Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

Her mouth pinched and she looked away again. “I’m glad we’ve straightened everything out.”

He didn’t answer. He knew they’d not worked out a thing. Last night in the dark of that room he’d felt…hope. Her soft curves had been like a call. But this morning? A chasm stood between them.

Chapter Seven

Brandon sat in the gilded hall of the palace, his hands clasped. The only outward indication of his nerves.

He’d finished his interview with their king; Bash and Menace were still speaking with their sovereign leader, but Brandon had been dismissed.

By all accounts the discussion had gone well. He’d presented the king with a list of names and addresses along with the method he’d used to obtain them so that the king could systematically arrest all the offenders.

For his service, he’d been offered an invitation to a ball held at the palace the very next day. Which meant society would welcome him back with open arms. There was no need to hide his identity any longer.

Still, he didn’t feel the elation he’d expected for such a win.

The goal he’d been working toward for the past five years was finally his. He’d restored his family’s standings. He could rebuild his fortune and fully establish his seat once again.

Excitement, however, was not his primary emotion. Rather, sick dread continued to pool in his gut.

He’d cleared his family name. He’d outed the thieves or nearly, and most importantly, he’d made a match with the woman of his dreams. Or had he?

Emily had been ready to hand him over to her sister without a backward glance.

He straightened. Her affection had become more important to him than the fight to restore his name. He shook his head. Felled by a woman.

But then a small smile touched his lips. When she gave him that soft smile, she soothed the scars on his heart. But how did he convince her that he was worth more than the occasional smile. That he deserved all her affection?

Did he?

He knew he didn’t and that was the crux of the problem. How did they have a future after what he’d done in the past?

He stood and began pacing the hall, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting under his feet. The walls were lined with all manner of paintings, but he ignored them. She’d come with him tomorrow night.

They’d announce their engagement to all of society. He’d hold her in his arms and…

“You don’t look like a man who just won,” Menace called from down the hall. “Because you did.”

Brandon pivoted, turning toward the other man. “I’m fighting on several fronts. And one of them isn’t going particularly well.”

“He means Emily,” Bash said with a grin. “She tried to hand him off to Abigail this morning.”

Brandon frowned, giving Bash his darkest glare. Just when he thought he might be coming to appreciate the man. “She wanted to ensure her sister was cared for. A quality I admire in my future bride.”

Menace raised his brows. “If you think so.”

He clenched his fists. He’d like to hit one of them. Or both of them.

“What do you think the problem is?” Menace scratched his chin. “You’ve saved her life twice. You’re not ugly. Mayhap she thinks your personality is off-putting.”

His nails dug into his palms. He didn’t need another man to speak such things. They already filled his t

houghts.

“She doesn’t find him off-putting,” Bash said. “I saw her touching you while you were sleeping. A woman doesn’t touch a man like that if she doesn’t care.”

A sensation coursed through his body, it was warm and sweet, and his shoulders dropped in relief. “I’d like to take her to the ball tomorrow night.”

Bash’s brows drew together. “I’m not certain.”