Three sisters were sent to Aldridge Hall to win a duke’s fortune — one was prepared to charm him, one was the backup, and Nora only wanted to disappear. She hid behind a curtain to avoid being noticed, but the Duke found her first — and from that moment, he never looked at her sisters again.

PART 6

The Aldridge grand ballroom was a spectacle of light and sound — three crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished parquet, a string quartet playing a lively waltz from the gallery. The women, recovered from the afternoon’s disaster, were resplendent again, smiles firmly fixed.

Lady Edith stood near the punch bowl, vibrating with nervous energy. Rosalind, beside her, wore breathtaking crimson silk, looking like a queen holding court. Flawless. There was only one problem: the Duke was missing.

It was nine o’clock. The ball had run an hour without its host. Whispers rippled behind feathered fans and polite coughs.

Up in the north wing, the music was nothing but a faint rhythmic thumping through the floorboards. Nora sat on the floor near the window, knees pulled to her chest. She’d packed her trunk — a tragic, battered thing holding three worn dresses and a handful of books. The fire had died to embers. She hadn’t bothered adding coal.

A deep, bone-weary exhaustion had settled over her, heavier than her bruised ribs and scraped knees. She had done the right thing. Removed herself from the board. Rosalind would shine tonight. The natural order would be restored.

If I ask you to stay behind the curtain with me. Will you stay?

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on her knees. She couldn’t think about his voice, about the way his hands had felt on her face — warm and rough. It was a fairy tale, and she was far too cynical to believe in fairy tales.

A heavy, authoritative knock echoed on the door.

Nora flinched. “I’m asleep,” she called, assuming it was a maid sent to confirm she was still locked away.

The handle turned. The lock — which she’d firmly engaged — clicked open with a sharp metallic snap. A heavy iron key withdrew from the other side.

The door swung inward.

Nathaniel Reed stepped into the room, dressed in evening attire — a stark white cravat, a dark tailcoat fitted perfectly across his shoulders, a midnight-blue waistcoat. Every inch the powerful, terrifying Duke of Aldridge. But his eyes were exactly as they’d been in the library — tired, sharp, focused entirely on her.

He closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was deafening.

Nora scrambled to her feet, heart leaping into her throat. She wore only a simple woolen wrapper over her shift, hair falling in a chaotic, unpinned mess.

“You cannot be in here.” She retreated until her back hit the cold window glass. “Your grace — if someone sees you, if my mother—”

“Your mother is downstairs drinking my punch and trying to convince Lord Shelby that your sister enjoys embroidery.” He didn’t move toward her, staying by the door, respecting the space though his presence seemed to consume all the oxygen in the room. “Why aren’t you at the ball?”

“I’m ill.” The lie came smooth. “A fever. From the rain.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Nora. And trespassing in a lady’s bedchamber is a hanging offense in some counties.” His mouth curved, faintly humorous — then his gaze caught the battered trunk by the door, and his jaw tightened. “You packed.”

“I’m leaving for Yorkshire in the morning.” She forced her chin up. “It’s for the best. I’m returning to my role as ballast. You should return to the ballroom. Rosalind is wearing crimson. It’s your favorite color, or so my mother insists.”

Nathaniel let out a low, frustrated sigh. He reached into his tailcoat and withdrew a thick, folded sheaf of legal parchment, crossing the faded rug until he stood less than two feet away.

He held the papers out.

“What is this?”

“The deed to the Yorkshire estate,” he said softly. “Along with a document confirming the absolute dissolution of your father’s debt to Lord Croft.”

Nora stared at the parchment. Her brain refused to process the words. She looked from the papers to his face. “I — I don’t understand.”

“I bought it. Sold the London townhouse this afternoon and purchased the debt. Croft is gone. The house is yours. Your mother’s creditors are satisfied.”

The room spun dangerously. Nora gripped the window frame to steady herself. “You sold your townhouse to pay my family’s debts. Why?”

“Because you told me you were drowning.” He stepped closer, taking her cold hand, pressing the heavy parchment into her palm, folding her trembling fingers over it. “Because you told me that if I pulled you up, your family would sink. So I fixed the boat.”

Tears, hot and sudden, pricked the corners of her eyes. The overwhelming reality of what he’d done crushed the breath out of her. It wasn’t just a grand romantic gesture — it was ruthless, pragmatic, incredibly expensive.

“You fool,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re already in debt. You have tenant roofs to fix. You needed a wealthy bride, not a liability.”

“I have enough land to secure a line of credit for the roofs. I don’t need a wealthy bride.” He reached up, his thumb catching the tear. “I need you.”

“Why?” Her voice broke. “Look at me. I’m cynical. I’m difficult. I hide behind curtains and I ruin my shoes and I don’t know how to flatter you.”

“That is exactly why.” He stepped fully into her space, hands cupping her face, anchoring her to him. “Do you think I want a lifetime of flattery? A mirror? I want someone who looks at the ledgers and tells me the truth. Someone who isn’t afraid of the mud. I don’t want a duchess, Nora. I want a partner.”

He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, breathing unsteady, betraying the calm facade he wore for the rest of the world. “I’m terrified,” he confessed, his voice a rough whisper against her skin. “Terrified of failing this estate. Terrified of ending up like my father. But when I’m with you, the noise stops. The arithmetic stops.”

Nora closed her eyes. The scent of him — clean linen, cedar, the faint metallic tang of cold night air — wrapped around her. The cynical armor she’d worn for years, the heavy shell built to survive the meat market, cracked down the center and fell away.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him — the exhaustion, the fear, and the desperate, unwavering hope.

“Will you bail water with me?” he asked.