Page 10 of The Scarred Lyon

Augusta smiled. “By all means. I look forward to meeting her. Shall we drink a toast to our betrothal?”

The duke stood, holding his empty glass. Augusta rose, and he walked toward her. She quickly refilled both their glasses.

“To a beneficial alliance,” he murmured. “To family and friendship.”

Augusta raised her glass. “To the future and banishing loneliness.” She gasped. “Forgive me, I meant me and—”

“No,” Allenby replied solemnly. “You have the right of it. We’ve each had our companions, and you had your son, so we haven’t been alone these past few years. However, one can be lonely in a crowd. A little regard and affection from anyone other than family would be welcome, at least for me.”

Such heartrending honesty. Augusta already liked the Duke of Allenby. “And me, as well.” With that, they clinked glasses and took a sip.

Allenby set his glass down on the table, then took her hand. He bent slightly, softly kissing it, a gentle touch that made her skin tingle. Good heavens, Augusta hadn’t expected such a physical reaction to a kiss on the hand. She struggled to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t suppress a sharp inhale at his warm touch.

He stood upright, still holding her hand, and met her gaze. “Then I will take my leave. When I have the license, I will bring it to your parents. What is the address?”

“10 Park Lane, Mayfair,” Augusta whispered.

The duke released her hand, stepped backward, and bowed. “Until we meet again—Augusta.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned on his heel, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Augusta looked at the closed door. “Goodnight, Duncan.” She finished her wine and sat down, feeling numb but not in a bad way. In an hour and a half, her life had changed forever. But hadn’t that been all the time she had taken ten years ago when she made the fateful decision to run away with Southen? That choice, she later regretted. Time would only tell whether agreeing to marry a scarred, reclusive duke would also cause remorse.

Somehow, she must try to keep this mutual agreement limited to friendship. Well, with a touch of physical intimacy to start a family. Love complicated everything. Southen had broken her heart, and Augusta vowed to never put herself in such a vulnerable position again.

No matter how honorable and appealing Allenby was.

Chapter Five

“Was the meeting a success, Your Grace?” the butler, Thomason, asked. Not that the butler knew what the meeting entailed or who it was with.

Duncan handed him his hat and gloves. “Yes, it was successful. Where is McGloin?”

“Upstairs in your rooms, Your Grace.”

Duncan hurried up the stairs to his bedchamber. McGloin was more than just a valet; he had served as Duncan’s batman in Upper Canada during the American War and even earlier, during the Peninsular War in Spain. Patrick McGloin was also his good friend. He entered the room and found McGloin arranging Duncan’s smoking jacket on the bed.

With a frustrated sigh, Duncan unhooked the mask and tossed it to McGloin, who caught it with one hand. “I am to be married.”

“Was the lady in question satisfactory?”

“Yes. She is a country squire’s widow with a five-year-old son.”

McGloin put the mask in the drawer and shut it. “That was a twist you weren’t expecting. At least it proves she can bear children, if the lad is even hers.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow. “You have a suspicious turn of mind.”

“I’m paid to consider all aspects. Does she have the bearing to be a duchess?”

“Mrs. Cheevers is the daughter of a viscount.”

“Then that should satisfy the jabbering society class, not that you care.” McGloin assisted him in removing his coat and waistcoat. “Although marrying beneath her had no doubt caused a few squawks among the old hens. But in marrying you, the new duchess will have the means to silence them.”

Duncan snorted in amusement. “I almost wish I could see that. Did you visit the Hanover Street residence?”

“I informed the staff that you would be renting it starting next year, and that they will serve the new tenants with no change in salary.”

Duncan slipped his arms into the smoking jacket McGloin held aloft, then tied the sash around his waist. He turned to face his valet. “Since I became the duke, you have performed your duties above and beyond my personal finances and dressing. I want you to become the steward of the dukedom. It will come with a substantial raise in salary.”

“You already paid me bonuses for the extra duties. What does a steward do, exactly?”