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The pale
blonde ringlets surrounding her face swayed as she took a
deep breath. “I know I presume much but I would like you to
pose as my betrothed until—”
He laughed
outright at her outrageous request, drawing the attention of
several guests nearby. Sobering, Erasmus stated, “Completely
out of the question. But thank you for asking. I needed some
amusement this evening.”
When he turned
to leave her hand shot out, latching onto his arm with
surprising strength. His steps halted and he peered at her
gloved fingers until she removed them. Damn if a bolt of
need hadn’t flashed through him at the contact.
Astonishing—he’d just bedded the amorous and very
accommodating Mistress Rose of the Crown & Cock not twelve
hours before.
“Lord Blakely,
please. Hear me out.” She rushed on before he could say yay
or nay. “It would be a pretend betrothal, a farce if you
will, lasting only a few weeks beyond the Season. Surely you
can find it in your heart to assist me for such a short
time? I will pay you handsomely for your trouble and release
you publicly from our arrangement after you fulfill its
terms.”
“We have no
arrangement,” he felt compelled to remind her. “But for the
sake of argument, your reasoning is faulty. For upon
becoming affianced to me, not to mention later breaking said
betrothal, your reputation would be tantamount to ruined.”
“That has no
consequence. I only want the appearance of a
betrothal for the remainder of the Season.”
“And why is
that?”
“My reasons
are my own.”
Stubborn chit.
He half wished he couldn’t see her so clearly in the
candlelit ballroom. Damn but something about her drew him.
“If you won’t explain yourself, why should I even consider
your ridiculous proposal?”
That willful
chin lifted again. “Because I will pay you.”
“Not enough,
not for what you’re asking.” She had no idea what she
was asking, what being near her the next few weeks might
cost him. Or her.
She proceeded
to name a monetary figure that sent his head spinning.
Good God. He’d
just been propositioned by a bloody heiress. “You’re a piece
of intriguing baggage, I’ll give you that. Why me?”
“Your standing
as one of the most sought-after libertines in the ton,” she
stated baldly. Her face flushed even more. “It suits my
purposes quite well. And your title, for another reason. Not
every Marquis has a character such as yours.”
“I don’t know
whether to be insulted or flattered.” The inexplicable urge
to touch her cheek ran through him. Since when did he care
about cheeks? He fisted his hands and anchored them firmly
at his sides.
“I mean no
offense but it is not in me to cavil at the truth. You and I
both know that you have no intention of marrying this year
and I need someone of your…ilk to best satisfy my
plan.”
He made a
noise in his throat, one that could indicate he was
considering her asinine idea, which was absurd—because he
wasn’t.
“I only ask
that you show me the same courtesy and give me your honest
reply posthaste.” She looked over her shoulder, as if
expecting a dragon to swoop in and steal her away.
Come to think
on it, he was surprised they’d been left alone this long.
“And what is your next course of action, should I turn down
your oh-so-tempting offer?”
“Sarcasm does
not become you, Lord Blakely,” she admonished him.
“Do not talk
down to me,” he told her, instantly irritated with himself.
With her. Why was he still wasting his breath conversing?
Why not simply tell her no and be done with it? Why did he
long to touch so much more than her cheek? To see her hair
down, her dress gone and her legs wrapped around his waist?
Dammit, where
was his control? It seemed to have abandoned him the very
moment she abandoned her good sense and approached
him.
“Forgive me,”
she said contritely. “The stress of awaiting your reply has
put me quite on edge.”
“That’s
understandable. Considering you’ve just propositioned a man
who hasn’t the faintest clue who you are.”
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