“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?”
He had to give the woman credit. She was damned persuasive when it came to something so incredulous. But it was the fact he was actually considering her proposal that was verging on madness.
He allowed his gaze to drop to her mouth. If he had Miss Pageant all to himself for the next three weeks, it could be rather dangerous indeed. He’d only been around her for one night and already she had him so befuddled that he couldn’t think straight. That was probably why he opened his mouth to refuse, but found that the opposite came out instead.
“Very well, Miss Pageant. Challenge accepted.”
Emary had to work to keep her surprise from showing. She couldn’t believe that he’d actually taken the bait!
She thought she might have gone too far when she’d questioned his virility, for his blue eyes had flashed dangerously. She’d only said it to rile him, for she knew very well that men much older than him were more than capable of fathering children. And she had no doubt that he would be able to…perform the task quite admirably.
Just looking at him did strange things to her body. She could only imagine if they were involved in a more sordid act…
Stop it this instant! Such musings would not assist her cause but only push him away from her. She had a plan, a certain path that she must traverse if she were to succeed and win a true proposal by Christmas, so she mustn’t stray to perilous territory and allow her desires to overrule her common sense.
The music came to an end, and Emary allowed a brief, victorious smile to touch her lips. “That settles it then. Shall we have the banns read this Sunday? For appearances sake, of course,” she quickly added.
The duke swallowed visibly before he offered a bow. “I will take care of it.” When he straightened, he held out his arm to her and escorted her back to her circle of admirers with a bow. “Miss Pageant.”
Once he’d taken his leave of her, Miss Parkhurst wasted no time in demanding everything that was said between them.
Emary merely looked at her and said rather coyly, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Several hours later, Emary was headed home in the carriage with her parents. She carefully stifled a yawn with her gloved hand. She was tired and ready to climb into her bed and sleep for what few hours of nighttime that she had remaining. Of course, she wouldn’t have to rise before noon if she didn’t wish to. Her mother was rather forgiving that way when it came to certain events. She always said that it wouldn’t do for Emary to traipse about town in the afternoon with dark circles under her eyes.
“I am given to understand that this evening went well,” her mother remarked.
“And who said that?”
“The Duchess of Windwood herself,” the viscountess returned. “She seems to believe that her son might harbor a certain interest toward you. You were the only one he stood up with this evening, after all. And the look he gave you when we left…” Her mother’s hand fluttered. “Why it was purely sinful. If he calls we shall have to make sure you are thoroughly chaperoned.”
Emary had to hold back a satisfied grin. “I’m sure I’m just a passing fancy, Mother. No doubt he will forget all about me by morning.”
Her father, who had been silent until that point, gave a snort. “I doubt it, my dear. I do believe that you might have snagged yourself a duke for a husband. Well done.”
Emary felt tears prick the back of her eyes in the face of her father’s praise. All of her life she’d known what was expected of her, had been raised to carefully observe the proprieties and walk a straight line, but nothing compared to her parents approval. She felt like a…daughter, instead of just a society debutante. “Thank you, Papa. I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am,” he returned firmly. “Mark my words. There will be a proposal by Christmas.”
