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The Duke smiled, his eyes glittering. “For every event we attend together, for every outing, I shall pay you one hundred pounds. Consider it as me purchasing your time and acting skills. People must believe that we have an understanding, you see. It’s delicate – an understanding but not yet an engagement.”
Rosaline’s mouth had gone dry. She mentally reviewed all that Society had to offer – promenading every day, balls and parties every week, tea-parties, picnics, and more. One hundred pounds for every event.
She might earn several hundred pounds in a week.
The idea of earning even one hundred pounds had Rosaline’s head swimming. She could pay off all of their food debts at once and pay for new clothes for the little ones. She could save up. She could save up hundreds of pounds and secure a dowry for herself and for the girls. It wouldn’t send Edmund to Eton, of course, but perhaps a less illustrious university would be within their reach.
An ugly thought intruded. Rosaline imagined her father snatching the bills from her hand and hurrying down the road to the bookmakers, with a glint in his eye and the reassurance that he really was onto a winner this time. He imagined watching hurry away with her earnings, not letting her keep a penny for herself, and leaving his family to their tripe dinners.
“My parents can’t know.” Rosaline breathed at last.
The Duke’s gave a tiny, triumphant smile, then it was gone and he was all gentlemanlike acquiescence.
“Of course not, naturally.”
“Good. And… and I have some rules.” Rosaline took in a deep breath. The idea of being so close to a man who haunted her dreams – she’d only met his twice, it was truly ridiculous – was not an attractive one.
Or rather, itwasattractive, but as there would be no happy ending or resolution, Rosaline was going to have to think of it as some sort of torture.
The boundaries she was about to set down would save her life.
“Very wise, Miss Wyre. Might I offer my own rules first?”
“Certainly.”
“Good. You are to tell no one of this, not even your precious Miss Atwood. You are to appear fully in love with me at all times. I have no objection to your leveraging my perceived interest into a more lucrative offer, but I expect to be kept abreast of your plans. By that, I mean that you had better not announce that you’re engaged to some earl or other after only a few weeks, do you understand?”
“That seems fair to me.”
“We’ll decide on our plans for each event, discussing how many dances to do and what visits to make. You’re to attend unless you have a very good excuse. An example of a good excuse is that you have suddenly contracted pneumonia or have been kidnapped by pirates. Do you understand?”
Rosaline hid a smile. “You mean I’m to attend unless I’m practically dying. Yes, I understand.”
“Excellent.” The Duke fell silent, studying her closely. “Now, shall we hear your rules, Miss Wyre?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Well, I was going to say that nobody must know, but you’ve already covered that nicely. I don’t think either of us would benefit from being exposed now.”
“No,” the Duke observed. “Certainly not. Go on.”
Rosaline steeled herself. “I’m sure you had already thought of this and decided against it, but it’s safer to be sure. There is to be no touching or kissing, or anything of that sort. Except for you escorting me about, and dances and such. Of course, it’s not proper for unmarried persons to kiss, but as you kissed me in the park earlier, I can assume that you don’t particularly about that sort of propriety.”
The Duke’s eyebrow quirked up again. “You are correct. I find those rules restrictive and quite unnecessary. I might add that they’re broken a lot more frequently than you might think.”
Rosaline pressed her lips together. “I’ve no doubt, butIdon’t intend to break them.”
He chuckled. “Very well, very well, I agree. You look so very prim and proper, as if you’re terrified that I might try something inappropriate right now. You needn’t fret, Miss Wyre. Just because you have a very pretty mouth doesn’t mean I shall want to kiss it.”
Rosaline narrowed her eyes. Why on earth was he so scornful and amused, whenhewas the one who’d kissed her? He’d thought that she was Miss Atwood, but really, he didn’t know Miss Atwood any better than he knew Miss Wyre. He’d met her twice, and on their second meeting hustled her away to a private corner of the park.
“Ah, I see.” Rosaline said, without thinking. “So youdofind my mouth pretty.”
The Duke stared at her, the smile dropping from his lips. A slow but undeniable red flush began to spread across his cheeks.
He leaned closer, almost without thinking of it. Well, now hewaslooking at Rosaline’s mouth, she was sure of it. She had such plump lips, red from where she habitually chewed her bottom lip. They were just begging to be kissed, and Rosaline was shocked at the way that phrase leapt into her mind. She ought not to be thinking of such things. It wasn’t proper. His gaze trailed from her lip to her long, elegant neck, pale and smooth. Rosaline imagined him gently nipping with his teeth at the side of that perfect neck, leaving the faintest red marks, and then kissing and soothing them.
His gaze dropped lower, to the curve of her bosom. She wore a very modest dress, with no hint of cleavage, but the Duke’s eyes were clearly, shockingly dwelling on the swell of her breasts beneath her dress.
What would his hands – large and strong – feel like on her bare flesh?
