Chapter 3

Tall and with dark blue eyes that reminded her of the deep ocean, he was striking. A lock of curly black hair fell over his eye and twitched as he blinked, sending a tingle through her that mixed with the already alarming sense of doom that had overtaken her.

"I… I…" she stammered.

Why am I speechless right now? Think, Rosy! Think!

Alas, her tongue was entirely unable to form words, let alone cohesive sentences. She started at Judith, hoping she might rescue her again, but the young woman stood utterly speechless beside her, the color draining from her face.

"Faith, I seem to have stunned my fiancée into silence," the Duke said with a smirk. "I take it my letter did not arrive?"

"L-Let—Letter?" Rosy struggled to say the word while Lady Marjorie looked on, bemused.

"I wrote to let you know that I would be here for the first ball of the Season," he explained and then nodded at Lady Marjorie and Judith. "I shall not interrupt your conversation with your friends, dear. I'll see you in a little while."

Then, he did the unthinkable. He bowed, took her hand, and kissed it.

Rosy swayed on her feet, not just because she had been caught out by the subject of her tall tale but because he was playing along. Why? Why hadn't he exposed her? Her heart swayed as he rose and she caught a whiff of his sandalwood aftershave. He smelled so good, it reminded her of a comforting evening in front of a fire.

And his lips… she felt them through her glove and could imagine them on her cheek, her lips.

No! What am I thinking? This is not the time for swooning. This is the time for panicking!

Alas, he did not leave her time to do either as he nodded at her with a smile—and disappeared just as quickly as he'd come, leaving her utterly shaken to her very core.

"Well, my dear, it seems you have quite the catch," Lady Marjorie remarked with a knowing smile. "To come and surprise you like this? You must be eager to follow him. Don't let us keep you."

"I… I don't know what to say," Rosy stammered out, trying to gather her wits after the unexpected encounter with the Duke of Cambridge.

"What you need to say is ‘Excuse me, my fiancé is waiting for me,'" Lady Marjorie said with a chuckle. "You look like you've seen a ghost, my dear."

Fiancé, right… Why had he said that? Now all of the realm would expect them to get married. Yes, Rosy had made up the story of their courtship, but she'd never taken it this far. All she'd wanted was to catch other gentlemen's attention again, and courting a high-ranking nobleman was the best way to do that.

She would have ended the tale at some point, with her reputation restored, but now she was trapped because of this man.

Rosy felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment while her heart pounded. She had to speak to him as quickly as possible, to explain… Oh, what had she done? What had possessed her to weave such a fantastical tale?

"I ought to go, Judith," she muttered.

Judith nodded at her but then took her hand, lowering her voice. "Do call on me if you need assistance," she whispered, before letting her go on her way.

Rosy rushed through the crowded ballroom, scanning the room for the mysterious Duke, when she spotted his tall frame disappear outside a window, into the garden. Wetting her lips, she followed him, keeping her eyes down so nobody could see the panic surging through her. As she stepped outside, she inhaled deeply, the cool evening air a welcome change from the oppressive air in the ballroom.

"Ah, there she is. My fiancée. Rosy, isn't it?" the Duke asked as he saw her.

"What in the world was that? Calling me your fiancée? We do not know each other. I… I was only…"

"Telling Canterbury Tales to your friends? Yes, I gathered. I am not usually in the habit of getting betrothed to women I've never met before, but in this case, it is quite convenient," he said and nodded.

Convenient? What is he talking about?

"Since you already spread the tale, shall we make it a reality?"

Reality?

Her head spun as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. He wanted to marry her? But… they didn't know each other? Had she fallen asleep and awoken in some sort of living nightmare?

"I do not have any intention of… getting married. To you. I don't know you," she sputtered.

"Well, I am not the one who made up the story, that was you. I am sure you had your reasons for doing it. Pray, may I know them, given that I am a major part of this fabrication?" he asked with a smirk.

He is enjoying this, isn't he?

"You may ask, but I am under no obligation to tell you. It was you, after all, who made this a much more intricate mess than it needed to be," she fired back, but he only grinned.

"It is you who made it a story, to begin with," he retorted.

"Yes, but… It was my story. It was my… You weren't even supposed to be here!"

She wanted to stomp her foot but knew that would be childish. Oh, this man was infuriating.

"Yes, your story, in which you used my name, my title, and my life," he pointed out in a cool, calm way that made her hackles rise even more.

Yet, he was right. She had used him.

She let out a puff of air and knew she was trapped.

Amused or not, he was part of this story against his will, and thus she owed him that much.

"I… I do beg your pardon for involving you in this, but I had no choice. You see, my sisters are both married to dukes, and my parents have it in their heads that I too ought to marry a duke. To that end, they've rejected lower-ranking gentlemen without my knowledge, and I've found myself a social pariah," she said without drawing breath.

"Ah, I see. You're thought of as picky, difficult. Snooty," he said and nodded his head. "Haughty."

That was quite enough. She raised her hand to stop him from heaping further negative terms upon her character. "That is what they say, yes. But I am none of these things. I simply want to be courted by someone of substance. Someone I like. I do not care if he is a baron or a viscount…"

"As long as he is titled," he pointed out.

She felt the sharpness of his words and looked away.

"Yes, some kind of title. Otherwise, my family will not accepted him. But I do not care about… I-I just want to fix my reputation, that is all. So I came up with his silly ruse. I was going to pretend that I am courting a duke who was far away, that we are in love, and that is why I am not courting anyone else. I admit it was not well thought out…" She scrunched up her nose and looked up at him, genuinely mortified.

"I'll say!" He laughed, his shoulders heaving. "How would you have explained that you and I have not seen one another, ever?"

"I said that we met when you were in town for Christmastide," she answered quietly, shocked by her own decision. "I remembered you were at one of the Twelfth Night balls."

"I see. But why were we not courting then? Oh… we were, weren't we?" he asked and scratched his chin, a soft scraping sound filling the air.

"I said we only connected via letters and have been writing to one another often, and that we'd see one another when you next came home and?—"

"And what would have happened if my brother or uncle had caught wind of this?" he challenged her.

Rosy grew more and more irritated. "I understand it was a mistake. I am not proud of what I did—you can stop having fun now. I know I am doomed, for now. Everyone will think we are actually engaged, and I will never find another gentleman."

"You could marry me, since we are engaged," he pointed out, still grinning, but when he saw the shift in her expression, he raised his hands placatingly. "All right, I understand. I probably should not have said anything when I overheard you, but I was rather intrigued, and the truth is, it suits me well—as I said earlier. Pray, would you be willing to hear me out? For I have a proposal that would benefit us both."

She raised her eyes to his, head tilted to the side. "A proposal?"

"Not the sort you are thinking of," he clarified, irking her further. "But something to suit both our needs. A fake courtship. We will build on your tale and make it seem real. It will be just as you'd planned it, only instead of an imaginary duke, you'll have me at your side."

Rosy was once again speechless. A fake courtship? One question immediately sprang to the forefront of her mind.

"How would this benefit you?"

There was no way he would offer such a thing out of the goodness of his heart.

"Trust that I have my reasons, Lady Rosy. It is Rosy, is it not?"

"Lady Rosemary Blackmore," she said. "But I am Rosy to my friends."

"And what am I? Friend or foe?" he asked mischievously.

Suddenly, Rosy's heart thumped. Not with excitement but with realization. His reputation… He was known as a rake. Indeed, for years, tales of his supposed escape had dominated the scandal sheets.

"It depends. So I take it you do not wish to force me to marry you?" She pursed her lips, taking in his form.

He was tall, much taller than her, with broad shoulders, and when he'd walked earlier, she'd noticed his confident gait. Now, his grin faded, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I already told you, I have no desire to force you to do anything. But I would like it if we came to an agreement," he replied.

"You've not answered my question. What is in it for you? There must be something."

She was not going to agree to anything lest she knew what this man stood to gain.

"I… I do have my reasons, and there are advantages for me. Although I do not want to share them at this time. Sufficient to say, we'd both get what we want. I'd be willing to pose as your love interest, and I'd gladly speak of your virtues and accomplishments—once I know what they are—to help you boost your status." He folded his hands behind his back and shrugged. "If you do not wish to, I am happy to pretend that I broke your heart the moment I returned home from overseas. Given my reputation, the ton would believe it. But then, will that improve your situation?"

Rosy thought about this. She wanted to know what he would gain from all of this, but since he wasn't willing to divulge the information, she knew she had to make decisions that would benefit her best. And the truth was, having a fake fiancé in the flesh was better than not having one at all.

Thus, she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his.

"Very well, we can agree to have a fake courtship that will benefit us both. For a while. But there must be rules," she stated firmly.

"Rules? The lady who created a fake relationship has rules that must be obeyed?" He was teasing her, she knew it, and it vexed her. "Please, tell me what they are."

"We must be in full agreement on when to end this courtship. One cannot end it without the other," she began, feeling a little foolish.

The feeling only intensified when the man had the audacity to chuckle right into her face.

"Very well. I can agree to consult you if I wish to find myself unattached again. I may have some rules of my own, but I must first consider this arrangement," he said and pressed his lips together.

Rosy gulped. What had she gotten herself into with her faradiddles? Alas, it was too late now.

Besides, she would not be the first in her family to have such an arrangement. Her sister Joanna had found herself someone to pretend to be her husband, after all, and it had worked out for her.

Of course, Joanna had eventually fallen in love with the man who'd pretended to be her love.

As she looked at the man before her, Rosy knew that she would never make such a mistake. She, Rosy Blackmore, would most certainly not fall in love with a cocky man like the Duke of Cambridge. Of that, she was absolutely certain.