So, she considered what would happen if she just told him to go to hell anyway, but discarded the idea as quickly as it came.
And this was about her sister. It was! Except for the parts that were, perhaps just a little bit, about…
No. She couldn’t think about the kiss, except that telling herselfnotto think about the kiss immediately made her think about the hot press of the Duke’s lips on hers and the way that touching him had made her light up in ways that she’d never felt before—in ways that she’d only ever witnessed in the ribald theatrical performances she’d attended.
She regretted that for the very first time in her life now because if she hadn’t, she would have no idea where things could go next.
But she had spent years watching performances that ranged from the suggestive to the outright scandalous, and it was all too easy to see herself in the role of one of the performers—with the Duke as her costar.
It was too easy to wonder what it would feel like if they had gone farther, if they’d had more time, if she hadn’t had the good sense—or the idiotic impulse—to pull away.
What if he had pulled her skirts up around her waist, like she’d seen on stage so many times? What if he’d gone to his knees before her? What if she?—
No. She made herself stop. She had tostop. This way led to disaster.
WhateverissuesHannah’s wayward paramour was handling, they would no doubt be worsened by a scandal. And yes, the scandal of a broken engagement would eventually fade, but Hannah didn’t have time to wait—not in her present condition.
And Phoebe couldn’t insist that her sister go through with the wedding. Even if she didn’t think it was appalling to try to saddle the Duke with a cuckoo in the nest, even if it wasn’t hideously unfair to Hannah and even Lyle as well, it simply wouldn’t work. If Hannah was certain that she was increasing—and her sister had tearfully assured Phoebe that she was sure; she hadn’t had her courses in three full months—then the timing wouldn’t work.
Babes often came early in marriages, and Society generally turned a blind eye, it was true, but the Duke wouldn’t do so. Andthen three lives would be ruined. Possibly four, depending on how the duke treated a child that was not his but for whom he was legally obliged to provide.
Which left Phoebe with only one option. It was the worst option of the lot. It was the one she hoped she would not need.
“Very well,” she said. “I will marry you.”
His eyes widened slightly. It was the most reaction she’d ever gotten from him, but her heart was lodged too firmly in her throat for her to enjoy it properly.
“You,” he said with just enough doubt in his tone to remain on this side of insulting.
“Yes, me,” she said back, a little snappishly. She didn’t have the same ability to withstand insult as he did, apparently.
His eyes darkened, his pupils going wide in a way that made Phoebe’s breath hitch in her chest.
“Do you realize what you’re offering?” he asked, something low and dangerous in his tone. His eyes flicked over Phoebe as he asked.
He looked… appreciative. And hungry.
It was a kind of look that made her uncertain if she should shrink away from his gaze or bask in it. It was a look that sent flares of heat through her wherever his eyes met her.
She squared her shoulders because this wasnotthe time for—for missish fluttering. She’d never been accused of being missish in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“I am not in the habit of making offers that I do not understand,” she huffed. And then, because she had never met a bad decision she didn’t like, she added snidely, “Unlikesomepeople who agreed to marry girls they had never met.”
“You have a curious way of making your case, you utter hellion,” he observed in a coolly neutral tone that sent another shiver through her. It was utterly unfair that he could affect her in so many wretched temperatures.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “You were the one who was going on and on about ‘oh the eldest ought to marry first.’ Well. You’re getting your old-fashioned wish now if you accept.”
“If he accepts what?”
Phoebe had to hand it to her father—he hadspectaculartiming, or at least he did if his goal was to make things difficult for everyone. As Phoebe had long suspected that this was her father’s chief joy in life, she really had to applaud him.
The Duke arched an eyebrow at Phoebe. It shouldn’t be allowed for a man to be both as opaque as the Duke could be when he wanted—and as expressive as he apparently could manage when the mood struck him, for this mere quirk of an eyebrow spoke volumes.
So, your father was not part of this little plan of yours, Miss Turner?
She could practically hear it in that annoying, low, growly voice of his.
“Miss Turner,” he said with icy solemnity as he faced her father, all traces of playfulness now gone, “has explained that since Miss Hannah is no longer available, she would like to offer herself as a potential bride.”
