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She was still crying, her head in her hands, seated on a bench.
He took one more step on the crunching gravel so she knew he was there, and opened his mouth to—
“Oh Duke,” she said between heaves. “Did you see his face?”
Two things hit him at once. She thought her brother had followed her out here. And that was not the sound of crying, it was laughing. Another giggle rippled from her, then eased into silence.
“Why can’t I be twenty-one already and on my way to see the world? I’m tired of the effort of avoiding marriage,” she said, soberly now.
He definitely ought not to be hearing this, but he was entranced. Miss Bains was holding out against marriage so she could travel. There was nothing more enticing than beauty combined with ambition. Around them the insects hummed as they settled into the night, and far off an owl and his mate called to each other.
“I know you’re busy, Duke…” She eased up and rubbed her cheeks with her hands.
He ought to announce himself as not being her brother. A true gentleman would.
He was not a true gentleman.
“But could you find time to take me for a ride in the mornings? Just to get me away from Mother. Please, I—”
Their gazes met as she uncovered her face and she shrieked in surprise and jerked back, though he was six feet from her.
“Mr. Stanton!”
He could almost see her brain whirring like a system of cogs and pulleys in an automaton, calculating how much he’d heard and what she could do to mitigate the situation.
“I thought you were my brother. Please excuse the little charade I pretend—”
“I heard everything,” he said baldly, and saw her jaw tense.
“Mr. Stanton, I hope I can rely on your gentlemanly discretion,” she said with a sickly smile.
“No.” Hadn’t he just thought he wasn’t a gentleman?
She closed her eyes. “Please do not tell my mother. She will make my life a living hell. I am begging you.”
She really ought not to have said the word begging, because it brought all sorts of images to mind where she might beg him. Ideas of her holding his head between her legs and begging him for the last, harder lick that would bring her to orgasm. A reply to his question as he held just at her entrance, about to thrust into her warm, willing pussy. Her begging him to fill her up. He shook the thought away.
“You want to be free of the need for marriage?”
She hesitated, glancing around. But there was no one else to hear.
“Yes, of course,” she said impatiently. “Wouldn’t anyone? My mother’s meddling and insistence on absurd accomplishments would make anyone wish for freedom.”
There she was wrong. Most young ladies fell into line. But perhaps she was like him: a born traveler being forced to wed, settle down, and do what was expected.
“I have an idea. My parents want me to marry, and I too am reluctant. Debutantes keep being thrown at me so much it’s like I’m in the stocks but pelted with debutantes rather than rotten vegetables.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“We should get engaged. It would suit both our needs.” She wasn’t a dull Miss, and if she truly wanted freedom this would grant it to her. And if not, he’d have escaped the marriage mart and gained a more interesting wife than he could have hoped for.
“I’m not marrying you,” she said in a cold voice, totally different from the despairing but amused tone when she thought he was Duke, or the soft ingratiating tone of asking for his silence. “That’s the opposite of what I am trying to achieve. I want liberty, not to be tied and controlled by a husband who is after my inheritance.”
“Being tied up can be quite fun, with the right person,” he couldn’t help muttering. “And I do not need your money. I have plenty. But I didn’t mean marriage, but a temporary engagement.”
She looked him up and down and he could have sworn something like heat flared in her gaze. “Delusional.”
“It would benefit us both. I get an opportunity to consider my marriage options without being constantly speculated upon. You can have a break from your mother’s scheming. You mentioned turning one and twenty? When is your birthday?”
