Page 25 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Kenneth’s voice was firm. “Maybe so, but I’m still here, and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
She stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his words. Her eyes darted to the side before she looked back.
She hesitated, her eyes downcast. “It’s… it’s my mother. She’s pressuring me to secure a match by the end of this house party. Her expectations… they are crushing me.”
Kenneth’s jaw clenched, but then something occurred to him.
“I have a proposition to make,” he announced suddenly.
Beatrice turned back to him, suspicion in her eyes. “What kind of proposition?”
He met her gaze steadily. “Marry me.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened in shock. “Stop being cruel. This isn’t the time for jokes.”
“I am not joking,” Kenneth said somberly. “You come from a family with a tarnished name, so most gentlemen wouldn’t risk their reputations by marrying you.”
“And you would?” Beatrice asked bitterly.
Kenneth did not answer directly. “I require a wife to manage my estate and provide an heir. You have shown a commendable sensibility, particularly as you are the only one with the courage to debate art with me, and you do not faint at my mere presence, like so many others. And while I have no immediate desire to sire a child, I understand my duty.”
Beatrice looked at him in disbelief. “Since you have sung my praises so far, would you care to tell me why I should believe you are being honest about this proposition?”
Kenneth stepped closer, his expression earnest. “We both need a marriage of convenience. Consider it. You will not have to endure your mother’s relentless pressure, and I will have a wife who isn’t trying to manipulate me for her own gain.”
“I do not like you, Your Grace. Do not expect me to swoon at your feet because you are making me an offer,” Beatrice replied, her voice steady.
Kenneth smiled, finding her defiance refreshing. “I don’t expect you to swoon, nor would I want you to. Swooning women are terribly inconvenient—they always seem to faint at the most inopportune moments.”
Beatrice still hesitated.
Kenneth stepped even closer, lowering his voice. “I understand this is sudden and unconventional, but a marriage of convenience would solve both our problems. You need to secure a match, and I need a wife to fulfill my responsibilities.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, her reluctance evident. “You can’t be serious, Your Grace. We barely know each other.”
“Do you really think you have any chance of gaining another man’s attention to the point of receiving an offer?” Kenneth asked, watching her carefully.
She hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. “I don’t know… It feels so sudden.”
“We may not know each other well, but we can come to an agreement. This arrangement could benefit us both.”
Beatrice weighed his words, her mind racing. Finally, she looked him straight in the eye. “I have no dowry, Your Grace.”
“I do not need money,” he stated firmly. “I am one of the wealthiest dukes in England.”
Beatrice hesitated before speaking again. “My mother would need her own residence. And additional funds to support a comfortable lifestyle.”
“That poses no problem,” Kenneth assured her. “I can provide a suitable residence and an allowance.”
“What will you gain from this?” she asked, searching his face for any sign of deceit.
“It is my duty to marry and sire an heir,” Kenneth answered. “Why you? Because you have some taste and are not completely mindless like most women of my acquaintance.”
Beatrice’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Not completely mindless? You think that’s a compliment?”
Kenneth held up a hand to stop her. “Will you accept the proposal or not?”
There was a long pause as Beatrice weighed the implications of his offer. The cool night air brushed against her tear-stained cheeks, and the distant sounds of the evening drifted up from the garden.
