Page 25 of Better Off Wed

Something—a bite of fish, an epithet better left unspoken—lodged momentarily in her throat, and she began to cough. Was the color that rose to her cheeks the result of almost choking or a flush of mortification?

He returned to the table and poured her half a cup of cold tea. “You haven’t forgotten this marriage was your idea, have you, Lady Sterling?”

Steely eyes met him over the rim of the cup.

“Right, then.” He returned to his chair. “I shall assume you wish to carry on as we began in the carriage: cool and distant. The furthest thing from a love match. You will send me scathing glances I’ll pretend not to see; I will make tepid jokes about how fortunate it is that you sprained your ankle, so you can’t run away from me again; and everyone will laugh nervously.”

Her face twisted, not in annoyance, but as if something about the suggestion intrigued her. “Did you see A Scandalous Marriage at the Haymarket last year?” she asked, handing over her empty plate.

“That outrageous French farce?”

“Yes! About the elegant lady who pretends to be head over heels in love with her husband to prevent anyone from discovering her affair with the footman, who is really her husband in disguise.”

“Meanwhile, the husband is carrying on shamelessly with the parlor maid—”

“The lady herself, naturally, in an atrocious wig,” she interjected.

“In order to keep everyone from suspecting he’s in love with his own wife?” Jeremy nodded sheepishly. “My sister found it most amusing…unfortunately.”

“The same with Aunt Mildred.” She held up two fingers, indicating they had attended the performance twice.

He offered what he hoped was a sympathetic expression, though he knew it was tinged with disbelief. Miss Hopkins did not strike him as the sort who would be led anywhere against her wishes, not even by her aunt. “But what does our shared suffering at the theater have to do with our present dilemma?”

“Really, isn’t it obvious?” Her color was bright and her expression animated. The food seemed to have revived her spirits, and he was no longer entirely sure that was for the best.

“Ah. Well…” After a moment’s rumination, he was forced to admit defeat. “I’m afraid not. I hope you’re not suggesting that I pretend to nurse a tendre for Thornton—or his footman?” he joked.

“Certainly not,” she said with another roll of her eyes. “Unless… No, I don’t think it’s very likely that Lord Thornton would be flattered by your attentions, handsome as you are. Though, of course, you are at perfect liberty to do whatever it takes to encourage him to tell you any secrets he might be keeping.”

“Perfect…liberty…” He shook his head again, this time more vigorously, in a vain hope that he could either rattle her words about until they made sense or drive them out of his mind entirely. “Miss Hopkins?”

“You really ought to practice calling me Lady Sterling, though Laura will also be acceptable on occasion. And of course, you shall be my darling Jeremy, especially when I am most likely to be overheard.”

“But you…” At a loss for words, he rose to return their plates to the table. “I don’t—”

“In front of the servants, for example,” she went on, ignoring him. “Or when Lady Thornton is almost out of earshot, but not quite. They will assume I am quite besotted with you.”

“Quite besotted. While I…?”

“Well, of course, you must behave with cold reserve toward me in public, just as in the play. We shall disregard that tender scene at the pub in which you called me dearest. The key thing is for our performance to overshadow any prior association people here may have with the name of Lady Sterling. Everyone in the household should be drawn to the unfolding drama between the newlyweds, while behind the scenes…” She twirled her fingers, bringing them together at the end in a snap, as if she had caught something in her grasp. Her face gleamed with triumph. “Just the thing to distract them from what’s really going on.”

And what is really going on? he wanted quite desperately to ask. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed a silent prayer that when he looked about himself again, he would be surrounded by the slightly mildewed walls of the Underground.

He opened his eyes to find Miss Hopkins…Lady Sterling…Laura studying him, a birdlike tilt to her head. “Do you see?”

When Penhurst had described Lady Sterling’s attire and behavior so crudely, Jeremy had thought he understood the lengths she was willing to go to trap one of her victims. He had been utterly unprepared for…this.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense,” he began, aware even as he said the words that sense was hardly relevant, “if the roles were reversed? You’re meant to have run away from me, after all.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But of the two of us, I am unquestionably the better actor. Today, a petulant runaway, tomorrow a new woman who wakes to find herself conquered by love.”

“Conquered by…” He ran one hand through his hair. “And what exactly is meant to have changed overnight?”

She blinked at him, lips parted, incredulous.

Realization dawned. “Oh. That. Well, under the circumstances, wouldn’t it be better not to draw attention to ourselves, or invite speculation about our…relationship?”

Her answering half smile was undeniably patronizing. “I can understand how someone with very little experience in this sort of thing might think so.”