customary? Get to know her? Squire her about? Had the duke even witnessed Dare and the lady’s volatile exchanges? “And then what?”
“And then, as I said, after she is married, you may leave. If you want to, of course,” the duke tacked on.
Oh, he’d want to.
Only something in the duke’s tone gave him pause. That perception a product of learning that when anything appeared too good, invariably it was. “Why do I think there is more?”
The duke’s smile was back in place. “Because you are my grandson and far too clever by half, Darius.”
“Is she . . . amenable to marriage?”
The duke stretched his arms wide. “Aren’t all women, Darius?”
“Dare,” he corrected. It was time the old nobleman disabuse himself of the notion that Dare was the grandchild of his remembrances. The one he sought to reel back into Polite Society.
He considered what the duke had presented him with. Of course his grandfather was correct. Kinsley was a lady, born of privilege and a distinguished lineage she’d railed at him for not caring enough about. As such, she’d be bound by those constraints. Ones that Dare had never conformed to, and his father had loathed him for his refusal to do so.
“I see you’re thinking about it,” the duke cajoled. “All you’ll need to do is look after her for one Season.”
How matter-of-fact the other man was. How very casually he spoke, as if Dare returning to this life would be no different from switching off one set of garments for another. But this? He repressed a shudder. What the hell did Dare know of squiring a lady about the Town? Or being a chaperone who assessed the suitability of potential suitors? He’d been born to this world, but he’d never really belonged to it. His father had made that clear to him often. No, the task the duke asked of Dare required a woman who could deal with Kinsley and help her navigate a—
Dare stilled.
For there was . . . one woman. One who’d prove fearless in that role.
Someone who would rather see you dead than ever see you again . . .
The idea turned in his mind, over and over.
And yet . . . there would be good at the end of it. He wasn’t so naive as to believe he couldn’t do his work from this posh side of London. He didn’t want to, but not having what he wanted was something he’d become accustomed to long ago. “I’ll do it,” he said quietly, because in the scheme of what the duke offered, his living here in this foreign world was a small sacrifice.
One he could always run from if the task proved impossible . . .
“Splendid, boy,” the duke said. “The terms will be drawn up by Heron.” The servant was already frantically scribbling notes upon a page. “With my support, you’ll have entry to any event your heart wishes.” Dare’s heart wished for none of it. “Anything is yours.”
“Except your twenty thousand pounds without me serving in the role of nursemaid to that viper,” he muttered.
The duke waggled his eyebrows. “That viper, as you refer to her, is in fact your sister.” He paused. “That being said, I’m mindful to not place all this solely upon you.”
His back went up. “I’m listening.” Again. The duke, with his ability to dangle just enough intriguing bits of information, was a master of manipulation, and therefore one to be watched . . . and mistrusted.
“It is hardly fair to tie you entirely to someone else’s fate and future.”
“Isn’t that what you are doing, Your Grace?” he asked, layering heavy sarcasm within that question.
The duke looked offended. “Of course not. Looking after your sister is the duty any brother should and would be responsible for.” Dare didn’t disagree with him there. “But let us say for whatever reason, she doesn’t make a match . . .”
Dare straightened. His earlier reservations, the very question he’d wondered at, reared its head. “And is that a real possibility?”