“Your betrothed?!” Lord Worthington stumbled out. “That is impossible!”
“It is not,” Lord Bideford said. “We were just about to post the banns.”
Lord Worthington stormed over to Lord Bideford, stopping in front of him. “You have just made a dangerous enemy out of me.”
Lord Bideford shrugged. “That is not the way I see it.”
Brushing past him, Lord Worthington departed from the room, which was promptly followed by the main door slamming shut.
Placing a hand on her hip, Miss Bentley turned towards Roswell with an expectant look on her face. “Do you want to explain to me why you just told Lord Worthington that we are engaged?” she asked, her voice taking on an edge.
Roswell smiled. “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”
“How so?”
“By pretending to be engaged to me, Lord Worthington will stop trying to force you into marriage,” he explained.
“But we aren’t truly engaged.”
“True, but Lord Worthington doesn’t know that.”
“I understand that part, but what happens when we don’t marry?”
His smile slipped. “We just have to carry on the ruse long enough for you to reach your majority, or until you win your court case against Lord Worthington.”
“I don’t reach my majority for six months,” Miss Bentley pointed out. “Furthermore, according to your solicitor, the court case could go on for years.”
Roswell shrugged his shoulders. “Then we shall have a long engagement.”
“What happens once I reach my majority?”
“Then I give you permission to jilt me.”
Rearing back, Miss Bentley asked, “Won’t that damage my reputation if I call off an engagement?”
“Once you are an heiress, you can do whatever you want,” he replied. “You will have suitors lining up to court you.”
“That is onlyifI receive the funds from Lord Worthington.”
Roswell reached out and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “You are overthinking this,” he assured her. “By pretending to be engaged, you are under my protection.”
He felt her shoulders slump slightly under the weight of his hands. “Won’t this adversely affect your reputation?”
Roswell smirked. “If you must know, I do not give a fig about my reputation,” he replied. “Men’s reputations are not nearly as brittle as young women’s.”
With a shake of her head, she murmured, “I won’t ask you to do this for me.”
“It is already done.”
Miss Bentley glanced at the open door, then asked, “What do you think your mother will say about this?”
“I have no doubt that she will think this is a terrible idea.”
A giggle escaped Miss Bentley’s lips, and she brought her fingers up to cover her mouth. “You have to be the one to tell her.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are her son, and she likes you more.”
