Page 44 of The Lady Knows Best

What a strange reply. “They never—” she began, then bit off the denial. What did her family’s treatment of her have to do with the present moment? Except, of course . . . “They insisted on your proposing, I presume?”

“Not in so many words. But that was the general drift of the conversation.” He hesitated. “Though I gather some of them, at least, would be just as happy if I’d take myself off tonight and never speak to you again, let the stench of associating with me be wafted away by the winds of time.”

“That was Paris, I suppose.” She had guessed her brother would be the one to want to put an end to this. “Or—or Gabriel? He has such a wry sense of humor.”

“Indeed.”

Another pause ensued, Daphne bracing herself for the inevitable, Miles uncharacteristically reluctant to speak. “Well?” she finally asked, when the ticking of the mantel clock had begun to grate her nerves raw.

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to ask me?”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Hasn’t the decision already been made?”

“But clearly you didn’t tell them that.” She hesitated. “Have you, perhaps, changed your mind after all about marrying me?”

An odd feeling fluttered in her chest as she spoke; it ought to have been excitement at the prospect of freedom, but it rattled against her ribs more like uncertainty.

“Aren’t you really asking whether I’ve had a change of heart about revealing the identity of Miss Busy B.?” he demanded with a skeptical lift to one brow.

“Well, I suppose it’s only natural to hope—”

“Hope what?” He leaned forward, closer still. “That I’ll release you from your end of our bargain?”

“That’s all that concerns you, isn’t it?” she snapped. “Bargains and bets.”

A muscle leaped in his jaw. “No. It isn’t.”

“What, then?”

He was looking at her but not seeing her. His thoughts, whatever they might be, were elsewhere. “I don’t see that we have anything more to discuss tonight—other than the details of the wedding. Shall we rejoin the others?” he asked, rising.

Miles was neither as heartless nor as witless as she’d expected—or been led to expect. She’d learned that much at least over the last few days. But at the moment, he was as cold and unyielding as a block of ice.

She was beginning to have her doubts that anything she could write and threaten to publish would persuade him to alter his plan to wed her. His motives for marrying, whatever they were, must extend beyond a silly wager.

Rather than less research, as Lady Stalbridge had urged, Daphne was going to need to do much more if she had any chance of unraveling the knot by which she’d bound herself to him.

“Not yet,” she said, though she, too, came to her feet. “If you give my sister an opening, she will organize our wedding down to the last detail.”

A smile flickered into his eyes. “Which sister?”

“I was referring to Cami. But take your pick.”

He tapped a finger against his lips, considering his options. “Not an easy choice. The Duchess of Raynham would arrange the prettiest flowers, I suppose.”

“Erica doesn’t really concern herself much with flowers’ prettiness,” Daphne cautioned. “Perhaps we ought to talk things over just between ourselves, first.”

Anything to get him to say something about himself. Something more than nonsense and flirtation. Something real. Something true.

“Does it bother you that all of your family likely won’t be in attendance?” he asked. “Your parents, in particular? They can’t possibly get here before the end of June.”

She pretended to consider the matter, tried to imagine how she would feel if she really were going to marry within a few days.

“Somewhat, yes,” she conceded. “Though they weren’t at Cami’s or Erica’s weddings either. All of us were together only when Paris got married, and then it was quite the ordeal to find places for everyone—I remember Paris and Galen had to sleep in the village inn!” Images of that golden day flooded her memory, everyone laughing, Elf the mastiff and Eileen the kitten causing no end of trouble. “I remember worrying that Rosamund might only be marrying Paris because I tattled on them.”

“Tattled?” Scandalized amusement curled the edges of Miles’s mouth and glittered in his eyes. “About what?”