Chapter 3

A rriving at the Phoenix Club that night, Sheff went directly to the first-floor members' den to have a drink with his friends before going downstairs to the ball. He typically did so—attended a ball—with a sense of disgruntlement, but for the first time ever, he was actually looking forward to it. Because he had a plan that would ensure he could enjoy the rest of the Season without being pestered by his parents and without the specter of the Marriage Mart haunting him everywhere he went.

He hadn't been sure Jo would accept his offer. She'd been very hesitant—until he'd offered her five hundred pounds. He was going to suggest three hundred, but once he realized she wasn't leaping at the chance to help him, he'd elevated the offer. And it would be worth every shilling, even though it was only a temporary reprieve. By next Season, he'd likely be right back where he was, with his parents badgering him to take a wife.

Or not. A great deal could happen between now and then, such as his parents realizing and acknowledging that no amount of harassment would force him to take a wife. Indeed, their behavior had the opposite effect. Their demands had not once swayed him on the point of marriage. Rather, they'd driven him to be even more steadfast in his resolve to remain unwed.

He also had good reason to cling to bachelorhood. He would not subject a family to his nature, which was, unfortunately, too much like his father's. And Sheff feared it would only grow worse over time, as his father's behavior had done.

The rational part of Sheff's brain told him that he was not as bad as his father, for he at least possessed self-awareness. But what if that changed? What if Sheff was powerless to stop that or even see it? Sometimes, watching his father act, he rather thought the duke suffered from a disease. That even if he wanted to change his ways, he could not.

That scared Sheff more than anything.

"Evening, Shefford." The owner of the Phoenix Club, Lord Lucien Westbrook, stood near the entrance to the members' den. "Will you be joining the ball tonight?"

"I will, after a bit of fortification."

"A wise move considering the scheme the patronesses have planned," Lord Lucien said with a faint grimace.

The Phoenix Club had a group of lady patronesses, much like Almack's. However, the Phoenix Club patronesses weren't stuffy or judgmental. Indeed, one was the manager of the club, Lady Evangeline Blakemore, who'd been a courtesan in her former life.

"What's that?" Sheff asked.

"They are trying their hand at matchmaking by randomly pairing dancing partners. I did tell them I think it's a risk, but they assured me it would all be in good fun."

"Will you be participating?" Sheff asked.

"Heavens, no," Lord Lucien replied. "I am, happily, already matched." His eyes glinted with a joy one only saw in those who believed themselves to be in love.

Sheff recognized the look because a number of his friends had recently fallen. Time would reveal how long they remained that way. Sheff did not think it would be forever. Romantic love was fleeting at best.

"Since you have the ear of the patronesses, I would appreciate if they would pair me with Miss Josephine Harker." Sheff wanted to be sure he danced with her this evening.

Lord Lucien's dark brows shot up. "Have you set your sights on someone at last?"

Sheff wanted to deny it, to reiterate that he would never wed, but that was not the point of this endeavor. Everyone must think he'd finally succumbed—at least for now. At some point, he would have to do something to prompt Jo's rejection of him. Though it would be necessary, he realized the thought of that turned his stomach. He would not humiliate her. He couldn't. He could ruin himself without adversely affecting her.

"Jo is someone with whom I am able to be myself," Sheff said, shocked to find that was actually true. Mostly. He had to keep some things secret. Even she would be horrified to learn how roguish he really was, how like his father he could be.

"I like Jo—and her mother—a great deal," Lord Lucien said. "Don't let anyone deter you from what you want. Or whom you love," he added softly before moving on to a new topic. "Evie found a delicious whisky from the Highlands that just arrived today if you want to give it a try."

"I do, indeed." Sheff went into the members' den and immediately saw his friend the Marquess of Keele seated at a table on the side of the room. Joining him there, Sheff bid him good evening. "Is that the new whisky?" Sheff asked, inclining his head toward the glass of golden liquid in Keele's hand.

"It is. Can't imagine it will last long unless Lord Lucien is rationing it." Keele gestured toward the opposite chair with his free hand. "Sit and have a splash. I assume you're here for the ball."

"Why would you assume that?" Sheff asked. "I am no more interested in marriage than you are." Too late, he realized that was the wrong thing to say in light of his plan to propose marriage very soon. He couldn't forget the scheme he was launching or the role he was playing within it. He needed to be careful not to ruin this ruse before it even began.

"Because regardless of what you say, a small part of you still considers the possibility that you will wed. You have to—there's a dukedom at stake."

"Your marquessate is somehow less important?" Sheff noted wryly.

Keele chuckled. "It's still a mess, so yes. Leaving it to someone in this state would be cruel." He'd inherited a severely indebted estate along with his title several years ago and spent nearly every waking moment trying to repair the damage, even marrying a woman whose family was in trade—a very successful one—to fill the empty coffers. However, she'd died two years ago. Keele had just ventured out into Society in the last month or so.

A footman stopped at their table, and Sheff requested a glass of the whisky, though, glancing at the clock, he supposed he ought to be quick. He'd no idea when Jo would arrive, but probably soon if she hadn't already.

Sheff thought of what Keele had said, that a small part of him would consider marriage. Keele was wrong, but Sheff couldn't argue that point. Not on the verge of his scheme.

Keele sipped his whisky and closed his eyes in brief appreciation. "Still can't believe Somerton wed. Perhaps you'll be next, for matrimony seems to be spreading amongst your set." He smirked. "Like a disease."

Dammit, Keele wasn't wrong. Sheff had lost Bane, Wellesbourne, Droxford, and now Somerton. Keele and Price were all that were left, and Keele wasn't even really part of their set. Their set being the group of gentlemen who gathered in Weston every August for a week or so of masculine pursuits. Though, that wasn't quite the same anymore since Wellesbourne had married eighteen months ago. Last August, their fun had been interrupted when Droxford had shockingly proposed marriage to his now wife. And now Somerton had gone and wed Price's sister.

Sheff was leaving Bane out. He'd been the first to ruin things when he'd been caught in a compromising position with a young lady and then refused to wed her because he was already betrothed to someone else. That had been news to Sheff, who'd thought he was Bane's closest friend. Sheff hadn't seen him since he'd gone north to marry his bride, and they'd recently received news that his wife had died giving birth to their daughter, who had also not survived. Dammit, now Sheff was feeling melancholy.

The footman brought Sheff's whisky. Raising his glass, Sheff offered a toast. "To good friends, even when they fall prey to the parson's trap."

Keele lifted his glass. "It's not so bad when you find the right person," he said quietly. "But you must be prepared for the possibility that it won't last." He finished his whisky and waved his glass for the footman to refill it, which happened a moment later.

Amen to that, Sheff thought as he sipped the rich liquor, its smoky flavor coating his tongue. While he enjoyed it, there were other varieties he preferred more. Setting his glass down, he said, "You should come to Weston with us this August. As you noted, my set is dwindling."

"Your father has an estate there, does he not?" Keele asked.

"Yes. The stables are excellent. We do a great deal of riding, and the countryside is beautiful, as is the beach. Have you ever ridden a horse across the sand?"

"I have not," Keele replied. "I don't like to take time away from my work here in London. As it is, I only go to Westlands for a month in September." He referred to his estate between Birmingham and Manchester. "I don't think I could spare more time away, especially someplace that is nowhere near London or Westlands."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're dull?" Sheff asked with a laugh.

"Often. And I'm quite content with that description."

Sheff recalled when he hadn't been. They'd been at Oxford together, and though they'd been in different colleges, Sheff had known him. More accurately, he'd known of him. Keele was an excellent horseman and a cunning pugilist. He'd also possessed a rakish reputation, just like Sheff and his friends. Rather, his friends before they'd traded roguery for matrimony.

Evan Price approached their table as if Sheff's thoughts of horsemanship and pugilism had summoned him. Sheff knew no greater sportsman than Price, whose younger sister had married their friend, the now formerly infamous rake, the Viscount Somerton last month.

Since there wasn't a third chair, Evan dragged one over from another table. "New whisky tonight?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes." Sheff slid his glass across the table toward Price. "Finish mine. I need to go downstairs."

Price was a couple of years younger than Sheff and possessed incredibly dark eyes and a nearly tan complexion due to his Welsh heritage. He blinked at Sheff. " Why? Don't you know the assembly tonight is an ill-conceived matchmaking scheme?"

"We all know you've no interest in that," Keele said to Sheff with a chuckle.

Sheff wanted to agree, but he had a role to play. Instead, he forced a closed-mouthed smile. "Sometimes duty cannot be ignored."

"Very glad I don't have to produce an heir for a title," Price said as a shudder twitched his shoulders. He picked up Sheff's whisky and took a drink. "Ah, marvelous."

Standing, Sheff looked down his nose at them. "I'm off to the ball. Have a good evening, cowards." He departed to the sound of their laughter.

Feeling disgruntled, he made his way downstairs. Why was he so bothered? Because he was about to surrender to expectation and take a wife. Even though it was pretend, everyone would believe it was real, and they'd jeer at the rogue who'd finally fallen. Just like his friends.

The disease was spreading.

No, Sheff wasn't going to let that happen. This was a faux betrothal.

Music met his ears along with the buzz of conversation before he stepped through the curtains from the men's side of the Phoenix Club into the ballroom. Spanning the width of the building, the ballroom sat at the back, with multiple doors to the divided garden—there were men's and ladies' sides just as with the interior. On Tuesday nights, the women were invited to join the men on the men's side; however the men were never invited to the ladies' side. On Fridays, when there were assemblies, the entire ballroom and both gardens were open to all.

Sheff scanned the bustling ballroom to see if Jo had arrived. As an unmarried woman, she was not a member, but her mother was, and Jo was allowed to attend the Friday night assemblies if a family member belonged to the club. Typically, they arrived in the company of that family member, though Sheff didn't think he'd ever seen Jewel Harker at one of the club balls. He had, however, run into her on the occasional Tuesday when she drank whisky with Lord Lucien—probably—in the men's library.

So, in whose company would Jo arrive tonight?

The dance floor was on the men's side of the ballroom. Sheff moved closer to see if she was, perchance, dancing. And there she was.

Gowned in dark coral, her sable hair dressed with coral-encrusted combs, she danced in a square with Edwin Cleveland, who, at the moment, was laughing. Indeed, he looked most engaged with his partner. Jo was smiling, her demeanor somehow more feminine than he was used to when he saw her at the Siren's Call. He supposed that made sense because that was her place of work while this ball was a social occasion.

It occurred to him then that he could cause a massive stir in the social order by taking a wife with an occupation. Except he wasn't taking a wife, he was only pretending to. Still, the effect of their betrothal, fake or not, would be significant.

Lord Lucien had mentioned the manager of the Phoenix Club, Lady Evangeline. She'd been employed when she'd married Lord Gregory Blakemore, who was currently heir apparent to the Marquessate of Witley because his older brother had not yet produced an heir. Yes, there'd been a stir when they'd wed, but that was perhaps more due to Lady Evangeline's prior life as a courtesan than the fact that she had a job.

Sheff watched Jo laugh at something Cleveland said and felt a shocking stab of jealousy. She was quite stunning when she laughed. And though Sheff had provoked her to do so on many occasions, it hadn't been in this environment. He shook the thought from his head. Why should that matter? They were business partners at this point. He was paying her to complete an assignment.

The dance concluded, and there was to be a brief respite in the dancing. Good, for then he could speak with Jo before they were paired off again for the next set. Sheff made his way to where she was leaving the dance floor with Cleveland.

Jo's gaze met Sheff's as she took her hand from Cleveland's arm. "Good evening, Lord Shefford." She dipped into a curtsey.

"Good evening, Miss Harker." Sheff felt strange not calling her Jo.

"Evening, Shefford," Cleveland said. He was a friendly sort but sometimes reserved. Perhaps that was why Sheff had been jolted by watching them laugh together while they danced.

"Evening, Cleveland. You were fortunate to be paired with Miss Harker for this set."

"I was indeed." Cleveland chuckled. "Not sure if this scheme will last the entire ball. I already witnessed people trying to avoid their assigned partners—mutually, I will add."

"How does the assignment of partners work?" Sheff asked.

Jo's lips pressed together, and one brow arched in a wry expression. "It's not a very smooth scheme. A footwoman or footman gives you a piece of paper with the name of your partner for the next set. I think it's proving difficult because, in some cases, they are assigning people who aren't yet here. Or perhaps they have no intention of even coming. So, they're having to make adjustments, and there are delays between sets, which is why I think they've inserted a ‘brief respite' between this and the next." Jo laughed. "They need to reorganize."

"That sounds complicated," Sheff said.

At that moment, a liveried footwoman—the ladies' side of the club only employed women—delivered folded pieces of parchment to Jo and to Sheff.

They opened them simultaneously.

Jo's eyes rounded briefly, almost comically. "What a surprise. I'm to dance with Shefford for the next set."

"That is a surprise indeed," Sheff said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I wonder if we might take a promenade until then. That way, I won't lose you."

"Of course," Jo replied.

Cleveland took his leave, and Sheff offered his arm to Jo. He guided her toward the perimeter of the ballroom. "Refreshments or night air?"

"Refreshment and then night air," she said, pulling him gently toward the other side of the ballroom where there were tables bearing ratafia, lemonade, and even champagne. Jo selected champagne, and Sheff did the same. Then he escorted her outside to the ladies' side of the garden.

Jo took her hand from his arm as she sipped her champagne. "Lovely," she murmured. "Though I hate knowing there is all manner of rare liquor upstairs in the men's side and I can't have any of it."

"The same beverages are available on the ladies' side." Sheff noted the flash of surprise in her expression. "Did you not know that?"

"I did not. I've only been here a handful of times, and I've not been upstairs."

Sheff inclined his head. "You should make a point of it tonight. They just received a new whisky from the Highlands today. It's not quite my taste, but you might enjoy it."

Her eyes lit with interest. "I've yet to meet a whisky I didn't like."

"So noted." Sheff reached into his pocket and removed an envelope. Inside was a banknote for two hundred and fifty pounds. He handed it to her. "You can purchase a great deal of it with this."

Pausing, she grasped the envelope, her gaze fixing on it for a moment before she slipped it into the side of her gown. Presumably she had a pocket. "Thank you," she murmured.

"You seemed hesitant to agree to this scheme," Sheff said, continuing to walk away from the building. "Are you certain you wish to do this?" He held his breath. There would be no one better to complete this task. She was clever, charming, and she could weather whatever the ton would say or do.

She'd moved with him and didn't stop to answer his question. "If I'm honest, not entirely. However, you've made me an offer I can't refuse." She slid him a sly smile that made his toes curl inexplicably.

No, not inexplicably. Jo was a beautiful woman, and they were alone in a dark garden. Furthermore, he was a scoundrel of the highest order. He'd already identified a half dozen places in the garden to which he could whisk her and steal a kiss.

Not that he would. He was not allowed to do that, per their arrangement. And he would follow her requirements to the letter.

He watched her profile as they walked along the path toward the back of the walled garden. "You could refuse. I don't want you to feel pressured."

She gave him a cool look. "I won't ever agree to something I don't want to do. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I realize this will be challenging for you, but I never would have asked if I didn't think you would be up to the task." He wanted to make her laugh, at least a little, as she'd done with Cleveland. "The new wardrobe is reason enough to agree, isn't it?"

No laugh, but her lips lifted in a brief smile. "It is enticing. However, I am a businesswoman with an eye toward expense, so you may be assured I will not spend your entire fortune on gowns and shoes and gloves." She looked over at him. "Perhaps I should pay for the items; then you can reimburse me. That seems easiest and won't draw any undue interest." She took a drink of her champagne, and Sheff was drawn to the press of her plump lower lip against the rim of the glass.

"It's not unusual for a man to pay for his wife's trousseau."

"Especially when the man is a wealthy heir to a dukedom and the woman is working class?" There was an edge to her voice that made him wonder if this truly made her uncomfortable.

"The difference in our classes means nothing to me," Sheff said with great conviction.

"And yet, you didn't ask a nobleman's daughter to participate in your scheme."

They'd reached the back of the garden and now turned to the left to make a circuit on the path that ran parallel to the wall. Shrubs and trees separated the path from the wall.

Sheff sipped his champagne and sent her a sideways glance. "Perhaps I did."

"Did you?" she asked in surprise.

"No," he replied with a sheepish laugh. "I'd only conceived of the idea last evening before I took my mother and sister to Northumberland House. Then I saw you at the Siren's Call. Watching how you handled the situation with my father, I realized you were the perfect candidate."

"You must admit part of what makes me ‘perfect' is that I don't need to maintain a place in Society when this is finished."

"All right, that does recommend you. If you want to back out, I won't be angry." Frustrated, but not angry.

"No, we shook hands, and to me, that makes this an agreement of honor. I will be your betrothed. Do you still plan to propose tomorrow?"

He waggled his brows at her. "Since my plan is to fall deeply in love with you tonight, I think I must."

She laughed, and a warmth spread inside Sheff as he saw the woman from the dance floor.

The dance floor!

"Hell and the devil. Is that the music starting?" Sheff asked before tossing back the rest of his champagne.

"I believe so." Jo tipped the contents of her glass down her throat. "Ready."

Sheff stared at her, thinking she really was perfect. "Let's dance."