If I put it like this, if the Duke sees me, who usually never really cares about anything else, acting so… genuine, he won't have a choice but to let go of the matter.
I suppose I can't give him any other choice either, can I?
The Duke didn't move. His grey eyes were like flint, scanning the room—the steaming tub, the discarded, shredded silk on the floor, and the way I was standing, my hips aching with a dull thrum that I didn't bother to hide from him.
He probably knew. No, he definitely knew.
He knew Vivienne had tried to trap me, and he knew I had found a far more dangerous escape.
But to acknowledge it was to admit a scandal he had just spent the entire night preventing.
To him, the logic would be that 'my daughter did her best to prevent a bad image from spreading. I should at least acknowledge her efforts in preserving the family name.'
