Basil froze as a gold-coated carriage pulled into the front lawn of the Rashet manor. The maids gaped at the tall man with a handsome yet stern face. The atmosphere turned solemn as he passed by, while the marquis offered a forced welcome to the guest. Lea immediately hurried down to the Paragon Hall.
"My lady!" Lea said, breathless. "His Grace is here. He's with the lord in his study."
Nyasia, who had been reading quietly, stopped and turned sharply at Lea.
"Is he serious?"
What's his trick now?
He had been away for three weeks. Silence. Not a single letter. And now he appeared so suddenly, walking through the front gates like a decent nobleman, not some wild, lawless man sneaking through hidden back doors.
Fay blurted out, "His Grace is truly a master of giving heart attacks! I really don't want to be his enemy."
Nyasia rolled her eyes. The reason she had bargained with Dorian in the first place was that she believed he would find a clever way to handle the issue of the iron mine. Instead, he had spread rumors that she was the heiress—forcing her father to pass the mine to Levon.
"It's not clever to use one's terrifying existence just to get what he wants," she said. "I'm not impressed."
"But isn't that more convenient, my lady?" Fay said with a small smile. "Having enough power to force people into choices they'd never make on their own? You don't have to scheme a lot."
Fay didn't know what was happening. For the past few weeks, the duke had been unusually quiet. Normally, he sent at least one letter each week to Lady Rashet. Even when he was away for three months—the longest time—he had kept that habit. But this time, there had been only silence. Not even news of him. Just that he had gone to the peninsula.
Fay thought the lady didn't care. But that annoyed reaction wasn't indifference. That was frustration. Built up over time.
"Let them plot and kill each other," Nyasia said, returning her gaze to the book, fingers flipping another page.
...
DORIAN SETTLED into a couch across from Ezekias' desk. He crossed his legs and took a cup. The last time he had set foot in the main hall of Rashet Manor, he was fifteen. It was in the marquis's study when he first saw her—Nyasia, quietly reading a book.
"Your Grace. I wasn't expecting you."
"Clearly." Dorian sipped.
"You've read the letter, I assume?"
Ezekias shifted his jaw.
"I did."
"I need an answer."
"It's been just three days, Your Grace."
Dorian leaned back.
"Enough time, I'm sure."
Ezekias's jaw tightened.
If only this man isn't a duke.
"My daughter has been hidden away her whole life. I won't see her married off to just any man. I prefer families the Rashets have been close to—families I can trust."
Dorian's expression didn't change.
"I'm not interested in the iron mine, Lord Rashet." Dorian sipped his drink. "I could find a thousand ways to take it without going through the trouble of marrying your daughter."
"Are you saying you'd be fine with me handing the mine over to Levon?" Ezekias asked.
Dorian gave a lazy shrug. "His Majesty would probably throw a parade to support you" he said. "After all, the last thing he wants is me getting any richer. I already have better nose than him."
Ezekias frowned.
"Your Grace, that's precisely why I have strong reservations about your proposal. First, His Majesty intends for you to marry his daughter," he said. "Second, the Rashets will be seen as an eyesore by His Majesty. Or will you abandon my daughter just as you abandoned that Kissell girl?"
*