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“I believe you will.”

“You appear to believe a great many things, Your Grace.”

“Some of them have proved correct.”

He adjusted his hat and moved toward the door. Marina watched him go, her thoughts tumbling over one another. She had not agreed to anything. She had scarcely learned anything about the child, and she knew even less about the man who expected her to become his wife.

Yet he was already making arrangements.

“Wait.”

Ambrose stopped with his hand upon the latch and looked back.

“Why should I even consider your proposal?” she demanded. “You have offered me very little reason to do so.”

For the first time since his arrival, he did not answer immediately. He looked at her with an expression she could not quite read, and when he spoke, his voice had lost its teasing edge.

“Because, Lady Whitmore, you would have your wish granted.”

Marina frowned. “What wish?”

“A child who will not be afraid of you. At least, that is what I was told is your grandest wish. Is it not anymore?”

The words struck with an accuracy she had not expected.

“I…”

She thought of the children fleeing from her garden, their laughter mingled with frightened cries. She thought of the fruit trees she had planted so they would have a reason to visit, and of how she had pretended not to mind when they ran away before she could speak to them.

And now there was a little girl who needed someone.

Marina could not find an answer.

The duke inclined his head, apparently satisfied that he had said enough.

“Good evening, Lady Whitmore.”

She remained where she was as he departed, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading beyond the cottage. Only when the door had closed did she realize that she had been holding her breath.

Luna emerged from beneath the chair and approached her with an air of complete innocence.

“Oh, do not look at me like that,” Marina muttered. “You were of very little assistance.”

The cat blinked.

Marina sank into the nearest chair and stared at the fire. Three days. In three days, she was apparently expected to visit Griffin Manor and decide whether she might become the wife of a man she had met only that evening.

A duke known as a beast.

A man who could not bear sunlight, who had laughed at her supposed witchcraft, and who had somehow discovered the one longing she had never quite managed to put aside.

She ought to refuse him. It would be the sensible thing to do.

But somewhere at Griffin Manor, a little girl had been abandoned by the very people who should have protected her. And Marina knew, with an uncomfortable certainty, that she would not be able to dismiss the matter until she had seen the child for herself.

She rose abruptly and went to her writing desk.

Her mother would know what to make of this. Or, at the very least, she would have something to say about it.