“I should probably go powder my nose to prepare for such an unprecedented event,” she purred. She was about to make her escape when Lord Hallwood’s face fell.

“But this is our dance,” the young heir nearly whined.

Emary sighed inwardly. She had no choice but to remain. She knew the man well enough to know that if she refused him he would likely kick up a terrible fuss at being ignored and then she would be forced to sit out the rest of the sets, and that just wouldn’t do with the duke due to return.

At times she grew weary of such young, immature men of the aristocracy who believed that they were entitled. But mature men like Windwood who carried more experience and battle-weary scars…

She offered Hallwood a brilliant smile. “Of course. I shouldn’t dare miss the opportunity to stand up with you.”

He was satisfied when she took his arm, his expression one of a whelp who’d been handed a particular treat. It made Emary nauseous, but she laughed and flirted and did everything that a young lady in society ought to do because it was expected of her.

It wasn’t until she found herself standing in front of Windwood yet again that she felt her carefully rehearsed bravado slip slightly. His eyes seemed to caress her as he held out a hand. “Are you ready?”

As she drank in his appearance, a shiver to ran up and down her body so fast that she trembled. She didn’t dare trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded and placed her gloved hand in his.

He led her to the floor where they got into position, his right hand placed on the small of her back while she settled her fingers on his broad right shoulder. She took a deep, steadying breath as she glanced up, only to see him staring down at her as if she was a dessert that he fully intended to devour. She felt her heart skip a beat — and then the music started.

Chapter 3

Donovan realized, in that moment, that he was an idiot.

He had faced adversaries on the battlefields in France, faced down the enemy with nary a blink, and yet one pretty debutante fluttered her lashes at him and he found himself practically falling at her feet. No, he corrected himself. In truth, it was worse than that. He wanted to slowly strip the clothes from Miss Pageant’s body and drink his fill of her form before he sank himself into her, giving them both the pleasure that their bodies craved.

And like it or not, he knew that she wasn’t immune to him. He wasn’t so much of a war weary soldier that he couldn’t recognize the signs.

He admitted that she’d had him fooled at first, but the hitch in her breathing, the slight flush on her face, and the sparkle in those deep brown eyes told the truth. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. But the trouble with debutantes was that he couldn’t satisfy his lust without being leg shackled at the altar. And while he might be attracted to Miss Pageant, he couldn’t say that she was the one he wished to spend his life with. It wasn’t something he could deduce in the matter of a few hours, which was the extent of how long he’d known her.

“Emary is a rather unique name,” he noted abruptly.

Instead of appearing insulted, she merely smiled. “It’s a combination of my parents’ names, Edward and Mary.”

“Ah.” Interesting. “Tell me about your family.”

With her charming grin firmly in place, she replied, “I’m here with my parents this evening, Viscount and Viscountess Armenton.”

He raised a brow. “Any siblings?”

She shook her head. “I fear that, like you, I am an only child.”

“I suppose that someday you wish for a large family to make up for what you didn’t have,” he guessed.

“On the contrary,” she returned. “I don’t particularly wish to marry.”

His second brow joined the first. What game was she playing at now? “I find that rather hard to believe, considering your many admirers, not to mention that you’re a well-bred woman.”

She tilted her head slightly, sending her dark curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I rather enjoy the attention that I receive, so why should I wish to rid myself of it? Besides, what does my sex have to do with anything? Times are progressing and changing all the time, Your Grace. Personally, I prefer to apply a more forward approach when it comes to my future.”

He laughed. “While I appreciate your candor, Miss Pageant, surely you don’t expect to become a spinster?” He found this idea terribly intolerant. “Ladies are expected to marry. If they didn’t, what a sad lack of people we would have.” He stilled. “Unless you plan to conceive out of wedlock?”

She shook her head. “I would never subject a child of mine to such ridicule and ostracizing. I was thinking more along the lines of self-support.”

While what she spoke of was quite unheard of for a woman, he found that his interest was piqued nonetheless. “Such as?”

Her lips twitched becomingly, the action making him urge to sample them again. “I was rather thinking of becoming a novelist.”

He snorted. “It’s perfectly normal to have aspirations, Miss Pageant, but surely you can see the folly of taking such imaginings to these extremes.”

“Am I?” She tilted her head to the side, her gaze shrewd. “What about Ann Radcliffe and her successes?”

“She was a commoner and a widow,” he pointed out.

“And Miss Jane Austen?” she countered. “She is an unwed, gentleman’s daughter.”

He smiled in a tolerant manner, while at the same time enjoying the way her nose bunched slightly when she was making a point. “She writes anonymously.”

“But everyone knows who she is, regardless,” she returned. “Just the same as Frances Burney.”

“Miss Pageant…” He sighed. “I pray you don’t take offense, but while I admire your determination, I can’t believe that you will succeed. Without the backing of a male relative—”

“Might I suggest a proposal for you, Your Grace?” she interrupted smoothly.

Alarm bells rang off in his head and he narrowed his eyes. “What sort of proposal?”

Her brown eyes twinkled, but he could sense the steel behind that sweet gaze. “Let’s put your theory to the test.”

“How so?” he prodded. It was becoming clear to him that Miss Pageant was too intelligent by half. It was almost a shame that women couldn’t be allowed to vote in Parliament. He was quite sure that she would make a formidable adversary.

“Give me three weeks to prove to you that a woman can be sufficient on her own monetary value. If I am able to sell a novel that I wrote and have it published in my name, then you have to admit that you were wrong. If I don’t, then I will concede defeat to you.”

“This sounds suspiciously like a wager,” he murmured, distrustful.

“I suppose it is, after a fashion.” She released a deep sigh. “As there is a catch.”

Donovan winced. Wasn’t there always when it came to the fairer sex? “And what might that be?”

She looked him directly in the eye and said, “You have to pretend to be my fiancé.”

The bells turned into a firm clanging in his brain, yet he still found himself asking, “For what purpose?” What are you doing? Stop this insanity this instant! And yet, he continued to listen to her asinine reasoning.

“I can’t very well sequester myself in my room to write a novel and send it off to a publisher in three weeks’ time when I am disturbed by continuous afternoon calls and hopeful suitors every hour. I should get nothing accomplished. I need you to be a diversion.”

Every hour? “I’m not sure…”

“Come now, Your Grace. Surely you’re not afraid of a brief engagement?” She fluttered her lashes. “Rest assured at the end of three weeks, once our wager has come to an end, I will cry off and you will be free to continue your search for the perfect duchess yet again. It’s only a slight delay and you are still relatively young.” Her eyes widened. “Surely you can still sire children at your age?”

He clenched his jaw, tempted to prove to her exactly how virile he still was. “I’m hardly in my dotage.”

“Of course, not.” She smiled a little too innocently. “So the only question that remains is, do you agree to my terms?”