Page 22 of Season of the Scoundrel
Ross frowned. “Already?”
“They’re very quick with new gossip. Do you never read them?”
He shook his head. “In what regard were we mentioned?”
Ivy shrugged. “The usual. Mention of a connection between us, of us being alone together, questioning whether an engagement will be forthcoming.”
“What should we do?” Ross asked because he genuinely wondered if her clever mind had devised a better plan than his.
“I won’t marry you,” she repeated with as much vehemence as the first time. “I won’t marry anyone. It’s not you.” Her voice softened and her gaze locked on his. “I just don’t want to be trapped in that way. Do you understand?”
“I do, but?—”
“Don’t.” She crossed the room and lifted her hand as if she’d touch him, but she didn’t. “Please don’t try to persuade me. I’m sure you’re very persuasive.” The last came out breathy, and Ross sensed again that she felt as provoked in his presence as he did in hers.
“Will you allow me to tell you my thoughts?” he asked. They were words he’d never had to speak in his life. People deferred to him. Indeed, he was expected to say something worth listening to.
Ivy crossed her arms but nodded.
“You wish to protect your reputation, I take it.”
“For my sisters, and for my future as a journalist, yes.”
“And I wish to keep scandal from the Blackbourne dukedom for the sake of my siblings too.”
“I didn’t realize you had any. How old are they?” Ivy asked.
“James is twenty and Eloise is fourteen and already looking forward to her Season. A terrifying prospect, I tell you. I need a duchess who?—”
“Blackbourne, I am not the woman to be your duchess.” She touched him then, a hand pressed against his chest to emphasize her words. “I promise you I would be a dreadful duchess.”
Ross felt a smile flickering at the edge of his mouth. She would be an unconventional duchess, to be sure, but she wouldn’t be dreadful. He suspected that, by her intrepid force of will, Ivy Bridewell could succeed at anything she put her mind to. She’d use her status for good, of that he was certain.
“May I finish telling you my idea?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, of course,” she said, then, to his great disappointment, she lowered her hand. “Forgive me.”
“I need a duchess, but I do not have the time, nor the interest, to find and court one at the moment. Though my mother expects an announcement by the end of the year.”
Ivy scoffed. “That doesn’t give you much time.”
“No, it does not.” Ross drew in a breath before saying the rest. “There is a way we could ensure that the rumors stop and justify our time alone together. It could have benefits for both of us if we say that we are…betrothed.”
Ivy tipped her head as if assessing him. Or perhaps trying to decide whether he was in earnest or had completely lost his mind. Then her eyes flared wider.
“You mean afalsebetrothal?” she asked.
“Precisely.”
Ivy moved past him and began pacing again. “Then it turns from potential scandal into anticipation for our upcoming nuptials,” she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself. She came back around to stand in front of him. “But my sister will start planning a wedding, and it sounds as if your mother might do the same.”
“There are a few options.” Ross had considered that too. “We could confide the truth to those in our family whom we trust. My mother would not be among that number. She’s an avid gossip, I’m afraid. She would reveal the ruse to someone within hours. To those like her, we could insist on a long engagement and no planning until at least next year.”
Ivy nodded, then tapped her chin with her forefinger. “And how do we get out of it?”
“You should initiate the break, and you could ascribe it to something benign. An incompatibility of temperament.”
She actually smiled at that. “No one would doubt that,” she said with an arch look his way.
