Chapter Nine

So this , Rosemary thought silently as she waited with her breath held for Sterling's response, was how the mouse felt as he'd scurried up to the lion to pluck the thorn from his paw. A combination of exhilaration, and fear, and emboldened recklessness.

Truth be told, she'd never done anything so daring in her life as to purposefully provoke a man as dangerous as the Duke of Hanover. A single snap of his ferocious jaws and she'd be in the bottom of his gullet wondering where she'd gone wrong. Where she had turned left when she should have turned right. Except what if…what if no matter what path she took, they all brought her here? To a starry night with Sir Reginald in her pocket and Sterling at the end of her arm.

He stared at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and thinly veiled anger. But there was something else there. Something dancing around the hard granite edges. A yearning. A wanting. Like a starved child with his face pressed up against the glass of a baker's shop window dreaming of all the treasures contained within.

"You should be running in the opposite direction," he rasped even as he skimmed his fingers along her cheekbone and then sank them into her hair. "Any other wallflower would be."

"That's true," she acknowledged. "But in case you haven't noticed, I am a tad unconventional."

His mouth, a mere inch from hers, stretched in a mirthless grin. "A tad? You're the definition of the word."

"I shall take that as a fine c-compliment," she gasped, her voice catching when he angled his head and took her earlobe between his teeth. A sharp nip, followed by a soothing lick of his tongue and she went wobbly at the knees.

"Renata," he murmured against her neck.

"Y-Yes?" she moaned.

He kissed his way to her shoulder. "Before we proceed any further, you need to know that there is something wrong with– bollocks ."

"Oh, dear." Her knees straightened. "There's something wrong with your bollocks?"

"What? No ." He pulled back to scowl at her. "That's not what I…there's nothing wrong with my bollocks. My bollocks are in perfect working order, thank you very much."

She nodded seriously. "That's good to hear."

"What the devil would give you the impression that–never mind." He raked a hand through his hair, then pointed at the tents. " That's why I cursed."

Rosemary turned automatically to follow the direction of his finger. What she saw–or rather who she saw–marching straight at them with all the single-minded determination of a foot guard regiment in the British infantry caused all of the blood to drain from her face. "Bollocks."

"Exactly," Sterling said grimly. "You should get behind me."

"What will that do? They've already seen us!"

The "they" she was referring to was none other than Lady Navessa and her trio of handmaidens. Somehow, someway, Navessa had spied Rosemary and Sterling standing under the tree. While a more benevolent person might choose to discreetly look the other way when confronted with evidence of an indiscretion, especially at a ball where secret moments of passion ran rampant, it was apparent that the reigning queen of the ton was not about to let this opportunity pass her by.

She would be ruined, Rosemary registered dimly. Being caught sans chaperone in the dark with a renowned rogue was going to destroy her reputation. By the time Navessa got done pummeling her good name into the mud, she'd never be able to show her face in Polite Society ever again. Her grandmother would be humiliated. Any slim chance she might have had at making a successful match would be gone. Forget the Earl of Hawkridge revealing he had an American half-sister. This would become the Scandal of the Season.

Navessa would make sure of it.

"There's only one thing left to do," Sterling said matter-of-factly as Navessa continued her descent across the sloping lawn, her yellow gown billowing in the breeze.

"Disappear into thin air?" Rosemary suggested.

"Marry you."

" Marry –" No. She couldn't even complete the sentence. It was too farfetched. Too preposterous. Too…too insane to even contemplate. Marry the Duke of Hanover? Marry Sterling? It would never work. They would never work. He was too… him and she was too… she . Yes, his kisses made her literally weak in the knees and, yes, she enjoyed being in his company and, yes, she really did believe there was good to be found in him. But marriage . Marriage was a different chapter entirely. A different book, really. And she wasn't even sure whether she was ready to pull it down off the shelf, let alone read it.

"Give me your marigold," he said, shoving his hand under her nose.

"I-I-I can't," she stammered.

His eyes flashed with annoyance. "Why not?"

She bit her lip. "Because Sir Reginald already ate it."

"Do you know," he said through clenched teeth, "I am beginning to genuinely dislike that squirrel."

From within her pocket, Sir Reginald gave an indignant squeak.

"He didn't mean it," she soothed, stroking his tail.

"I bloody well did."

Navessa was nearly upon them now. Close enough for Rosemary to see the gleam of malicious triumph in her gaze.

She squeezed her own eyes shut as she thought of what her grandmother would say. How ashamed she'd be. How all of her hard work and sacrifice would be for naught. "There has to be another solution," she hissed desperately. "What if–what if we just tell the truth?"

"That your pet squirrel was stuck in a tree and I retrieved it for you and we've been kissing ever since?" Sterling said dryly.

"Maybe not that truth. But…but we could say the part about Sir Reginald. He was stuck in a tree, and you came to help me, and that's it. That's all that happened."

"It would never work."

"Why not?"

"First, because you're a terrible liar."

Her shoulders hunched. She was a terrible liar.

"Second, because if I am not mistaken that is Lady Navessa Betram baring down on us and she's been after me since the day I became a duke. I won't begin to speculate on how all women's minds work, but I've a good idea on how hers does. She will view you as a threat, and will do everything in her considerable power to dishonor and discredit you. You'll be ruined, she'll take it as a chance to make her move, and I'll be congratulated for seducing a wallflower."

Rosemary's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

As much as she hated it, he was right.

Every word.

"It's not fair," she said.

"No, it's not." His expression gentled as he touched the small of her back. "But that's life, isn't it? We'll say I just asked you to be my wife, and we were taking a moment by ourselves to celebrate before we announced it to the ton ." He shrugged. "All things considered, it's not the worst idea in the world."

"All things considered," she said faintly.

"Indeed. My sister has been on me about doing what I can to repair the family name. That's why I came here. To socialize, and hobnob, and do all the useless, meaningless things expected of a duke. Given the new virtuous path I've undertaken, I suppose it is only a matter of time before I'm expected to marry. If I have to do the deed with someone, why not you? At least I'll stop being hounded by my sister, and you'll get to be a duchess." He paused expectantly, as if he were waiting for her to drop to his feet and weep with gratitude at being offered such a wonderful position. "What say you?"

She'd have liked to say that of all the proposals ever given in the history of the world, that was quite possibly the worst. It wasn't even a proposal so much as a business proposition devoid of love or faith or passion. Like reaching into a bin of apples and pulling one out that was slightly squishy on the side but eating it anyways because what did it matter, really? It was just an apple. Not all that important in the grand scheme of things.

That was how Sterling saw marriage. As a slightly squishy apple. Whereas she saw it as an entire banquet of fruit waiting to be sampled and enjoyed. Plums and peaches and pineapples. Pomegranates, too, if she wanted to continue with her alliteration. Pears. Papaya. Plantains.

Heavens, but there was a lot of fruit that began with P, wasn't there?

Stay on track , she told herself. You haven't much time to make the most important decision of your entire life.

Navessa was all but breathing down their necks. Another ten yards, and there'd be no more hiding. The moment of judgment would be upon them. Upon her, that is, since Sterling was a man and the same societal pressures that applied to her didn't affect him in the slightest. If the rumors were to be believed, he stood credibly accused of murdering his mistress . Which she knew he hadn't done. Yet despite his presumed misdeeds, Society was waiting to welcome him back into their fold with open arms while in the same breath they would cast her aside without a second's thought for the simple crime of a kiss.

How convenient for men to make rules by which they did not have to abide.

"What if I don't want to be a duchess?" she asked Sterling softly.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Every woman wants to be a duchess."

He was right about one thing. He didn't know how the female mind worked. At least not hers, at any rate.

"But–but I don't know the first thing about it," she said, her panic rising. "The duties it would entail. The balls I'd have to throw. I can't host a ball. I don't even like balls."

"Surely your dislike doesn't extend to all balls," he teased, and the vulgarity of such a statement was enough to puncture the pressure rising within her and coax a startled laugh from her lips. "It won't be all bad," he continued. "Given how much of a ruddy duke I am, the expectations for you as a duchess won't be very high. Plus, I won't care what you do. Host balls here in London or take Sir Reginald and live in the country. It doesn't matter."

"But…what about us?" she said blankly.

"Us?" His brow furrowed. "What do you–"

"Your Grace! I was told you might be attending tonight," Navessa trilled as she swept in on a wave of self-righteousness and lemon-colored skirts. The dress she'd chosen to wear for the evening showcased her generous bosom and hugged her tiny waist before expanding into a bell shape that was so wide and so broad courtesy of the petticoat boning beneath the layers of fabric that Rosemary wondered if she was able to fit through doorways.

A question best saved for another time, she decided, when Navessa's icy gaze flicked across her with unmistakable contempt. "And Miss Rosemary Stanhope. We meet again, I see. Do you have any glasses of lemonade you'd like to throw at me?"

"I didn't throw lemonade at her," Rosemary told Sterling when he lifted a brow. She frowned at Navessa. "I didn't throw lemonade at you. If you'll recall, after you jostled past, my elbow accidentally hit a platter with a pitcher of lemonade on it and yes, it did spill, but–"

"Oh Rosy Poly," Navessa interrupted in a voice that was a tad too loud and a touch too sweet. "I was only jesting . What's a bit of fun between friends?"

That gave Rosemary cause to hesitate. "I…I wasn't aware that you considered me your friend."

"But of course I do! Didn't we make our debut together? Haven't we gone to every Marigold Ball together?"

"I don't know if I would say we've gone together –"

"We're practically sisters," Navessa cooed while her handmaidens suppressed snorts of laughter behind pink satin gloves. "Which is why, when I saw you alone with the Duke of Hanover, I knew that I had to come over straightaway. No offense intended towards His Grace"–she batted her lashes at Sterling–"but my dear, you must understand that a young, unmarried woman such as you should not be in the company of, dare I say it, a scoundrel." Her lips puckered to form a perfect "o". "What might people say ?"

"The duke and I didn't do anything." Even as she spoke the words aloud, Rosemary felt a betraying flush begin to creep up the nape of her neck and spill across her chest in large, blotchy pieces of red. "I mean, we did talk. About–about things. But there's no harm in talking, is there? And yes, he did help me find my squirrel, but–"

"Is that what we're calling it these days?" Navessa smirked as her companions burst into giggles and Rosemary's entire face turned the approximate shade of a ripe tomato.

"That's enough," Sterling interceded flatly. "You've had your fun, Lady Navessa, while proving just what a cruel, vindictive shrew you are. You mock Rosemary because you perceive her as less than you, but what you don't realize is that she's so much more than you could ever hope to be."

Navessa gasped.

The handmaidens abruptly stopped laughing.

"Your Grace, I–I came over here out of concern," Navessa sputtered indignantly. "I can assure you there was no mockery intended."

Sterling merely rolled his eyes. "If anyone believes that, I've a three-legged racehorse to sell them."

As the redness slowly began to recede from her cheeks, Rosemary tentatively touched Sterling's wrist. "It's all right," she murmured. "I am accustomed to it."

"It's bloody well not all right," he snapped. "They don't get to bully and belittle you and get away with it. Not while I'm standing here."

"Bully and belittle?" Navessa's blonde head canted to the side as the sugar slipped from her voice and was replaced with cool, calculating spice. "I'd never do such a thing to poor Rosy Poly. Not to say that others won't once they learn of what she's been up to all the way out here in the dark with none other than the Duke of Hanover." She clucked her tongue. "It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? Such a shame."

"A shame," her companions echoed in eerie synchronicity.

Ignoring Navessa, Sterling looked straight at Rosemary. His gray eyes were impossible to decipher, their swirling depths filled with a myriad of emotions, but she read the question in them nevertheless. A question that would no longer wait for its answer.

Did she allow Navessa to ruin her? To ostracize her from a Society that had already pushed her to the outskirts? Or did she accept Sterling's proposal? A marriage where, by his own admission, it wouldn't matter what she did or where she lived so long as he could say that he had a wife.

Banishment or a loveless marriage.

Neither choice was very appealing.

But she had to pick one.

"I…" She stopped. Wet her lips. Tried again as inside her chest her fragile, hopeful heart beat madly. "I will. I mean, I do. I mean–"

"Excellent," Sterling said curtly, and was that a flash of relief in his gaze? Before she could tell for certain, he fixed his attention on Navessa. A predatory smile, one that Rosemary did not recognize, claimed his mouth. It made him harder than she knew him to be. Colder. And far more intimidating. "How fortunate that you can be the first to offer your congratulations."

"My congratulations for what?" Navessa said, the corners of her lips pinching.

"Our betrothal." He put his arm around Rosemary's waist, resting his hand with familiar assertion on the curve of her hip. "Before you interrupted us, I asked Miss Stanhope to marry me. She has agreed."

"M- Marry you?" Navessa looked as shocked as Rosemary had felt when Sterling first announced his ridiculous plan to save her from ruin. A ridiculous plan that had just become reality, even though she could still hardly believe it. Wouldn't believe it, she imagined, for at least a few days, or even a few weeks. By then maybe–just maybe–she'd be able to wrap her head around the idea that she was engaged to the Duke of Hanover.

"Indeed. Won't she make a marvelous duchess?" Turning his head, Sterling kissed the top of her head in a gesture of affection that she thought was a tad overdone until she caught Navessa's reaction out of the corners of her eyes.

How interesting. She'd heard of turning green with envy before. Until this very second, she had always been under the assumption that it was a metaphor. But there was a definite emerald tinge to Navessa's countenance. Or maybe it was a trick of the moonlight. Either way, it was obvious that she wasn't taking the news well. Neither were the handmaidens, if their wide open mouths were any indication.

"You–you cannot be serious ," Navessa managed after a long, stricken pause.

"Why not?" Sterling asked.

"Because…because it's Rosy Poly. She can't marry a duke ." Navessa looked to her loyal subjects for confirmation and, in unison, all three nodded. "There. Do you see?"

"The only thing I see is a woman consumed by jealousy. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it's not a good look on you." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your skin. It's gone all pasty."

Navessa gasped and clapped both hands to her cheeks. "No it hasn't."

"Yes," he said gravely. "I am afraid it has."

"But Rosy Poly–"

"For all future encounters, you will refer to my betrothed as Miss Stanhope." Hard steel replaced the humor in Sterling's voice. In the dim lighting, Rosemary could have sworn his eyes burned black. The hand at her side tightened, the muscles in his arm flexing. "After we are married, she is to be Her Grace, The Duchess of Hanover." He paused, then smiled coldly. "Let me hear you say it."

"I…I…" Once again, Navessa looked at her friends, but this time they averted their gazes.

"Well?" Sterling asked. "You see, it's easy to pick on someone you perceive as weaker than yourself. To call them names and belittle them. To make yourself feel better when you make them feel small. But the truth is, people of your ilk are always the small ones. That's why you're so bloody desperate to hide it."

Navessa's mouth trembled. "Her Grace," she whispered. "The Duchess of Hanover."

"That wasn't nice," Rosemary chided gently after Navessa had turned on her heel and fled back up the hill towards the tents with her handmaidens hurrying to keep pace.

Unwinding his arm from her waist, Sterling backed up until he was leaning against the tree with the heel of his boot casually resting on the trunk. Leafy shadows obscured the upper half of his countenance. His eyes were gray again. His mouth curved in a familiar roguish grin. "What about me remotely suggests that I am a nice person?"

Oh, I don't know, she thought silently. Perhaps the fact that you climbed a tree to rescue a squirrel that you profess not to like and then proposed to a woman you claim not to care about.

Could he truly not see the light inside of him that she did? He was like a rock with slivers of gold peeking out through the cracks and crevices. Rough and hard on the outside, but so bright and shining within. The only thing to do, she supposed, was to keep chipping away. One piece of stone at a time. An arduous endeavor, no doubt. But what else was she to do? They were to be married. And if there was a single thing she'd ever wished for in a husband, it was to be loved and to love in return.

"What are we to do now?" she asked, almost shyly. How was it that before their hasty engagement she'd felt perfectly at ease with him alone in the dark, but now that they were permitted to be together (although the ton would have still liked a chaperone present) she had goose pimples on her arms?

"We go spread the news far and wide, of course." He tilted his head at her; flashed that infamous Duke of Hanover smile that showed all his teeth but fell just short of his eyes. "You're about to become a very popular woman, Reagan."

"Popular enough for my husband-to-be to remember my name?"

"I am not sure if I'd go that far." He extended his arm, but after a brief hesitation she gave a tiny shake of her head and linked her hands behind her back instead.

"I should find my grandmother and escort her home. Before word gets out, I'd like to tell her privately, if that's all right with you. She…she should hear it from me." Rosemary wasn't sure how Lady Ellinwood was going to take the news. Hopefully her excitement at such an excellent match would overshadow any questions on the circumstances leading to such an excellent match.

"Are you sure?" Sterling asked.

No.

No, she wasn't sure about anything.

"Yes." Although her mouth felt inexplicably tight, like it had after Evie talked her into trying a witch hazel-based astringent designed to lessen the appearance of her pores (whatever that meant), she managed a smile. "Perhaps you can call upon me tomorrow and we can begin to discuss our future?"

"I generally don't rise before eleven unless it is a dire emergency."

"Then I shall expect you sometime in the afternoon."

They stared awkwardly at each other.

"I'll just go this way–" Rosemary started.

"I should probably head up to the–" Sterling began.

They both stopped.

Exchanged the quick, fleeting smiles of strangers passing each other on the street.

"Until tomorrow," she said.

"Until tomorrow," he repeated.

Without another word, they both set off on their separate ways…a fitting punctuation to the strangest, most unexpected, most unbelievable night of Rosemary's life.