Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,15

of a marquess and the granddaughter of a duke.” His Grace spoke in lofty tones. “Do you truly think she’s going to have difficulty securing an offer for her hand?”

The immediate answer was yes. If Kinsley Greyson turned on others the venom and ice she had upon Dare, all that would remain in terms of suitors would be those she’d poisoned or frozen.

But members of Polite Society? They weren’t most men. They were a very small few, the sorts of men who overlooked anything in the name of their precious bloodlines and craving for even greater connections.

“No,” he allowed. “I trust noblemen will overlook . . . much.”

The duke laughed. “Indeed they do, Darius,” he said, thumping him hard on the back once more. “Indeed they do.” He let his arm fall, and moving so that he stood shoulder to shoulder alongside Dare, taking in the same sights below, the duke stared down at the passing lords and ladies. “But in this hypothetical scenario, where those gentlemen do not see your sister for the diamond of the first waters she is . . .”

Dare strangled back a laugh. Surly as she was ruthless, she was many things, but a diamond she wasn’t.

Clasping his hands at his back, His Grace continued speaking. “I like to believe I am a model of fairness. As such, there should be other terms in place to ensure that your ability to earn those twenty thousand pounds is within your complete control.”

Dare stared at the glass panes. “Oh?”

“There are only two ways to ensure your sister is properly cared for—”

“A husband?”

The duke nodded. “Yes, a husband.” There was a long and deliberate pause, and his entire body tensing, Dare looked back. “Or a babe.”

Dumbfounded, it was a moment before Dare could respond. And when he did, he swallowed wrong and choked, strangling on his own spit.

The duke gave him another thump on the back.

“I-I hardly s-see how a b-babe can l-look after her.”

“Of course it can. A boy babe, that is.” With that, the duke gestured to the forgotten man-of-affairs, and some kind of unspoken communication passed between those two, for Heron nodded and began flipping through his folders.

“A boy babe,” Dare echoed, feeling like the only one not knowing what was expected of him. Or what was being said, exactly.

“An heir,” the duke clarified. “If the estate can go to your son, there wouldn’t be a worry about your cousin returning and running it in your stead.”

And then it hit Dare. An heir. “I am not having a child.” There was a permanency to babes and children. They represented a greater—nay, the ultimate—connection and dependence than Dare was willing to have.

There also required the matter of a wife with whom to have that babe . . .

That was an absolute impossibility.

The duke shrugged. “Then you’ll just have to see your sister married.”

How simple he made it sound. And yet . . . that possibility? An angry, snarling Lady Kinsley landing some lord? That was a greater possibility . . . a greater reality than Dare having a child.

“Do you have the contract drawn up?” His Grace called over to his busily working man-of-affairs.

“I do,” the servant said in his nasally tones.

Adjusting an already flawless lapel, the duke looked to Dare once more. “I’ve had that last part included, regardless, as a safety measure.”

“What part?” Dare asked slowly.

“Well, you cannot have a babe without a wife. That is, not an heir.” And with that casual deliverance, His Grace headed for the door.

Dare stood rooted to the floor, staring at the retreating duke’s back. “Whaaaat?”

His grandfather cast a bemused look back. “You need a wife to have an heir, and as such, I’ve included those terms in our contract.”

“Terms?” He strangled on that lone syllable.

The duke shrugged. “Our agreement is also contingent upon you getting yourself married.” He gave a dismissive wave. “That way, if you need to fall back on term two, you’ll be able to.” The old duke may as well have thrown up London Bridge between Dare and the damned treasure at the end of it all.

At his silence, the duke gave him a long look. “I trust those terms won’t pose a problem?”

Those terms, as in Dare finding a wife? The other man may as well have spoken of Dare swapping out his coarse wool pants for a new tailored suit.

“No, Your Grace,” Dare said in even tones.

“Splendid. I take it this has been a great deal for you to take in. I’ll