Chapter Three #2
“Ever, then.” His mouth hardened, and she struck the bottle against her knee. “Your doctor called you that. Is the name reserved for a select few? May I join the club?”
His fingers played a jaunty tune against his stomach, drawing her attention.
Heat climbed her neck; her toes curled inside her slippers.
She began carefully, then rushed the rest. “Freedom is what I’d like.
You court me for one month. A fabricated union that looks anything but.
The Landry’s ball next week, and one—no, two—teas.
And a musicale. I get invited to those tedious things all the time.
And a ride along Rotten Row during the busiest hour of the day.
Then they’ll back off until I decide the next step. ”
“The next disaster, you mean.” With a pained grunt, he shifted onto his elbow, closing the space between them.
His pupils were wide from the drug, but purpose still burned there.
“What about Ireton?” He gestured to his torso, the very place her gaze had lingered since she entered the room.
“Will I be forced to engage in conflict over your doomed love affair with that popinjay? As you can see, it may be a few days before I’m able. ”
She rocked forward, hands braced on her knees, fingers biting hard.
“There is no agreement, and there will be no agreement. Not after—” A sharp breath left her as she fell back against the chair’s spindles, setting it swaying.
“You won’t be forced to engage in conflict with the Marquess of Ireton.
If I told my family, they’d do worse to him than you. ”
“Became insistent, did he? Sounds like a typical entitled fop.” Ever eased back onto his side, his mouth tightening with pain. “Remind me, and I’ll grind that little shite into the dirt the instant I’m able. The moment we begin the pretense that you’re mine.”
“Oh,” Isabella breathed, absurdly pleased by his crude manner.
Aside from her brothers-by-marriage, she’d never been protected by anyone.
“Well, truly, no matter about him. He’s a bit of a noodle, not worth the scrutiny.
Nevertheless, if you and I are seen about, cozy but nothing scandalous, then I break it off for a valid reason that harms no one’s reputation, that will do the trick.
It must be me who ends it. The woman is always the one who risks ruin. ”
When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “You may act pleased when it ends, if that relieves the sting for you. I don’t care.”
“Of course, you’ll be the one to break my heart,” he intoned through a yawn. Would he even remember this negotiation? Would he bargain at all? She had no notion how such arrangements were struck. He did.
“You could profess to be reformed by love,” she said, offering him something in return. “And give yourself the occasion to drop this exhausting performance.”
Reaching more swiftly than she would have thought possible in his battered state, he grasped her hand.
His palm burned against hers, heat seeping through skin and bone, his grip gentle but unyielding.
She tried not to curl her fingers around his in desperate response.
“How do you know I want to drop it? How could you possibly know that?”
She held his gaze, breath lodged high in her throat. “I just do.”
Leaving them locked together as the air thickened, pulsed, an invisible pull her sister Penny had once described after meeting her husband.
Isabella lingered in it, letting the sensation wash over her while something unnamed moved through her.
His bright green eyes caught the lamplight, sharp and alive, telling her he felt it, too.
“I’m too old for you,” Ever whispered hoarsely, releasing her and sinking back to the mattress.
Pretending the moment had not felt defining, Isabella folded her hands in her lap, fingers closing around the little amber bottle. “I know that. But it’s been done a thousand times, in a thousand marriages. You’re not ancient. Or not very. Not enough, anyway.”
“I have a plan for my Derbyshire estate, and I won’t alter it for you, sprite. I won’t be in London much longer, so we adhere to the rules of this gambit, every last one of them. I won’t be swept into chaos I didn’t design.”
She had caused a minor fiasco by attending his depraved masquerade, but he needn’t be rude about it. “You have nothing to fear, as I want no part of Derbyshire’s wilds. Or you, beyond what we can offer one another. I keep my secrets. You keep yours.”
He let out a slow breath. “One inane tea, a tiresome musicale, a dull procession through Hyde Park. As you can see, I’ve survived worse.”
She suppressed a grimace. Even if she didn’t want them, Isabella had suitors.
A dishwater-dull marquess, a baron two inches shorter than her, even the Duke of Marlington had been circling until she made that remark about women attending university.
She didn’t negotiate for a living as Merevale did, his profession requiring a fabricated identity, but she had leverage. Some, at least.
And, if she was going to endure this farce, she might as well satisfy her curiosity. “Three kisses. We can add that to this lifeless roster.”
Ever opened his eyes and blinked twice. “Kisses.”
“To give the arrangement substance. We want it to look real.”
His mouth curved, relaxed and knowing. “Careful, sprite,” he said softly. “You’re tempting a man who’s desired you quite madly since the moment you crept into his ballroom.” His gaze lingered on her, hazed by the laudanum yet unwavering all the same. “Though I’ll deny that tomorrow. Convincingly.”
Isabella said nothing more as he slipped into sleep.
Because she feared she desired him quite madly, too.