Page 4 of Not the Duke's Virgin

As they walked, her father kept up a constant litany of admiration. “Remarkable corbels! Such exquisite stone tracery. Oh, do look at the leaded glass in those mullioned windows, my dear!”

“Indeed. The Haywards are leaders in architecture and design,” Oliver boasted.

As they followed along, Victoria said nothing, struggling against a rising sense of unease. There was something ominous in the atmosphere of this house. She was relieved when they finally entered the pleasant, sunlit solar. Oliver guided her to a floral-patterned settee and went to speak with a footman.

Taking a deep breath, Victoria smoothed her skirts and reminded herself she needed only endure this visit long enough to maintain appearances.

Returning, Oliver took the seat beside her while her father and Madeline admired the scenic vistas from the window. Victoria sat stiffly until Oliver leaned close.

“Do attempt to look less like I am torturing you, my dear,” he murmured, wearing that sly grin she was coming to despise.

Victoria narrowed her eyes but forced a smile as he took her hand in both of his own and patted it in a show of affection.

“There now, much better,” he approved.

Victoria wanted to snatch back her hand, yearning to slap that smug expression off his face. But she refrained, her spine rigid. She would not cause a scene or give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his schemes unsettled her.

At that moment, the Duke strode into the solar, his presence dominating the space. Victoria inhaled sharply before she could prevent it, a skittering sensation racing across her nerves. He was imposing in a way his brother was not, quietly commanding with an air of unshakable certainty.

When his dark gaze landed on her, she had to suppress a shiver. His eyes were cold, shuttered, as though a steel door barred entrance to any deeper emotion. But she sensed the keen intelligence behind that impassive facade.

“Lady Victoria.” He lifted her limp hand in his firm grasp. “I have heard so very much about you.”

His tone implied that none of it was flattering.

Victoria’s back stiffened. “I hope you have not allowed your opinion of me to be swayed by idle gossip, Your Grace,” she replied evenly.

His dark eyebrows flicked upward. “Not swayed, no. Merely… informed.”

The subtle warning made Victoria’s temper flare, but before she could fashion a retort, Oliver reclaimed her attention.

“Come, my dear, let me show you the music room while we wait for tea.”

Victoria allowed him to lead her out of the solar, though irritation simmered in her chest. The Duke thought her some fortune-hunting social climber. Well, let him. She would not demean herself by trying to convince him otherwise. Still, the injustice of it stung. What right had he to look down on her with such contempt?

In the corridor, Victoria freed her hand from Oliver’s grasp. But he seemed not to notice, expounding on the history of several ancestral portraits as they walked. His blithe self-absorption further ignited her simmering temper.

Halting abruptly, she rounded on him. “I do not know what manner of deception you plan, My Lord, but I will not be party to it any longer.” Eyes flashing, she continued in a fierce undertone, “Tell your brother plainly that I am here under duress. I will not have him slandering my character or my motives.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, his tone silky. “Careful, My Lady. We wouldn’t want this little drama to become… unpleasant.”

Victoria lifted her chin. “I assure you, it cannot become more unpleasant than it already is.”

With that, she swept away down the hall, back rigid. Let the arrogant Duke think what he would, for now. She refused to feign further devotion to his despicable brother when their farce of a courtship was based on threats and secrets.

Reentering the solar, she found it empty save for the Duke. At her approach, he turned from contemplating the landscape portrait above the fireplace.

Victoria took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “You have misunderstood my intentions, Your Grace.”

She held the Duke’s gaze, hoping he would grasp her meaning.

The Duke’s dark brown eyes narrowed, flicking over her tense posture. “Then what are your intentions, my lady?”

Victoria bit her tongue in frustration. “That, I cannot answer.”

His expression remained impassive, though she sensed the keen assessment behind his studious gaze. “So it would seem.”

Before she could attempt further explanation, Oliver breezed back into the solar, all easy charm and compliments as he urged them to walk in the garden before tea. Victoria trailed after the brothers, hands clenched in her skirts. She had tried to shed a little light on her predicament, but could not tell the full truth. Not yet.

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