Page 19 of Almost A Scoundrel

“I kissed you,” he reminded her and almost wished he hadn’t. The memory always left him wanting more. But he had to dissuade the woman of this madcap idea.

“A momentary lapse in judgment, I’m sure.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

Her mouth formed a smallO, and Deerhurst delivered his most crooked smile. He leaned forward. “How about now, Lady Phaedra? Do you still find me knightly?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Perhaps knight is not the right word.”

“I certainly don’t feel like a knight this very moment.”

“I think you are trying to get a rise from me, Deerhurst. It won’t work.”

He sat back, and for a moment the only sound was the carriage rattling as it drove through the busy streets of London.

“A fake courtship is a terrible idea,” Deerhurst finally said. His Lawson ancestors would roll in their graves if they heard this.

“I believe it’s a fabulous one.”

“For you, not me.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement of some sort, no?”

“That depends. Are you sure you wish to enter a fake courtship? Because make no mistake, it will be fake.”

And utterly reckless.

He should say no. He should return her to the safety of her home and wash his hands of her. That would be the best course of action. Deerhurst did none of those things. A refusal would no more pass his lips than his feet had been able to stop the night he found her in his garden.

“I am not looking for a husband, Deerhurst. I am looking for a respite.”

“You believe a few dances will deter your string of suitors?”

“Will it not?”

No.

He thought of Avondale and the list. Avondale, for all his faults, found the idea of marrying for blunt abhorrent. It was the list, or rather the wagers, that presented the biggest problem. Besides the fact that money was a deuced strong motivator, once a wager was written in the betting book it couldn’t beunwritten. The wager would stand until a decided outcome. So long as Lady Phaedra refused to marry, those wagers would be open. A fake courtship might aid her in the short term but not the long.

And yet, Deerhurst had appointed himself as her protector.

But courtship?

It won’t be a real courtship.

“All I want is a short respite,” she reminded. “In fact, we do not even have to label it.” She tapped her finger against her chin in consideration. “It shall merely be a series of small actions that may or may not lead people to believe there is an attachment where there is none.”

“That is the exact definition of a fake courtship,” Deerhurst said, but his heartbeat settled into a semi-steady pace.

“Do not be such a stick-in-the-mud, Deerhurst. Say you will help me. I shall be forever in your debt.”

Oh yes, it would be fine to have her in his bed.

Confound it.

Debt.Not bed.

This was a bad idea. He was going to help her anyway. And of course, the idea also held a measure of merit. Itwouldpresent the opportunity to steal a kiss again.