When you discovered that you wouldn't be able to inherit your father's life savings because you were unwed, you were determined to rectify the situation, not because you were greedy, but because you didn't want it going into the hands of your selfish uncle. A friend of your mother found a perfect arrangement: marry a dead man.

And so, with a little digging, you found yourself wed for nearly a year to Duke Myles Austen, a wealthy merchant lost to the sea. You went along with your mother's plan, playing the part of a mourning widow who'd lost her husband at sea while securing your father's fortune away from your uncle.

Until one day.

You were in the middle of preparing papers to meet with officials when the butler alerted you to a presence downstairs. Curious, you went to see who it was, and your heart nearly stopped beating.

There he was, a five-o-clock shadow, azure eyes carrying the ocean, auburn hair kissed by starlight. He was as broad shoulders, muscled, and rugged as your mother had described, dressed in a proper coat and collar.

Duke Myles Austen.

"Won't you greet me, wife," he growled, voice as deep as the tectonic plates shifting. How had he known about your arrangement? Has the matchmaker told him?