Page 31 of Season of the Scoundrel
“And does she often accompany you on…missions while wearing men’s clothing?”
“No.”
His mother tipped her head when he hesitated. “Who is this young woman who’s bewitched you in a matter of days?”
“The daughter of a viscount. The sister of the Duke of Edgerton. Eminently suitable.”
The sound that emerged from her wasn’t quite a laugh, but not a full-throated scoff either.
Though he’d been on the verge of reclining on the settee, he remained standing because the sound sparked a flash of anger. Lashing out never worked with this mother, but he didn’t need to. He was the Duke of Blackbourne. No one would tell him who to marry.
“It isn’t a matter for debate, Mother. My decision has been made.”
“What are you about, my dear?” She assessed him through narrowed her eyes. “How did you come to this decision? I sense this is not quite what it seems. You’re not an impulsive man, yet I suddenly receive a telegram that you intend to marry a young woman I’ve never even heard you mention.”
“Our acquaintance is a relatively new one, but my choice wasn’t an impulsive one.” Hehadconsidered the benefits of their scheme to feign an engagement, and what he felt for Ivy was certainly new and unexpected, but he wasn’t willing to pick apart for his mother’s sake. He hadn’t even fully done so himself. But from the moment he’d suggested the plan, he hadn’t felt one whit of regret.
For several ticks of the mantel clock, she studied his face, as if trying to divine all that he was not prepared to divulge.
“You’ve come unexpectedly,” he told her softly. “I know what it must look like?—”
“In truth, I don’t know what to think. Especially since you seem unwilling to divulge any details.”
“Will you be staying here or at Claridge’s?” Whenever she and his father had fallen out, she’d taken up a suite at the hotel and often preferred it now to Blackbourne House when visiting London.
“At Claridge’s,” she said, her gaze still assessing him. “Is that a not-so-subtle suggestion that I should retire there rather than harangue your fiancé this evening?”
“Why don’t we arrange a time for all of us to take tea or luncheon together?” Ross would far prefer to face his mother when he and Ivy had a chance to prepare for her inquisition.
She regarded him for several minutes and then got to her feet. “Very well. But let’s do so within the next day or so. I am attending a soiree Wednesday evening at Lady Warwick’s, and she’ll quiz me about your betrothed.”
“Tea on Wednesday then. Here at the townhouse.”
With that, she nodded and made her way toward the foyer. When they stood on the marble floor of the entryway, Ross cast a look up the stairs, wondering if Ivy would emerge before his mother departed.
She didn’t, even in the time it took for her to don her hat, gloves, and coat and for him to direct the butler to have the Blackbourne carriage brought around to transport her.
He waved her off and then considered whether to go up to see about Ivy or wait for her to come down.
“Has she departed?” she said from the top of the stairs, then descended.
When she was before him, Ross’s mind filled instantly with the memory of their kiss.
“She has.”
“I hope you didn’t rush her off on my account.”
“I didn’t.”
“Though I agreed to this scheme, lying to a duchess suddenly seems quite daunting.”
“If you prefer, I’ll tell her the truth. Whatever you like.”
She smiled. “Are you going to capitulate to me so readily for our entire false engagement?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“I might.” It was the oddest feeling to want to capitulate for her sake. He’d just told his mother that he was stubborn. His decisions once made were inviolable, yet Ivy’s desires mattered now too.
He’d stood watching her too long. The air between felt charged.
