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D eep down, Diana knew that suggesting that she and Harrington marry was a terrible idea.

But she wasn’t about to let such a trifling concern stop her.

She might not know this man nearly well enough to be contemplating holy matrimony.

But she did know this much about him—that he didn’t like her because she was the sister of a duke, or a distant cousin to kings.

He had not requested the pleasure of her company because of her enormous dowry, nor was he in awe of the perfectly coifed, bejeweled girl who twirled through the ballrooms of London.

In fact, all those things that served as enticements to most men, he seemed to regard as impediments to a potential union.

Just look at how he had clammed up when she mentioned the most tangential relation to the King of Denmark!

No, Harrington liked her when she was glistening not with diamonds, but with sweat.

Instead of fleeing in horror when she performed the horrifyingly unladylike act of entering a fencing tournament—and worse, besting all the men—he had proclaimed that he had never found her more attractive.

And he didn’t mind that she was clever and sharp-tongued; much to the contrary, he admired it! He was desirous of her opinion !

And the reason all of that mattered was because that was the real Diana.

She was so sick of the London Season and all of its fussy entertainments.

Of it taking two hours to get dressed every night.

Of being poked and prodded and polished every time she wanted to leave the house until she resembled a doll, rather than a living, breathing woman.

But if Harrington liked her with a sword in her hand, she would wager he’d like her just as much with a gun, traipsing across the moors, a pack of Aunt Griselda’s pointers at her heels, and her hem coated in six inches of mud.

She could, in fact, picture him there with her! He loved to shoot, after all.

And that wasn’t all—she could imagine waking up beside this man and eating breakfast together off a tray in bed, their heads bent together over the morning papers, plotting his next political move.

If he wanted to continue his career in the army, she could even go with him. Many officers’ wives followed the drum, after all.

In conclusion, she was almost certain that Harrington was the man she wanted to marry.

She also knew that he would never ask her. The notion that he wasn’t good enough for her had somehow become fixed in his mind, making him blind to the possibility that he was what she wanted.

She could not convince him with words. Her only recourse was to show him how good they could be together. What she needed was a convenient excuse for the two of them to marry.

And she wasn’t going to get a better excuse than this one.

She regarded Harrington steadily. As she had expected, he was gaping at her as if she had suggested he resign his commission in the army, purchase a trained monkey, and take up a career in street performance.

He blinked at her once… twice… three times, then shook his head. “I think I must’ve misheard.”

“We’ll have to marry,” she said again. “It’s the only way I can attend the house party with you—as husband and wife.”

“But marriage…” He gave a nervous laugh. “Isn’t that a bit… serious?”

She made her face very solemn. “It’s for king and country.”

“But you don’t want to marry me. I’m just”—he gestured to his torso—“cannon fodder.”

Diana seized his hand. “Don’t even joke about that,” she said, her voice soft but fervent. “You are so important to so many people.”

It felt nice to be holding his hand. He seemed to like it, too, because he threaded his fingers through hers. “To my family, I suppose.”

“Of a certainty. But they aren’t the only ones.”

“My soldiers,” Harrington said, his voice gruff. “The men of the 95 th Rifles.”

Diana leaned forward. “And?”

“And the ones I helped get pensions. By passing that act.”

“To be sure.” She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand. “But there’s someone else.”

His eyes looked hesitant, as if he were terrified to even speak the words. “Are you saying I’m important to you?”

Her pale blue eyes were steady on his. “Yes, Harrington. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

She seized a fistful of his coat just as his hand came up to trace the outline of her jaw. And her face tipped up as his lips strained toward hers, and?—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Harrington blinked, looking too dazed to pull back right away. Marcus grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. He staggered before managing to gain his balance, his eyes never leaving Diana.

Ah, well. They were off to a bad start, but it was never going to be easy convincing Marcus. She would just have to brazen it out. “You may be the first to congratulate us, brother. Lieutenant Astley and I are to marry.”

She had expected Marcus to explode. But instead, he looked… baffled. “I think I must have misheard.”

“That’s what I said!” Harrington exclaimed.

Marcus squinted at Harrington. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who proposed!”

Harrington held his hands up, palms out. “Not me. I would never presume.”

“Then…” Marcus’s gaze swung from Harrington to Diana. “Does that mean you did the asking?”

A fraught silence descended over the picnic blanket. Diana lifted her chin. “It would be more accurate to say that I informed him.”

Marcus’s expression turned smug because those were the precise words he had once used in admitting that he had informed Ceci they were going to marry, rather than asking her.

This degree of high-handedness was clearly an intrinsic failing particular to the Latimer siblings.

She had never let him live it down, and Diana knew he would return the favor.

But Marcus had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

“And why, dear sister, did you inform Lieutenant Astley that the two of you were going to wed?”

“Look, Trevissick.” Harrington dropped his voice low, eying the stream of guests making their way up the hill. “It’s not what you think. I have to ask you to keep this in the strictest confidence.”

He explained to her brother in hushed whispers about the house party and his assignment to find the letter from King Gustav.

Marcus’s scowl deepened. “Do you mean to tell me that you two don’t want to get married at all? That this is nothing more than a ruse to retrieve this letter?”

“Precisely!” Harrington cried in the same breath Diana said, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Harrington’s head jerked around. “ What ?”

Marcus was already speaking, so she merely shrugged.

“That is the most idiotic scheme I have ever heard!” he snapped. “I forbid you two to marry for such ridiculous?—”

“Who’s getting married?” Lucy asked brightly.

Marcus stiffened as he realized that the entirety of the party had trooped up the hill to get a better view of the unfolding scene. “No one!”

“Harrington and I,” Diana said casually, looping her arm through his.

“Oh!” Lucy clapped her hands, bouncing on her toes. “This is the best news! We’re going to be sisters !” She ran over and enveloped Diana in a hug.

“No!” Marcus snapped. “No wedding. Absolutely not!”

Aunt Griselda crossed her arms. “Who are you to tell Diana who she can or cannot marry?”

Marcus rounded on her. “Surely you don’t think Diana should marry him?”

“Have you seen him with a gun? He is a very good shot.” Aunt Griselda flicked her hand toward Harrington. “If she is bound and determined to marry a man, I don’t think she could do much better.”

Diana’s lip twitched. As far as Aunt Griselda was concerned, this was the highest possible praise.

“Well,” Marcus snarled, “your opinion is not relevant, nor is Diana’s. She is not yet twenty-five and therefore cannot marry without the permission of her legal guardian.”

Diana could see the triumph written on his handsome face.

But Aunt Griselda only laughed. “There is something you seem to have forgotten, nephew. You are not Diana’s legal guardian.” Her eyes were every bit as flinty as Marcus’s. “ I am.”