She probably should have waited until morning to make her offer. Vale seemed intelligent enough, but at the moment, he stared at her like he could barely comprehend proper English.

Then he walked past her and poured himself another finger of whisky.

“I hope you won’t impair your judgment,” she said.

He shot her a look. “It’s not my judgment that should be called into question.”

“I’m quite serious, Mr. Vale.”

“That’s what has me worried.”

His accent had lapsed a little — he had very nearly dropped the h. But it was the only indication he gave of nerves. Otherwise, he regarded her as coolly as ever.

She had hoped that a few hours apart would be enough to control her attraction. She’d spent dinner running through this conversation in her head. She’d thrown cold water on her face before coming here. She hadn’t knocked on his door until she was sure she could make her proposal without letting their banter distract her.

But she’d been a fool for thinking that his hazel eyes wouldn’t lure her in again.

Still, she had a plan. She had to focus on that. For the first time since the party had begun, she had a clear, achievable goal. She could focus on Vale directly, rather than merely hoping that someone would be attracted to her.

If it were only for her sake, she might not have been so audacious. But she wasn’t the only one affected — especially if his claim was valid. If he were the earl, it would impact every servant and tenant at Maidenstone. No Briarley worth her salt would abandon Maidenstone to an interloper.

A man who’d been raised in the shops wouldn’t know how to manage a grand country estate. He wouldn’t care about the tenants or know how to pursue agricultural improvements. He would likely take Briarley House in London as his main residence, pillage Maidenstone for anything he could sell, and leave the abbey to fall into disrepair.

And even if he kept it all intact, it would still leave Lucy and Julia without any way to support themselves. Lucy would have to pretend to be a widow with a new identity if she moved somewhere else — she could never let anyone know that she was an unmarried woman with a bastard child.

It couldn’t be borne. Lucy would do anything to prevent that outcome.

Even something as audacious as offering herself to a man who looked intent on getting drunk at the mere thought of marrying her.

At least he was sipping his whisky this time, not tossing it down his throat like he was swilling blue ruin in a gin shop. She smiled, putting every bit of confidence she had into her voice. “I think you’ll see that my offer is beneficial for both of us.”

“So you mean it, then? You aren’t pulling one over on the poor tradesman who came to ruin your day?”

There was a slight edge to his voice. He had seemed intrigued earlier — now he looked bored. But she suspected that was a mask to cover something stronger.

“My offer is very serious,” she said. “You can decide later which of us benefits more from it.”

He raked a hand through his hair. The light brown strands stood on end, making him look far wilder — and younger, as though for a moment he could be himself rather than the man his responsibilities had turned him into. She had thought that he was in his mid-thirties, like Ferguson. But now, she would wager that he was younger, and that difficulties of his earlier life had given him more maturity than she usually saw from men of her own class.

“May I ask why you would do me the honor of marrying me?” he asked.

“It’s simple. As Ferguson said, you’re likely a charlatan. You’re a social climber intent on bettering your situation, even if you must lie to do so. You don’t have the training or the breeding to be the lord of an estate, let alone take a seat in Parliament.”

“You don’t make me sound like the marrying kind,” he drawled.

Lucy laughed. “No. The obvious course would be to let Ferguson prove that you’re committing a fraud. At the very least, you’d be forced to leave Maidenstone. You would likely be executed. Especially if whatever documents you’ve brought to prove your claim are discovered to be forgeries.”

Vale inclined his head. “You know more than I would have guessed about the law. But I wouldn’t have come unless I was very sure of my rights. Your duke could make a man like me swing from a noose.”

“Ferguson’s not that bad,” Lucy said. “He’s annoying beyond measure. But he’s honorable. He won’t hang you unless you deserve it.”

“I’m not finding much comfort in that,” Vale murmured.

“No, I can see how you wouldn’t. But if you agree to marry me, I’ll teach you everything you need to know to pass Ferguson’s tests. If I tell him that your background matches what we know about the Briarley family tree, it will go a long way toward convincing him to decide in your favor.”

Vale stayed silent for nearly a minute. Lucy fought the urge to twist her hands. She had to seem confident and capable if she was going to convince him to do this.

But it was hard to stay still when she couldn’t read anything from his expression. He took a slow sip of whisky. The way he handled it told her he was accustomed to spirits — he didn’t shudder as the alcohol hit his throat. But that was the only detail she gathered from her perusal of him.

That wasn’t true. His face was blank, but there were so many other details to note. His clothing had been inexpertly cut, but his shoulders were broad enough, and his hips narrow enough, that his body showed advantageously despite his tailor’s lack of skill. His cravat was so perfectly white that it must have been new. If he didn’t have a valet, he had tied the cravat himself. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was immaculate — stylish enough that he could be admitted to White’s without anyone raising an eyebrow at his neckwear.

He wasn’t a gentleman. But he’d done everything he could to make himself look like one.

He couldn’t change his face, though. When she looked up to meet his eyes again, the look there couldn’t be described as gentlemanly at all.

And her stupid Briarley heart beat faster.

“So, you would help me to become Lord Maidenstone,” he finally said. “What do you get in return?”

“If you’re the earl, I would be a countess. And I would get to keep Maidenstone.”

“You’d have to share it with me. Do you really want that?”

“The only way I can have it is to marry. I might as well share it with you. We could even arrange it so that I remained here while you stayed in London at Briarley House — have you seen it? It’s quite lovely.”

A shadow passed over his face. “My father often had business there while I was a child. Can’t say I ever expected to live there, despite the stories he told me.”

“Then you know that it’s quite large and well-situated. Once the marriage is arranged and the inheritance settled, we needn’t interfere with each other at all.”

“It would take ten Briarley Houses to equal the size of Maidenstone.”

“But you can’t run your shop very effectively from Devonshire, can you?”

Vale frowned. “When I’m the earl, I won’t have a shop.”

“When you’re the earl, you can do whatever you please. But I would prefer to arrange our lives so that we may have separate spheres.”

“You’re ashamed to be seen with me.”

His voice was mild, but she sensed that his agreement depended on her giving him the correct answer. She shook her head quickly. “Shame isn’t what makes me suggest separate spheres — merely that I have no desire to live in London, and you surely don’t want to live in the country. If we happen to be in the same place, I have no objection to appearing together in public.”

“Rather hard to do one’s wifely duties if you’re in Devonshire and I’m in London.”

She pretended that the way he drawled his words didn’t make her heart speed up. She hadn’t expected him to care about that, at least from her. Beyond the need for an heir, she wouldn’t have expected him to want anything of that nature from her at all.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone else to warm your bed when I’m away. That’s the way of it with most marriages, isn’t it?”

“Not any marriage I’ve imagined,” he said.

“Most aristocratic marriages,” she amended. “You’ll grow accustomed to it, once you’ve had time to learn our ways.”

His frown said she’d miscalculated. He reached for the decanter, but then dropped his hand as though he’d thought better of it. “You’re a damnably confusing woman, Miss Briarley. Not that I should use such language around you.”

“And you’re a bloody liar, at least about your inheritance,” she said, her voice as pleasant as if she were discussing the weather. “Language is the least of our concerns, isn’t it?”

“If you believe me to be a fraud, why would you want to marry me?”

She shrugged. “You’re not all that ugly. I could do worse.”

She meant it as a jest, but his frown deepened. “That makes no sense. You’re an heiress. You can do much better than someone whom you believe to be a charlatan.”

Lucy had already had her fill of charlatans with Chapman. And she’d hoped — more than she cared to admit — that if she ever fell in love again, it would be with a decent man. The kind of man who asked her opinion, and offered her help, and cared about something more than bedding her.

Vale had listened to his sister’s opinion. He acted like he had come to Maidenstone for her sake, not for his. He might have been lying about everything else, but those moments had rung true. Lucy could do worse than a man who cared about his sister’s feelings.

Still, a man who lied about being the heir wasn’t the ideal choice for security — far from it. But knowing that he was a charlatan was far better than assuming the best in a man — and falling in love with him — only to find he was something else entirely. By knowing what he was, she could manage him accordingly.

She couldn’t act too desperate, though.

“If you don’t want to marry me, I’ll leave,” she said. “But if you don’t want my help, I shall do everything within my power to prove that you’re not the heir. I will spend the rest of my life at Maidenstone, one way or another. So I strongly suggest that you marry me. Otherwise, it won’t be Ferguson who’s eager to see you swinging from a noose.”

He stared at her. “People frequently underestimate you, don’t they?”

“If you really were a Briarley, you’d know that we’ll do anything for this place. Marry me or hang — take your pick.”

He set his glass aside and adjusted his cravat, as though his neck had started to itch from a phantom rope.

And then he took a step toward her.

Lucy held her ground. But that meant she had to tilt her chin up as he got closer, and then closer still. She was only four inches over five feet, and he must have been at least six feet — tall enough that he should have felt threatening when he stood so near.

But it wasn’t his height that felt threatening. It was the determined look in his eyes — as though, now that he’d made his choice, he was the one in command.

He dropped to one knee.

“Miss Briarley — Lucretia, is it?”

“I prefer Lucy,” she said.

“Lucy,” he said. He took both her hands within his, enveloping her in warmth — and making her realize, dizzyingly, that she hadn’t merely miscalculated.

She had no bloody clue what he would do.

He smiled up at her as though entirely at ease. “My dear Lucy. My life hasn’t been the same since I first saw you, and I find I cannot continue to live safely without you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

The proposal was honest to a fault. And, in some ways, it made her sad. How would it have felt if he had proposed because he loved her, and not because she’d threatened him into it?

“Mr. Vale…Maximus….”

“Max,” he said. “From now onward, I’m just Max.”

There was a quirk to his lips that said this was entirely too amusing — but his eyes were steady. His hands were firm, supportive but unyielding.

“You don’t have to propose on bended knee,” she said.

“Humor me. I’d intended to marry for love someday. You think I’ll be an aristocrat who seeks pleasure wherever he can find it — and maybe that will be true, once I’ve been an earl for a decade or two. But in the meantime, I cannot fathom agreeing to marry a woman without asking her to become my bride.”

She suddenly felt that there was something she had misunderstood. “You…you don’t intend to pretend this is a love match, do you?”

“I met you three hours ago,” he said pointedly. “I know nothing about you other than that you’re insane enough, or daring enough, to propose marriage to me.”

“As are you,” she said.

“As am I,” Max agreed. He stood, but he didn’t let go of her hands. “We’re both likely insane. If we succeed, we’ll be an earl and a countess, with the risk of having the unhappiest marriage in England. If we fail, we may still be married, but without an estate or anything else, and you’ll be a shopkeeper’s wife.”

“It won’t come to that. My dowry is big enough that I can live comfortably somewhere, even if you want to stay in London and manage your shop.”

He raised an eyebrow, only briefly, but it was enough to make her regret mentioning her dowry. But then he squeezed her hands. “Don’t say you’re thinking of abandoning me already.”

“No. If I take a vow, I’ll keep it.”

“I would offer you a ring, but I didn’t bring one,” he said. “This was entirely outside of my plan.”

Lucy laughed. “We can find a ring around here somewhere.”

He shook his head. “I’m not here for the Briarley jewels. If you’re going to wear my ring, I want to choose one for you myself. But perhaps we should wait to announce our engagement for a few days anyway.”

She’d already had a “secret engagement” once — with a man who had never intended to marry her and had used the engagement to lure her into his bed. She narrowed her eyes involuntarily. “Are you as ashamed to be seen with me as you accused me of being?”

His eyes widened, and she saw regret there. “That’s not it at all, Miss Briarley.”

“Lucy,” she reminded him.

“Lucy,” he repeated. “I’m sure I could never be ashamed of you. But you don’t know me. And, frankly, I don’t know you. We might sleep on our decision for at least a night before announcing it. As long as it’s secret, no harm will come to either of us if you decide to cry off.”

He was right, of course. But Lucy had made a plan, and she always stuck with her plans. “I will not cry off.”

“Still. Let’s see what Ferguson says in the morning before we announce anything. I don’t want to hurt you.”

His voice sounded sincere. His hands were still steady as they held hers.

But it suddenly felt like she was making a mistake.

She pulled her hands away and took a step back. “I should go. Wouldn’t want to be caught here if you aren’t interested in marrying me.”

He closed the distance that she’d created. “Give me the chance to get to know you better. Give yourself a chance to get to know me better. You may wake up in the morning and regret that you ever thought of throwing your life away with a man from the East End.”

“And if we both realize that this is the best plan? Will you agree to make an announcement?”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she saw unshakeable resolve — and some brief, fleeting shadow of remorse.

“I would be honored to marry you, if that’s what’s in the cards. But we shouldn’t say anything until we both agree.”

It wasn’t close enough to a promise for her tastes. But she held out her hand, like they had made a gentleman’s agreement. “I accept your terms, Mr. Vale.”

He looked down at her hand. He took it — but not as a man would shake another’s hand. He wove his fingers through hers, and suddenly everything was warm again despite her doubt.

“You don’t seal an agreement like this with a handshake,” he murmured. “And since I don’t have a ring to give you….”

She realized that she was holding her breath. But there was no time to breathe as he leaned down and kissed her.

His lips were firm, sure. His kiss was as confident as he was — he wasn’t in a rush. He lingered. He explored. His other hand moved to her back, gathering her closer as he deepened the kiss.

Her lips parted. It all felt right, even though it was so very wrong. Even though he was a liar. Even though he’d asked for a secret engagement.

She pulled back. She’d been here before.

She removed her fingers from his grip like she was escaping a prison, not giving up an unexpected pleasure. “We’ll find a ring tomorrow, if it spares me from this method of sealing an agreement,” she said.

It was a shockingly rude thing to say. But his smile was too smug to care. “Someday I’ll teach you not to be so proper.”

She almost laughed. If he only knew how improper she could be….

But she left instead, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. He hadn’t completely agreed to an engagement — but that kiss told her that he could be convinced.

Whether it was a good idea to convince him was another matter entirely.