Page 11 of Season of the Scoundrel (The Bridewell Sisters #3)

R oss had never had occasion to dress for the prospect of offering for a lady’s hand in marriage, but he thought his best suit might be in order.

When he said as much to his valet, Leggett couldn’t entirely conceal his surprise at being called on to prepare Ross for yet another social engagement so soon, and this one on a Sunday.

Last night, Edgerton had looked thunderous, but he’d said very little. Only that Ross would be expected at Edgerton House in the morning.

In truth, Ross had not expected such a charged and swift reaction from Edgerton.

He understand the need for propriety and to conduct oneself honorably, but Ivy Bridewell was an independent sort of lady. She went into the city without a chaperone. She was pursuing a profession rather than marriage. She was bold in all her dealings, Ross imagined.

He understood that Edgerton might worry for her reputation and thereby the family’s, but Ivy had been gone from the gathering but ten minutes at most, and he’d been gone even less time. Of course, he also understood that gossips didn’t necessarily care about facts or truth.

Though they may not be able control the whispers, Ross believed they could agree on a solution to the dilemma.

Over the course of a sleepless night, an idea had begun to form in Ross’s mind.

Though now, in the bright light of morning, he wasn’t certain whether the idea was a clever one, or simply one he craved because of his growing attraction to Ivy.

Ross didn’t know the lady well, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty. She would not bow to anyone’s insistence that she marry a man she did not wish to.

While he told himself there was something between them—something she felt too—he couldn’t imagine she would wish to be his wife. In fact, if he were a betting man, he would put good money on the fact that she did not wish to be married at all, let alone take on the duties of a duchess.

Ivy Bridewell made her professional ambitions clear, and she had the talent to succeed. Considering the wealth Edgerton had built for his family, she didn’t have to marry at all, if she didn’t wish to.

When his carriage pulled to a stop in front of Edgerton House, Ross checked the knot of his neckcloth, then tugged down his cuffs.

The situation was extraordinary—he’d hardly looked at a woman in months, let alone debauched one he admired for her boldness and respected for her desire to see justice done.

But it seemed Edgerton perceived him as having wronged his sister-in-law, and Ross was determined to make things right.

The family’s butler admitted him and led Ross to a drawing room. Would Edgerton still be angry or had a night’s sleep allowed for some equanimity? In truth, he didn’t wish to speak to Edgerton at all. He needed to talk with Ivy.

As if in answer to his thought, Ivy burst into the room, looking as anxious as he felt.

“I insisted on speaking to you first,” she said.

A blonde young woman in a starched black and white uniform followed her into the room.

“Please close the door, Nell,” Ivy said to the maid over her shoulder. “They insisted I have a chaperone. Nell was good enough to agree.”

The maid closed the door as Ivy requested, then settled on straight-back chair against the wainscoting.

“I won’t marry you,” Ivy said in a clear, strong voice.

Ross gave a slow nod. Though he fully expected her vehemence, at hearing the words he felt an odd sense of disappointment.

“Of course,” he finally said. “You will not be forced to do anything you do not wish to.”

”Thank God you agree.” She let out a visible gust of relief, but her eyes were still wide and she twisted her hands together nervously. He hated that anything they’d done should cause her such distress.

“This is madness,” she said as she began to pace the rug they stood on. “I know that we both left the room at nearly the same time, and I know what people are saying. But you and I both know nothing happened.” She glanced at him, as if to acknowledge that something had happened .

The kiss had been chaste. It had taken every scrap of self-control Ross possessed to allow it to be chaste and nothing more, but he’d done it.

“The story I told Lily is that I went into the garden. No one can prove that I wasn’t there.”

“Unless that couple recognized you when they poked their heads into the study,” Ross reminded her. “I have no reason to think they did,” he added, “but someone is feeding these rumors.”

“I know.” She laid a hand across her mouth a moment, then rested her palm against her throat. “We were mentioned in the scandal rags this morning.”

Ross frowned. “Already?”

“They’re very quick with new gossip. Do you never read them?”

He shook his head. “In what regard were we mentioned?”

Ivy shrugged. “The usual. Mention of a connection between us, of us being alone together, questioning whether an engagement will be forthcoming.”

“What should we do?” Ross asked because he genuinely wondered if her clever mind had devised a better plan than his.

“I won’t marry you,” she repeated with as much vehemence as the first time. “I won’t marry anyone. It’s not you.” Her voice softened and her gaze locked on his. “I just don’t want to be trapped in that way. Do you understand?”

“I do, but?—”

“Don’t.” She crossed the room and lifted her hand as if she’d touch him, but she didn’t. “Please don’t try to persuade me. I’m sure you’re very persuasive.” The last came out breathy, and Ross sensed again that she felt as provoked in his presence as he did in hers.

“Will you allow me to tell you my thoughts?” he asked. They were words he’d never had to speak in his life. People deferred to him. Indeed, he was expected to say something worth listening to.

Ivy crossed her arms but nodded.

“You wish to protect your reputation, I take it.”

“For my sisters, and for my future as a journalist, yes.”

“And I wish to keep scandal from the Blackbourne dukedom for the sake of my siblings too.”

“I didn’t realize you had any. How old are they?” Ivy asked.

“James is twenty and Eloise is fourteen and already looking forward to her Season. A terrifying prospect, I tell you. I need a duchess who?—”

“Blackbourne, I am not the woman to be your duchess.” She touched him then, a hand pressed against his chest to emphasize her words. “I promise you I would be a dreadful duchess.”

Ross felt a smile flickering at the edge of his mouth.

She would be an unconventional duchess, to be sure, but she wouldn’t be dreadful.

He suspected that, by her intrepid force of will, Ivy Bridewell could succeed at anything she put her mind to.

She’d use her status for good, of that he was certain.

“May I finish telling you my idea?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course,” she said, then, to his great disappointment, she lowered her hand. “Forgive me.”

“I need a duchess, but I do not have the time, nor the interest, to find and court one at the moment. Though my mother expects an announcement by the end of the year.”

Ivy scoffed. “That doesn’t give you much time.”

“No, it does not.” Ross drew in a breath before saying the rest. “There is a way we could ensure that the rumors stop and justify our time alone together. It could have benefits for both of us if we say that we are…betrothed.”

Ivy tipped her head as if assessing him. Or perhaps trying to decide whether he was in earnest or had completely lost his mind. Then her eyes flared wider.

“You mean a false betrothal?” she asked.

“Precisely.”

Ivy moved past him and began pacing again.

“Then it turns from potential scandal into anticipation for our upcoming nuptials,” she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself.

She came back around to stand in front of him.

“But my sister will start planning a wedding, and it sounds as if your mother might do the same.”

“There are a few options.” Ross had considered that too.

“We could confide the truth to those in our family whom we trust. My mother would not be among that number. She’s an avid gossip, I’m afraid.

She would reveal the ruse to someone within hours.

To those like her, we could insist on a long engagement and no planning until at least next year. ”

Ivy nodded, then tapped her chin with her forefinger. “And how do we get out of it?”

“You should initiate the break, and you could ascribe it to something benign. An incompatibility of temperament.”

She actually smiled at that. “No one would doubt that,” she said with an arch look his way.

Ross didn’t think they were as incompatible as she seemed to believe, but he wouldn’t argue that point now.

“You think we can end the false engagement without it becoming a scandal?”

“I do. If we handle the matter quietly, respectfully. Those that draw notice are the breaks that become bitter.”

She bit her lip and stared at the carpet, as if considering all the possibilities of such a plan. “Are you not concerned that having a young lady throw you over will damage your reputation?”

“No, I am the Duke of Blackbourne.” He arched one dark brow. “I am not concerned.”

A light chuckle rumbled from her throat. “Now that I think on it, neither am I. You’re wealthy and handsome and powerful. The debutantes and their mamas will bless me for setting you free.”

“You think me handsome, Miss Bridewell?”

“You know that you are.” She narrowed her eyes. “I assume you’ve passed a mirror once or twice in your life, Blackbourne.”

Turning her back on him, she paced the rug again.

“So,” she finally said, “if we agree to this, what will become of my article about the Porphyrion?”

“I would still print it in The Sentinel , but if you’re worried that people might say I printed it because you are my betrothed, I know several other editors?—”

“No,” she cut in. “I want you to publish it. Mr. Nolan was kind to me and gave me so many hours of his time on Friday.”

Relief washed through him. “Then we shall print it,” he told her with a smile.