Chapter 10

A fter dancing with Jo, Sheff had been stopped by a number of people wishing him well and asking him, now that he was betrothed, when he would assume his duty and take a seat in the House of Commons until he inherited the dukedom and moved into the House of Lords. It wasn't as if that was his duty, just something that some people expected of him.

Sheff began to think Jo's suggestion that he run away and hide wasn't a bad idea. He could remove to the Grove near Weston for the entire summer. Or to his father's remote hunting lodge in Scotland. Either would do nicely.

Since he couldn't dash off immediately, he would have to settle for a few moments alone. The press of people and the lie of his betrothal were weighing on him.

He hated that Jo was uncomfortable, that his mother was causing her undue stress. And what was he to do? His future wife shouldn't be working at a gaming club. But Jo wasn't really his future wife.

Disgruntled and in need of a glass of something stronger than ratafia, he went downstairs to his father's study. The instant he opened the door, he knew something was amiss.

The air reeked of perfume—roses and neroli, a cloying scent. He didn't see anyone, but that didn't mean they weren't hiding. Had he stumbled into an assignation? How embarrassing. For everyone involved.

Still, he wasn't going to yield the room. He needed that bloody drink and a respite.

Closing the door, Sheff walked toward the liquor cabinet. His gaze swept the space, and he froze when he saw a familiar body lying across the settee, one leg dangling on the floor, his fall open so that far too much of his flesh was exposed.

"Dammit," Sheff breathed, his irritation blooming into full-blown anger. "You can't even behave yourself at your son's bloody betrothal ball ?" He didn't yell, but he wasn't quiet either. His emphasis on the last words provoked his father to both open his eyes and slide from the settee onto the floor.

"What's that?" the duke slurred.

How was he this intoxicated already? "Did your paramour leave?" Sheff asked in disgust.

"I think so. You know me, I am so relaxed after a good shag that I can barely keep my eyes open." He smiled drunkenly.

"It helps that you are three sheets to the wind."

"Suppose it does." He glanced down. "Blimey, didn't even fasten myself up." He fumbled at trying to button his fall, but Sheff wasn't going to help him. The duke wasn't that far gone tonight. Still, he would need help up to his chamber.

Sheff stepped out and found a footman, whom he tasked with fetching his father's valet. Returning to the study, Sheff saw the duke was attempting to pour himself a glass of port. However, the dark wine missed the glass entirely and pooled on the tray.

"You don't need more wine." Sheff took the decanter from him and set it down before steering his father away from the liquor.

"Always room for more wine," the duke said, pouting slightly.

"Jackson will be here shortly and will take you upstairs."

The duke wrinkled his nose as he attempted to focus on Sheff. "Back to the ball?"

Sheff's shoulder twitched. "God, no. He'll put you to bed. You aren't fit for my betrothal ball."

"Hardly spent time there anyway. Your mother prefers it that way." He swayed a bit, then straightened. "Rather go to my club. Have the coach brought around."

"Definitely not." Sheff shook his head. Sometimes, he wasn't sure which version of his father was worse—the incapacitated one he had to wrestle home and into bed or this one, who would argue and be difficult.

"You can't order me about, my boy." The duke started toward the door but stumbled. Sheff raced forward just as the door opened. The valet, Jackson, caught Sheff's father before he fell. The footman entered behind him and moved quickly to the duke's other side.

"Careful there, Your Grace," Jackson, a man of nearly forty who surely needed greater compensation for what he endured in taking care of the duke, said. "Let's get you up to bed."

Sheff wondered if he should have let his father have the additional glass of wine. He might be unconscious by now, and then they could just carry him up.

But no, Sheff would never give him more drink. "Jackson, I think you and the footman will need to watch over the duke to make sure he stays abed. I doubt he will try to join the ball, but he just asked for the coach."

"Of course, my lord," Jackson replied. "We'll make certain he rests."

"He's already had enough excitement for one evening." Sheff scrubbed his hand down the side of his face.

Jackson nodded, and he and the footman guided the duke from the study. They left the door ajar, but Sheff didn't care. He ought to return to the ball, except he'd come here seeking a moment's peace—and perhaps a glass of brandy—which he now needed more than ever.

Turning toward the liquor cabinet, he frowned at the mess his father had made. He reached for the brandy, then startled when he heard his name.

"Sheff?"

He knew that sultry, feminine voice. Setting the decanter down, he pivoted to face Jo. Though he'd seen her already tonight, she still took his breath away in her stunning new gown. The blue was ravishing on her. Had she chosen it to match the betrothal ring? His gaze moved to where it flashed on her finger.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked.

"I was next door having a respite—Ellis took me there. I was going to return to the ball when I saw two men helping your father toward what I assume were the back stairs." Her expression was full of sympathy, her gaze warm and just what he needed at this moment.

"Yes, I found him in here in a…state. Suffice it to say, he is not fit to return to the ball."

Jo came toward him, her skirts making a faint rustling sound as they moved about her ankles. "Were you going to have a drink?"

"Brandy. Like you, I was seeking some quiet."

"Only you found the opposite. I'm sorry this is a recurring problem for you."

He turned and picked up the decanter once more. "Do you want a glass?"

"Why not?"

Sheff poured brandy into two glasses and handed her one. Their hands touched, but since they wore gloves, it lacked the intimacy that he wanted from her.

Yes, he wanted that.

From her.

His body had begun to stir the moment he saw her. Now that she was close and they were alone, it was all he could do to keep from becoming fully aroused. He could not let that happen.

Jo went to sit on the settee. She sipped the brandy, and Sheff tried not to stare at her lips pressing against the glass.

Sheff joined her, careful not to sit too close. He probably ought to have taken a chair so as to avoid temptation, but apparently, he enjoyed the sweet torture of her proximity.

"I want to apologize for my mother," he said. "I didn't think she would be this disagreeable." He should have, though. He'd chosen a faux bride who would upset his parents and, in doing so, had subjected Jo to their chaotic natures. It had somehow taken this situation for Sheff to realize just how aggravating his parents were.

Jo surprised him by laughing. "I think your mother is very set in her expectations, and I do not meet them in any way. She is not going to be pleased when I don't stop working at the Siren's Call. And she'll know. Do you know how many gentlemen coming through the receiving line were familiar to me from the club?"

"A great many from what I could hear." He sipped his brandy and set his glass on a table behind the settee as he angled himself toward her, resting his arm on the back of the settee. "I don't want you to stop working at the club. That was not part of our agreement. My mother will have to learn to accept your employment."

"Except I couldn't continue to work there after we are wed—not that we are actually doing that. I just think you should have a story for your mother since one of your goals is to make her happy."

He blinked at her. "You think that's what I want? My goal was for her to leave me alone."

"It's become apparent to me that your mother is not happy, and I don't think it has much to do with your lack of marriage." She took a drink of brandy. "But I could be wrong. I don't know her very well—or you, really—and I am merely making observations."

Sheff considered what she said. "You aren't wrong at all. Do you know why she's not happy?"

"I would guess it's to do with your father. I can imagine it's difficult living with someone who is unfaithful and constantly does things that are both humiliating and devastating. She's also had to live with his illegitimate offspring, although I had a very interesting conversation with Ellis, and she insists she is not his child."

"You asked her?" Sheff hadn't wanted to upset Ellis. On the contrary, he cared for her like a sister.

"I did not. We were talking, and she offered the information. Perhaps I should not have shared it with you."

"It's likely that she doesn't want to think of herself as his daughter—illegitimate or otherwise—and I can't blame her. Often, I wish he were not my sire." Sheff gripped the back of the settee as a wave of anger passed through him. If he'd had a different father, perhaps he would not be the way he was.

Jo touched his thigh. It was just a light brush of her gloved fingertips, but the rush of desire that assaulted him was devastatingly thorough. "You seem upset. I hope you aren't with me."

He met her gaze. "Absolutely not. You are a very bright spot. It's just…my father. I look at him, and I see what I could become." His voice nearly broke, and he looked away from her.

She scooted closer to him, her body turning toward his. "Why would you think you would be like him? I don't see that."

"Not now, but what's to say I wouldn't, particularly after I'm shackled to a wife?"

"Is that what you think will happen? That you're destined to be like him?"

"I am already enough like him." He couldn't change who he was.

"I've never seen you drink to excess, even when you're with other gentlemen at the Siren's Call to whom we refuse to keep serving liquor." Her gaze was fierce. "So, it's not that. Tell me how you think you're like him. Is it the women? I know you've continued to visit the Rogue's Den since pretending to ask me to be your wife."

She knew? "I've tried to be discreet."

"The owner of the Rogue's Den is a friend of my mother's."

Sheff hadn't known that, but neither did he find it surprising. Both women were highly intelligent, accomplished business owners. "You're not upset with me, are you?"

What an asinine question. Of course she wasn't. Just because he felt a strong attraction to her didn't mean she felt the same. And even if she did, they'd made no agreement about satisfying their physical needs—other than it wouldn't be with each other.

"No," she said firmly. "But perhaps you should take my mother's advice and try celibacy for the duration of this scheme. Then you can prove to yourself that you aren't your father. It will also lend credibility to this betrothal."

"The truth is that I have been celibate," he said quietly. He held her gaze. "I have visited the Rogue's Den this past week. Several times, in fact. But all I did was have a drink and chat with one of the ladies. Then I went home."

Her brow creased. "Why?"

"I don't really know. I just wasn't…in the mood." Because when he thought of giving and receiving pleasure in the past week, only one woman had entered his mind: Jo.

"See, you aren't like your father," she said, completely unaware of the lurid thoughts that were currently running through his brain.

"I am ." His hand curled around the edge of the settee again, his fingertips digging into the ornamental wood trim. "If you only knew the inappropriate things I think about."

Her gaze flicked to his groin. "You seem to be in the mood at the moment."

He'd suspected she wasn't an innocent, and perhaps he found that particularly enticing. But to have her notice his arousal was unexpected. It escalated his desire. "That's because the inappropriate things I think about are all to do with you."

The high mounds of her breasts pressed against the edge of her bodice and moved swiftly as her breathing grew more rapid. "We have an agreement."

"To not touch one another. You didn't say I had to lie about wanting to touch you."

" Is that what you want?" she whispered.

He watched her chest rise and fall and her throat move as her pulse fluttered. She was also aroused. He knew what that looked like in a woman.

Sheff moved his hand down the back of the settee until his fingertips, encased in horrid gloves, nearly grazed her shoulder. "Yes. I want to kiss you again, but for longer and far more deeply. I want to feel your tongue against mine. I want to stroke your cheek, your neck, your breast. I want to put my mouth on you in forbidden places and make you moan until you cry out with your release. And then I want to do it all again."

Saying all that wasn't doing anything to diminish his desire. On the contrary, it was making him desperate with need. And he would not be satisfied. Not this night, and not ever with her.

"I'm afraid I must add a new rule to our agreement." Her voice was higher than normal, her tone breathless. "You can't say such things to me."

"What things are those? I need you to be specific."

"You can't speak to me of your desires. You can't explicitly say what you want to do. To me."

He leaned toward her and inhaled her intoxicating scent. "Why not?" When she did not immediately answer, he slid his gaze down over her heaving chest and to where her hand clutched her skirt, dimpling the fabric. "Because it arouses you?"

She stood abruptly, and Sheff clutched at the settee lest he follow her. "This conversation has veered from its course," she said, keeping her back to him as she poured the rest of her brandy down her throat.

Sheff didn't dare stand, not with his cock straining against his fall. He forced himself to think of what they'd been discussing, to abandon his hopelessly prurient thoughts. "I will continue my celibacy for the duration of the scheme."

She spun around to face him. "You will?"

"You made a good argument." He blew out a breath. "Perhaps I can prove I am not like my father. It's just…you also mentioned that I want to make my mother happy—and I do. However, the only way I can truly do that is to marry."

"To marry for someone else's happiness other than your own—and your bride's—wouldn't be right."

"No. Only look at my parents. I don't believe they were ever in love, though my father claims he was. Whether that is true or not, he wasn't able to remain faithful to my mother, to uphold the covenant of marriage."

Her expression was sympathetic. "Many men—and women—don't."

"While that is true, I have seen firsthand what it has done to both of them. I won't put my wife through that, nor do I want to endure it myself. I think some people aren't meant to marry."

"That you would be so thoughtful about it says to me that you may, in fact, be the opposite of your father." Her features softened. Her breathing had returned to normal. "Try celibacy. Try not thinking you are like your father. Try finding what will make you happy."

Sheff's body had begun to settle—enough that he stood. "You are incredibly wise. How is that?"

She shrugged. "It's easier to give advice than to follow it."

He laughed. "What advice aren't you following?"

"I don't know. Probably what I just said to you."

"Are you going to look for happiness too?"

"I have to think about some things," she said slowly. "My mother wants me to take over the club, which I've always known. But she seems to be accelerating that plan, and I'm not ready. I'm not sure I will ever be."

He saw apprehension in her gaze and noted that she fidgeted with her fingers. "You don't want to run the club?"

"I'm not sure. But now, thanks to you and your payment for my services as your fake betrothed, I have the freedom to do what I want. I just need to determine what that is."

"It sounds as though we both have work to do." He picked up his brandy and finished it, then moved to take her empty glass. After depositing them on the tray, he faced her.

She was watching him intently. "Are you certain you still want this agreement? We could call a halt at any time."

"I know. But I think I may take another piece of your advice and just leave London." Not just to avoid his parents, but to remove himself from temptation. It was becoming difficult to be with Jo and not pursue a deeper connection.

"Will you go to Scotland?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I need to be in Weston in August, so I may just go there. Or perhaps I'll travel to Wales first. It's not as far as Scotland, and the Prices have a beautiful estate there."

"That sounds like an excellent plan. When will you leave?"

"Not immediately. That will look strange. My departure would raise questions. I think we must endure everyone's focus for a bit." He knew they should return to the ball, but he was enjoying this time alone with her. "Will you permit me a personal question?"

Her brows climbed. "That depends. How personal?"

"You noted my arousal earlier, so I am curious about your experience. Are you a virgin?"

Her lips quirked. "No. Though I could be and still be knowledgeable about a man's arousal. In fact, my mother taught me at a young age what I could expect from men. I am grateful for her tutelage, for it has saved me from a great many awkward situations—and worse."

"I can imagine. And I'm glad." Sheff didn't like to think of her having to defend herself from unwanted attention, but he knew she could. He'd seen it firsthand when she'd elbowed his father at the Siren's Call.

"I'm glad to hear you aren't a virgin. I confess I worried that as a spinster, you would miss out."

She stepped toward him, her hips swaying in a most distracting way. But then she could just stand there and say and do nothing, and he would be distracted by her. "You think I'm a spinster?"

"I meant no offense. You are twenty-five and unwed, are you not?"

"Twenty-six, actually, as my birthday was at the end of April. I am unmarried by choice. Surely you must realize that spinsters have a certain freedom. Without everyone watching us, we can do things nonspinsters cannot. Indeed, I could recline on that settee and invite you to do all the things you mentioned earlier."

Sheff groaned. "You're breaking your own rule."

"I am not being explicit. But perhaps you're right. I was merely trying to make a point: that spinsters are to be celebrated, not disparaged."

At that moment, Sheff wanted nothing more than to celebrate her in every way imaginable.

"My lord?"

They both turned to see a footman—the same one who'd helped Jackson guide the duke upstairs—in the doorway.

"Yes?" Sheff croaked.

"His Grace is sleeping. Jackson is with him and will remain so for the duration of the ball."

"Thank you." Sheff watched the footman leave.

"We should return to the ballroom," Jo said. "We've been gone an awfully long time. And we should not enter together, else tongues will be wagging."

Sheff wanted to wag his tongue, but it had nothing to do with gossip and everything to do with bringing Jo to orgasm. Alas, that was not to be. "You go on ahead." He needed a moment to let his body cool, for he'd become overheated again.

Her gaze flicked to his cock once more, indicating she'd noticed it too. "You seem to need a few minutes to recover. My apologies. I should not have provoked you. Now that I know of your…desire, I shall not contribute to it."

He was afraid she did that by merely breathing. "I should not have provoked you either. Don't pretend you are not immune."

She held his gaze a moment, then left the study in a flurry of blue silk.

Sheff exhaled. How he longed for a cooling bath. But he needed to return to the ball. Where he would need to spend more time with Jo.

He would resist temptation, but it would be torturous, especially now that he knew she was attracted to him too. Was there any way their betrothal could not be fake? Could he be different from his father? Different from how he'd always imagined himself to be?

Even if he was, Jo would never consider him. Nor should she. She'd perfectly laid out the benefits of spinsterhood. He had a duty, and she had freedom.

Perhaps that was what he wanted: the freedom to be who he wanted to be, to live the life he chose. He only needed to determine what those things were.