Shock forced a genuine laugh from her. “Now I know you really are mocking me.” She stood, meaning to serve him a glass of wine, but he reached out and caught her wrist, forestalling her.
“This is a strange answer to my proposal.”
“I haven’t heard a proposal,” she said before she could stop herself.
“I want you to be my wife.”
She stared down into his face, noticing the muscle that jerked in his cheek. Strong emotion gripped him, she realized. Not only that; he was, it appeared, serious about this crackbrained idea.
“Your Grace, flattered as I am by your interest, you must see what you suggest is impossible.” When his jaw took on a stubborn line, she continued in a harder voice. “Even if the world, your name and your family countenanced such a mésalliance, I am afraid my own pride would deny you.”
“Pride?” He spoke as if the word were inconceivable in connection with a fallen creature such as herself. “This is a preferment beyond your wildest dreams.”
“My dreams are surprisingly humble.”
Beneath a growing sense of unreality, Verity was angry. Only an overbearing bully could expect her to be grateful for this lunatic offer. She was canny enough to see that he was hatching some scheme, although she couldn’t fathom his purpose.
A more conceited woman would ascribe the duke’s offer to a sudden surfeit of passion. But Verity knew better. He was plotting something to his own advantage. And she had no intention of becoming entangled in whatever he was up to.
Her, a duchess? The idea was comical in its unreality.
She kept her voice cool. “Pray release me. Your tender wooing is likely to leave a bracelet of bruises.” Not precisely true. His hold was firm without actually hurting her.
“I’ll let you go when you answer me.”
“I thought I had.” Necessity meant she’d devoted most of her life to catering to self-centered men. Now she’d reached her limit. “But as Your Grace insists, here is my reply. I have submitted to becoming your mistress, my lord. No power on earth could compel me to become your wife.”
Perhaps if he’d phrased his ridiculous suggestion less arrogantly, she might have tempered her refusal. Or perhaps with escape so close, she couldn’t contain her natural frankness, hidden so long in the pretense of being Soraya.
Furious color bloomed along his cheekbones. “You respond hastily, madam, and with a disdain I cannot believe I deserve. I have come to lift you from the gutter into an honorable state of matrimony.”
“At least I am free in the gutter.”
He surged to his feet and glared down at her. Ev
en their most extreme moments of passion had never held so much genuine emotion. “You speak very lightly of gutters. You forget I could destroy you with a word.”
The duke loomed over her, tall, powerful, his lean muscled body radiating strength. But Verity refused to cower before him. Verity, not Soraya. Somewhere in this encounter, Soraya had vanished forever.
“Very pretty, sir. I almost find myself charmed into accepting your suit.”
Verity thought he might strike her, he who had never lifted a hand in anger to her before. She braced herself. She’d endured violence in the past. She could endure it again.
But unbelievably, he mastered his rage. He unclasped her arm with an ironic gesture. “There is no purpose continuing now. You are overset and not thinking clearly.”
Verity forbore to point out that he’d hardly been a paragon of tranquility himself. He had at last released her, he spoke of going, and after this afternoon, she never intended to see him again.
Speaking normally was an effort. “As Your Grace wishes.” Just go, her heart cried. Just go and leave me in peace.
Secretly she had always liked the Duke of Kylemore, sensing the lonely battle he fought to maintain his facade of perfection. But his startling, woefully unsuitable proposal of marriage and his behavior in the last few minutes made her remember the old rumors of insanity running through the Kinmurrie line.
His high color indicated he was still far from calm. “I shall return for your answer tomorrow. In the meantime, spare some consideration for the Duchess of Kylemore’s jewels. They make today’s ruby look like a fairground trinket.”
So you believe me to be no more than a grasping jade, Verity thought resentfully. She didn’t blunt her sarcasm. “I assure you, my mind will dwell on nothing but diamonds and emeralds.”
That didn’t please him, she could see. “Tomorrow at four, madam. I await your consent.” No gentle kiss on the hand now. Apparently his mistress merited a courtesy his prospective bride did not.
Kylemore ignored her bobbed curtsey and stalked toward the door. “As you should know by now, I always get what I want. And do not doubt I want this marriage.” He sent a frosty nod in her direction, the picture of aristocratic male omnipotence, and left.