Then came the words that stole her breath.
“I have a proposition for ye, Lady Elizabeth.”
Her stomach flipped. “A—a w-what?” she stammered, heart thudding erratically.
“Ye want to catch a suitor, aye? Is that not yer goal, me lady?”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Y-yes,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Her cheeks burned. Was this really happening?
“I can help ye with that,” the Duke of Redmoor went on, as if he were offering her a dance and not rearranging her entire world. “Teach ye how to flirt.”
Her pulse skipped. Surely, she had misheard.
“I’ll show ye how to speak to men so they’ll actually listen,” he continued, calm and maddeningly sure of himself. “After all, I am a man. A duke, no less. I ken fine what we like to hear from a bonnie young lass like ye.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. The audacity of him! The arrogance.
And yet… underneath it all, a dangerous flicker of intrigue curled through her, betraying her better sense.
He was offering to teach her how to win. How to stop fumbling her words. How to fight for the life she wanted—for her sisters’ futures too.
The duke was dangerous.
And yet, for the first time in weeks, Elizabeth felt powerful. Seen. Invited into something wicked and bold.
“In return, what do you get?” she asked, the reasonable part in her needing answers.
“Ye’ll have to teach me how to navigate this den of vipers ye have here in London. Ye call it polite society, but it’s an endless battle for a…savagelike me,” he smirked sardonically. “I could use some lessons in the subtlety of yer words and gestures. The expectations, the etiquette. Everything about yer world.”
As he spoke of theton, something shifted in his face. The charm he had so effortlessly wielded slipped away, replaced by something far more raw, fierce, almost feral. Anger, yes. But also, purpose. Determination that burned hotter than his earlier amusement.
Elizabeth took a step back.
It wasn’t just apprehension; though that pulsed through her, sharp and immediate. It was instinct. A need to protect herself. To resist the pull of a man who felt like danger wrapped in nobility. She had to remind herself not to do anything foolish.
Not to believe he was safe.
Not to believeshewas.
“No, Your Grace,” she breathed, “I cannot agree to such a proposition.”
“Are ye afraid of me, lass?” he asked, his head tilting to one side.
“I’m afraid of the situation you’re presenting to me, Your Grace,” she admitted. “You may not be a stranger to scandal, but I am. I want to keep it that way and preserve my… reputation.”
The duke’s brows lifted slightly, but his voice became threaded with heat.
“Oh, I’ve nae intention of ruinin’ ye, Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured. “Not unless ye whisper the invitation with those sweet lips of yers.”
“I would never ask you for it,” she snapped, her eyes widening. “Never.”
“Ye’re so proper, aren’t ye?” Alasdair asked, his eyes curious.
“There is nothing wrong with holding on to one’s propriety, Your Grace,” she said, shivering. “You must know that this very conversation is already deeply scandalous.”
“Fair enough, me lady. However, propriety alone wouldnae catch and hold a man’s eye. Ye need a sense of mystery. Confidence,” he said, his voice lower now, each word drawn out, deliberate.