Page 11 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)

Briar didn’t say a word, but he could feel her shallow tremors and the ragged dissonance of her breaths. He dipped his chin to rest on the soft spirals over her crown, inhaling her alluring jasmine scent just as a ragged half sob ripped from her.

“Tell me what’s really wrong,” he said.

He didn’t think she was going to answer, but then her entire body seemed to slump.

“Did you see the newssheets?” she whispered.

“The viscount’s engagement to Lady Penelope?

” Glossy green eyes lifted to his, and he resisted the urge to stroke her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she added. “I know you had been courting her and intended to wed. You must be disappointed.”

“I don’t care about me. I care about you.” Jasper tightened his arms and pressed his mouth in a ghost of a kiss to the soft skin of her forehead. “I assume from your reaction that he cried off. He’s an idiot. What happened?”

“He caught me distributing pamphlets for the Society for Women’s Suffrage the other morning, and well, he’s against all of that,” Briar said, shoulders heaving.

“He thinks it’s blasphemous. That men and women were created to be in our separate positions.

Man in a position of dominance, and woman in one of subservience. ”

Jasper wanted to roll his eyes. No surprise there.

The viscount was a sanctimonious git whose dogmatic opinions were stuck in the Middle Ages.

But like many other men, he didn’t see women as people; he saw them as property.

How someone as intelligent as Briar hadn’t foreseen this was a shock to him, but that was neither here nor there.

She needed comfort, not condemnation. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“And he…saw us dancing at the ball,” she said softly. She lifted tremulous, tear-filled eyes to his, and he nudged a curl out of her brow. “He was furious.”

“Was he? From a dance?”

“Yes.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth for an interminable moment, and her eyelashes fluttered before she suddenly went rigid as though belatedly realizing what she was doing. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

“Stay, Briar,” he whispered, keeping his hold tight when she made to pull away.

Whether or not she would admit it, she needed comfort.

Both from what had happened with that varlet and the humiliation of such a public announcement that had been meant to hurt.

Briar was right—she wasn’t usually like this, but even the thickest of walls could be fractured with the right force.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Let me go, Lushing.”

“No.”

“You’re being bloody annoying.”

“You love me when I’m annoying,” he said into the soft mass of her hair, the band of his arms unrelenting.

She glared up at him, but there was little heat in it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the tension seemed to seep further from her body as her muscles relaxed infinitesimally into his.

After another beat, her eyes fluttered closed and she turned her cheek into his chest with a near inaudible sigh.

Jasper suppressed his satisfaction. She didn’t often let him hold her or perform any displays of outward affection, so he would take the wins where he could get them.

He’d hold her forever if he had to.

Minutes or an eternity later, she stirred, and this time Jasper released her.

“Thank you,” she whispered stiffly. “I apologize. I did not expect to be so overcome.”

“No need. It was no hardship on my part,” he said with a smile, watching as she dabbed at her face and smoothed her hair back into place. “About the engagement…”

In an instant, the ease fled from her body as her spine snapped straight, ready for battle. A sparking, furious green gaze slammed into his, and Jasper lifted his hands in instant surrender.

“Before you skewer me, Sweetbriar, I have a proposition that might get us both what we want.”

“A pretense?” Briar frowned, staring at him in shock. “Of a fake courtship?”

“Yes,” the earl said bluntly. “Do you want Sackley back?”

Briar blinked out of the semi-stupor, her brain wavering with indecision before she sighed with a nod. “Well, there’s the matter of the dowry of the Bath estate and the eventual combination of the land.”

She knew it was an evasive answer, and Lushing, for all his devil-may-care ways, was not a stupid man.

It was one thing that others underestimated about him.

They saw a lighthearted rogue who had a laissez-faire attitude about life and deemed him no one to take seriously.

But Lushing had a brain that rivaled the genius of renowned scholars.

His memory was unmatched. He retained everything…

every little detail, and while such a talent could be infuriating at times, especially when he reminded her of things she’d said years ago, Briar esteemed him for it.

“Then what do you have to lose?” he asked.

What did she have to lose?

Her brows converged. She was still trying to collect herself after being held by the warmest, most muscled pair of arms she’d ever felt and how unfairly divine it had been to be surrounded by all that steady, fortifying strength.

The rich woodsy scent of him still lingered in her nose.

His embrace had felt like serenity…like nothing could ever harm her while she was there.

She’d shamelessly indulged in it, though every decadent second had made her question her own lack of good sense.

He was not hers .

Though to his earlier point, neither of them was anyone’s.

They’d both been jilted for other people.

Truth be told, she hadn’t properly processed what had happened or how quickly Preston had moved on to greener and clearly much less vulgar pastures.

Briar swallowed her bitterness. Lady Penelope would never last on the filthy streets of Seven Dials, much less set a foot beyond the pristine cobblestones of Mayfair to help someone in need.

And yet, she was the preference…the very soul of propriety and decorum. The bloody diamond of the season.

It was the principle of it, really. The public message the viscount’s rejection sent—that something was wrong with Briar .

Dear God, her parents, who’d been so pleased about the engagement, must be horrified.

Briar couldn’t begin to imagine the shame and embarrassment her poor mother would feel at the news and the gossip that would undoubtedly be spreading faster than wildfire.

The fact that her own daughter wasn’t enough…

No . Those pejorative feelings weren’t useful. She needed to think. Briar inhaled a deep, bracing breath, her resentment lessening as she considered Lushing’s proposition. She could salvage this. She would —all her plans depended on it.

She’d make Preston see that she was the better choice. The only choice.

Somehow .

Admittedly, it was hard to be optimistic when both men, the earl opposite her and her former fiancé, coveted the same woman. Lushing had been courting her, and Preston had proposed to her.

But the outrageous idea had merit.

Lushing was heir to a duke, which meant he was desirable and eligible.

He outranked Preston, and that would needle the viscount to no end, if played correctly.

He might be pious, but he was also prideful.

It was obvious from all the poisonous jabs he made at the ton …

her friends and the Earl of Lushing, in particular.

And men, even sanctimonious ones, thrived on competition.

Briar gnawed her lip. This…might just work.

As if he could sense her near capitulation to the outlandish but brilliant idea, the earl strode to where she stood near the stuffed bookcase on the other side of his office.

“It’s a win-win for both of us,” he said.

“You get your fiancé and childhood home back, and I get the betrothal I worked so hard for all these weeks. We can help each other, Briar.”

Ignoring the extraordinarily pleasurable pulse she felt at the sound of her given name on his lips, she released a slow breath. Did he truly want Penelope back so badly? “Do you fancy Lady Penelope?” she blurted. “I mean, she doesn’t seem like…your usual”—she coughed delicately— “preference.”

The smirk that curled his lips was criminal, making heat dissipate into unmentionable parts of her. “My preference ?” he repeated in a voice like velvet. “Keeping tabs on me, Prickles?”

Goodness, why did her entire body feel like it was melting?

She jutted her chin. “How are you this insufferable? No, I do not, but you do seem to prefer ladies of the demimonde. Your last paramour was an opera singer, if I recall.” Not that she was cataloguing his love interests.

Briar felt her face warm with embarrassment, a fact she was sure he didn’t miss.

“Flamboyant and bold. Experienced. Not at all prim and proper, or anyone your father would approve of as a society wife.”

“Perhaps that’s the appeal then,” he replied smoothly. “I required a lady whom the duke would favor without much fuss, and I suppose Lady Penelope fits the bill nicely. She’s the perfect lady in the ton’s eyes. She is the season’s diamond, after all.”

Briar nodded, a lump of something bitter growing in her throat.

Nothing like her , clearly. Preston’s harsh words came back to haunt her, and she viciously buried those feelings of insufficiency.

At least Briar had a brain. She knew she was being petty, but she didn’t care.

Luckily, a person’s thoughts were private.

She was a lady, and despite her unconventional extracurricular activities, she was of the same rank as Lady Penelope. They were both daughters of peers.

“Very well,” she said. “What do you propose? We pretend to be affianced?”

The earl tapped his chin. “Courting should suffice for now. An engagement means involving your parents out of respect. I will take every opportunity to flaunt the point that a discerning lady of your elevated station is positively unaffected by the shocking and gauche betrothal news in the viscount’s face, and that I was quick to snatch up the true prize he so stupidly let go of.

Let’s make him think he has lost something of immeasurable value. ”

“Which he has, obviously ,” she said with burgeoning bravado.

Eyes sparkling, he sent her a sidelong glance. “That’s the spirit.”

Briar reached for resolve. “In turn, I shall vociferously celebrate the fact that I am relieved to be courted by a handsome, debonair earl versus a mere viscount. The ton will relish the shallowness of such a sentiment.”

“A very rich earl who is the heir to a solvent, thriving dukedom,” Lushing added and then grinned, those deep blue eyes glinting with mischief as he threw a theatrical hand to his heart. “Handsome and debonair? Why, Sweetbriar, you might be obsessed with me…”

And there he was, Narcissus in the flesh.

Briar huffed and rolled her eyes. “It is a ruse, Lushing. By definition, a lie . I shall have to work extra hard to get past your dreadful personality and your bloated ego. Obsession is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Flexing his chest—his very hard, muscular chest that she could still feel the warmth of against her cheek—the scoundrel winked. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“When do we start this farce?”

He looked entirely too pleased. “Tomorrow night. The opera. Let’s give the ton a spectacle they’ve never seen.”

She had to admit, his zeal was contagious. If they could pull this off, it would be the accomplishment of the season. “Why? Who are we making jealous?”

“Everyone, Sweetbriar. Everyone.”