For a moment, the image of Lady Hawthorne’s ring flashing in the firelight had momentarily lifted her heart.
The man of all her girlhood dreams was on bended knee, begging her to marry him, special license in hand.
Ah, but the romance of it.
“That isn’t going to make anyone forget what they saw.” She swiped an impatient hand across her face when dratted tears threatened. All of this was so very wrong. The recollection of that moment he’d flipped her onto his lap sent a shaky, vulnerable feeling through her.
“Are you crying?” For the moment anyhow, he gave up all pretense of appearing the devoted suitor, rose, and stuffed the paper back into his coat. He went to step toward her but halted, almost guiltily. Was it because he was remembering that he’d touched her bottom? He said he would never do it again. No, he’d sworn he would never do it again.
What was wrong with her bottom?
Her vision clouded and, glancing away, she dabbed a finger at her eye. How could they marry with all this awkwardness? She doubted they could even be friends!
“I’m not crying,” she lied.
Chase pinched the bridge of his nose, immediately winced and dropped his hand.
“We haven’t a choice, Bethany.” He sounded more resigned than pleading now. “And I realize you’re getting the rotten part of such a marriage. I’m no prize. But I swear I’ll do everything in my power to restore your reputation. And… we’re friends, are we not? The two of us have always gotten along well enough. I hate what’s happened, but it’s not the end of the world. I’ll protect you. More than that, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure that you’re content.”
How could he not consider himself a prize when Rachel had gone to such trouble to win him? He was a baron, for heaven’s sake—a wealthy one—no less.
But he was so much more than that.
And she was Good Old Bethany.
She inhaled.
Under any other circumstances she would have been ecstatic at the prospect of marrying him. This compulsory proposal meant the end of any hope she’d ever had for love. It made a mockery of the dreams she’d built in her fantasies.
“Marriage is forever, Chase.” He’d been a friend to her for a very long time. “I know we’re in something of a pinch. But…”
She’d always imagined she would have a choice.
“We’re in more than a pinch.”
Bethany winced. He was right, of course.
“Say yes, and we’ll quiet those wagging tongues this afternoon.” He was so dreadfully apologetic and convincing. But this was Chase! And the eyeballs attached to those wagging tongues had seen her bottom! “We can make a good go of this. I know it was a trap but I also know it wasn’t you. You aren’t that kind of chit.” He sent her a sideways teasing glance. “If you were in love with me, well, then I’d have reason for concern.”
Bethany stiffened.
If you were in love with me, I’d have reason for concern. Had the floor just shifted beneath her feet? She braced her legs, forcing her knees not to give out on her.
He hadn’t even asked her why she’d come outside. He had no idea how she felt. He didn’t know her at all and …
He must never know.
“It’s good neither of us have to worry about that.” And then she forced herself to laugh at her lie. To her own ears it sounded brittle and half-hearted.
She could do this. Good Old Bethany.
“So it’s settled then?” He grinned, looking more like himself. Charming. Cocksure. Ridiculously handsome.
“I—er—yes.”
Chapter 8
What Comes Next?
“I—er—yes.”
Chase exhaled, feeling a sense of relief for the first time since half the ton witnessed his lurid assault of his best friend’s sister.
She’d agreed to the remedy.
Marriage.
He braced himself as the word sunk in. He had no choice. Nor did she. Hopefully, it would be enough to assuage Westerley’s need to avenge his sister’s honor.
Hopefully, it would accomplish that and more.
He’d considered himself lucky that the butler had allowed him to see Lady Westerley that morning. And even more so at her reception. She’d had a few censuring words for him, of course. But then she’d seemed slightly remorseful, almost as though it had been Bethany’s fault. When he’d apologized for his indiscretion, the middle-aged widow, a woman he’d always known to be dignified and poised, had blushed.
He’d known the Westerleys almost as long as he’d known their son. He’d respected Westerley’s parents immensely and not only tolerated but, at times, felt protective toward them.
And whereas the lot of them had often teased Tabetha for her harmless flirting, they’d taken Lady Bethany’s quiet steady nature for granted.
Bethany had simply been… there. Almost like a shadow. As she’d grown into a woman, he’d felt a general fondness for her, sometimes joking with her about her odd little obsessions and eccentricities.
And now he was going to have to marry her.
“Excellent.” He forced cheerfulness into his voice.
“What comes after?”
“After?”
“After we marry?”
Chase rubbed the back of his neck beneath his cravat. Was she asking if they would consummate their union? He’d not allowed himself to contemplate all that a union between the two of them would entail. “Is it hot in here?”
“Presently, for the two of us, it’s hot everywhere.” She wrinkled her pert nose, which tipped up at the end. Not impertinent but ever slightly rebellious. He’d never noticed before.
“Well.” Chase stared at the floor. “I suppose…”
“Will we travel to your country estate immediately after, do you think?”
At last a question for which he knew the answer.
“If we flee London, they will think we are running away.” Besides, he had responsibilities here. Responsibilities that kept him in London throughout most of the year. He hated that he’d not visited Easter Park, his country estate near Herefordshire, for so long, but he did that which was required of him. “Blackheart will announce our marriage at his sisters’ come-out ball—tomorrow night.”
“We can’t steal their spotlight.”
“He said his sisters are all for it—says it will make their soiree stand out. Could even make the papers.”
“They are simply being kind.” Bethany smiled weakly.
Had her lips always been so full? Unsettled by the thought, he dropped his gaze to the rest of her person. Which proved to be concerning, in that doing so merely reminded him of the pliable flesh he’d felt when he’d thought she was…
Eyes. He would look at her eyes.
“That would mean we need to marry…” Panic laced her words.
“Today,” Chase finished for her. Those eyes he was watching so closely teared up.
“I can’t face them. Even after we marry, I can’t. They saw me...” She blinked rapidly, clenched her teeth, and swallowed hard.
“Either you face them tomorrow night, as my wife, and stare them down with all your dignity, or you resign yourself to never facing them again.” Blackheart was right, of course. They couldn’t run away. It was necessary to stand their ground.