Champagne tastes of stale apples when you are twenty-five and officially a spinster. Bella Halloway toasted the ballroom doors and swore she would marry the next man through them — and the Duke of Westford walked in with coal dust under his nails, just as her reckless promise began spreading across the ballroom.

PART 3

Bella stood in the center of the threadbare rug, listening to the heavy thud of his boots fade down the steps.

She looked down at the ledger on the floor. Two thousand pounds.

She picked it up and threw it into the cold fireplace.

The offices of Sterling, Hales and Sterling smelled intensely of old parchment, damp wool, and sealing wax. It was entirely unromantic, and Bella appreciated that.

She sat stiffly in a high-backed leather chair, staring at the stack of legal documents arranged perfectly on the mahogany desk.

It had been forty-eight hours since Augustus Wallace walked into her ruined parlor.

It had been twenty-four hours since Lord Henry Kavanaugh paid a visit to the Halloway townhouse.

The memory of that visit still made her skin crawl. He had cornered her in the hallway, his cologne smelling sharply of cloves and decay.

Philip is out of time, Bella. Kavanaugh had murmured it, trailing a gloved finger along the banister. But I am a reasonable man. There are other ways a sister might settle a brother’s account. A private arrangement. A cottage in Mayfair. I would take very good care of you.

She had slapped him hard enough to split his lip.

Kavanaugh had smiled, a thin streak of blood on his teeth.

Friday, Miss Halloway. The magistrates will have him by noon.

She had sent a messenger to Augustus’s solicitor within the hour.

Now she sat in the dim office waiting. The door opened and Augustus walked in.

He filled the room immediately, draining the air. He wore a dark suit today — tailored, but still looking entirely unnatural on his frame. He nodded to Mr. Sterling, the solicitor, who scurried around the desk like a startled mouse.

Augustus took the seat next to Bella. He didn’t offer a greeting. He simply looked at her.

“Are you certain?”

“I’m here,” Bella said. Her voice was steady, though her hands were clamped together in her lap to hide their trembling.

“Mr. Sterling.”

“The debts settled this morning, your grace,” the solicitor squeaked, shuffling papers. “A draft for two thousand pounds was delivered directly to Lord Kavanaugh’s bankers. The promissory notes have been destroyed.”

Bella let out a breath she felt she had been holding for three years.

The crushing weight on her chest eased — leaving behind a hollow, terrifying emptiness. She was free of the debt and committed by contract to marrying a stranger.

“The marriage settlements,” Sterling continued, pushing a thick vellum document forward. “As instructed: a settlement of five thousand pounds a year directly to Miss Halloway’s personal account. Daer House in Kent upon your grace’s passing. And full management of the household accounts.”

“Sign it,” Augustus said.

Bella picked up the heavy brass pen. She dipped it in the inkwell. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, the nib hovering over the thick paper.

She was selling herself. But she was getting a far better price than the marriage mart would ever have offered.

She signed. Bella Halloway. Bold and sharp.

Augustus took the pen from her. His fingers brushed hers — rough, calloused like thick leather. He signed his name with violent, hasty strokes.

Augustus Wallace.

“There,” he said, dropping the pen. “Done.”

They walked out of the office together onto the busy London street.

Cabs clattered over the cobblestones. A vendor was shouting about hot pies. It was violently normal. Bella stood on the pavement, pulling her thin shawl tighter around her shoulders. The wind was biting.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now we announce it.” He looked down at her, and for the first time she noticed the deep exhaustion etched into the corners of his eyes. “Lady Danbury is hosting a dinner tomorrow night. We will attend together.”

Bella felt a spike of panic. “The ton will tear us apart. They think it’s a joke. They think you are punishing me.”

“Let them think what they want.” His jaw tightened. “They are cowards. They whisper behind fans because they haven’t the spine to speak clearly. You are going to be my duchess.”

He said the next part without any change in tone at all.

“They will bow to you, or I will break their damn necks.”

The casual violence in his voice was shocking — and oddly, it did not frighten her. It felt like a shield.

Augustus looked at her hands. She was rubbing her bare knuckles to ward off the cold.

Without a word, he unbuttoned his heavy wool coat. He slipped it off and draped it over her shoulders.

The coat was massive — heavy as a weighted blanket, and still retaining the intense radiating heat of his body. It smelled of saddle soap and clean earth.

“You’re shaking,” he noted, his voice dropping slightly, losing some of its gravel.

“It’s just the wind,” Bella lied.

“Go home, Bella. Buy a new dress for tomorrow. Buy ten. Send the bills to me.”

He turned to hail a passing hackney cab. Bella pulled the heavy wool coat closer around her throat.

“Augustus.”

He stopped, glancing over his broad shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “Not for the money. Not for the title. For the coat.”

Augustus stared at her for a long moment. He gave a single, curt nod.

“Tomorrow at eight, Miss Halloway.”

He stepped into the street and disappeared into the chaotic rhythm of the city — leaving Bella standing on the pavement, entirely warm for the first time in years.