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He fought to hide his burgeoning triumph. He hadn’t won yet. “I know you’re hellish ready to sacrifice yourself for the people you love. But in this particular case, you’re misguided.”

He took a deep breath and struggled to summon the words that would persuade her to stay. “And if you must sacrifice yourself, do that by marrying me. I’m not an easy man. You’ll earn your martyr’s crown before you’re done. Don’t condemn both of us to an eternity of unhappiness just because you’re too stiff-necked to face society’s censure.”

“You make me sound so petty,” she countered furiously. “But I know how highly you value your prestige. And you’ve always had Lucifer’s own pride. You speak lightly of what you’d forfeit if you married me. But society’s censure is crueler than you imagine. You’ve never had to suffer ostracism. I have.”

“I can live with gossip and innuendo. I can’t live without you,” he said heavily.

What she said about his vanity and shallow worldliness was true. Or had been once.

But compared to the prospect of losing this one precious woman, nothing else mattered an ash in hell.

Her face contracted with turmoil. “You’re like the Devil.” As she turned away, she sounded like she wasn’t far from crying. “You speak seduction and tempt me to what I know is wrong.”

He despised himself for hurting her this way, but he had to persevere in his ruthlessness or they were both lost.

“Marry me, become my duchess. What does anyone else matter? We can set up home in the Highlands far away from rumor and the world’s disapproval. We’ll create a life that’s rich and fulfilled and useful. And based on love.”

The eyes she leveled on him were dark and so tormented that his soul twisted in guilty agony. “Stop it, Kylemore. You’re a duke. You owe an obligation to your title.”

He frowned in sudden anger. All his life, his title had been a curse and a burden. Now it promised to deprive him of the only thing he’d ever wanted.

“What about my duty to myself? What about your duty?” he asked fiercely.

He drew himself upright and chanced a step in her direction. His voice became deep and sure as his brief rage receded in the face of her distress. “You’ve redeemed me, Verity. You’ve made me a better man, created honor where there was none.”

“There was always honor,” she whispered as tears flooded her beautiful eyes, making them shine dazzling silver.

“If there was, only you could have found it. You can’t leave the task half done.” He spread his hands in appeal. “Don’t exile me to become the wicked Duke of Kylemore again. Now you’ve started the process, it’s your Christian duty to finish dragging me into the light.”

“Stop this,” she protested brokenly. “It’s cruel. You know only an illicit arrangement is possible between us. And I can’t be your mistress after you wed, Kylemore. I’ve committed many sins, but I won’t commit that one.”

“If I don’t marry you, I will never marry,” he said quietly. “There are no more Kinmurries after me. The title dies when I do.”

“Please don’t say that,” she begged, flinching away. “You must have an heir to take his rightful place in the world. Even if we wed and by a miracle I fall pregnant, our children will never be accepted.”

“Our children will be beautiful, like their mother. And strong enough to fight their own way. You can’t blame them for your obstinacy.”

Last time he’d mentioned a baby, she’d been so certain she could never conceive. She sounded less certain now, he noted. Unconsciously, her hand drifted to her midriff, as though she already carried his child.

Perhaps she did.

He fought the primitive urges that thought aroused and strove to maintain his reasonable tone. Bullying and brute strength would never sway her. He’d only win her consent when she acknowledged that neither of them had the power or the right to deny what love demanded.

“Anyway, I’m sure I’m barren,” she said bitterly.

“If that’s true, then it will just be the mad duke and his exquisite wife alone in their Highland eyrie.” He took another step toward her. She might run, but he doubted it. “You say society will scoff. I believe you’re wrong. All the men, at least, in the ton will envy my good fortune.”

He injected every ounce of grave sincerity he could muster into his voice. “Verity, be brave again. Be brave for both of us. I love you. Surely that’s worth more than the world’s scorn.”

“Don’t touch me.” She recoiled, although he’d stopped several feet away. “When you touch me, I can’t think.”

For the first time, he smiled. “I know. You must reach this decision on your own. See what an affliction you laid on me when you conjured honor from my soul?”

She didn’t smile back. Instead, her face was drawn sharp with wretchedness.

“It would be so easy to say yes,” she said bleakly.


Tags: Anna Campbell Historical