By the time Niall left the library with Bree, the gentlemen were coming down the hall to join the ladies in the drawing room.

He stared at her, a lump catching in his throat. God, she was beautiful in that forest-green dinner gown, which skimmed her breasts with loving care and left far too much of the rest of her to the imagination. He would love to see what lay beneath the froth of petticoats that women wore these days. He had no doubt she would be a Botticelli indeed.

Well, except for her prudery and her absurd worries that he might be plotting to get her into his bed, that he might have plotted to get her there years ago. That angered him. The fact that she would even believe—

Don’t think about that right now, man. You’re supposed to be happily anticipating announcing your engagement, remember?

Right. To a woman who looked as if someone had just stolen her joy. How annoying. Years ago she’d refused to marry him, and now that she had her chance to get her hooks in him again, she balked?

That made no sense. And was rather insulting. He’d make any woman a good husband, blast it. Not that he wanted to be one to her, but still, she ought to be running after him like the other females in society.

Unless she’d truly loved Trevor.

The very thought of it was like an itch under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. He hadn’t been able to make her love him enough to leave her family behind for him, but Trevor had succeeded?

Although her point about her mother’s being unable to go abroad had been valid, he supposed. Still, he found it hard to believe that her mother had been her only sticking point. If so, Bree would have waited for him until her mother died. Then she would have sent word.

But she hadn’t even waited a full year before marrying some other fellow. Deuced bastard. If anything showed that she hadn’t truly loved him, that did.

Well, this would be over soon enough.

He halted at the threshold of the drawing room to gaze down into her grim face. “Are you ready for this?”

“No. But waiting won’t make me any more ready.”

“You might want to smile. You’re announcing your impending wedding, but you look like you’re going to your execution.” He forced a teasing note into his voice. “You may not be aware of this, but I am considered eminently eligible.”

That softened her features. “And modest, too.”

“Why should I be modest?” he quipped. “I’m an earl, for God’s sake. We have and deserve everything, don’t you know?” When that actually got a smile from her, he murmured, “It will work out in the end, Bree. I swear.”

“It didn’t work out last time.”

“That’s because we actually planned to marry. It’s much easier to manage imaginary engagements. You can dissolve those at a moment’s notice with little difficulty.”

He was rewarded by her throaty chuckle.

But when he started to enter, she halted and said, “Hold on.” She reached up to straighten his cravat and smooth a lock of his hair. “That’s better. Now we’re ready.”

The wifely gesture made his pulse stutter. Damn her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she did something so . . . so bloody endearing that he wanted to toss his opinions of her out the window.

Careful, man. She’s not the woman you thought you knew.

He’d simply have to keep reminding himself of that.

When they entered together with her hand on his arm, they drew furtive looks of curiosity. Niall debated whether to consult with Clarissa about the announcement or ask Edwin’s permission. But that would require too much explanation. Best to let the cat out of the bag without swinging it around first.

The footmen were serving wine, so he snagged a glass and tapped it to gain everyone’s attention.

Then he took Bree’s hand in his. “Forgive me, sister,” he said, with a nod at Clarissa. “Although I don’t want to take over your dinner, I do have something to announce, and I figured I’d take care of it while many of our friends are together.”

The room fell so silent that he could hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth. “Some of you may have noticed that Mrs. Trevor and I have been absent from the party for a while. Well, there was a reason for that. I wanted a private moment with her so I could ask her to be my wife. And fortunately she has made me the happiest of men by consenting.”

For a second, he thought he’d blundered in where he shouldn’t have. No one spoke, no one moved. Everyone gaped at them.

Then Mother broke the silence. “Oh, my dears! How wonderful!”

That opened the floodgates. Edwin congratulated him with a hearty clap on the shoulder. Clarissa exclaimed that she’d always known they belonged together.

And the rest of the women crowded around Bree to ask her precisely the sort of things he knew she’d been fretting over: When had it happened? How had they known they were in love? When was the wedding?

To Bree’s credit, she fielded the questions much better than she’d implied she would. So much for her inability to “pretend,” which he’d thought was nonsense in the first place. She’d pretended to be madly in love with him years ago—this should be easy.

Suddenly Niall caught sight of Lady Pensworth in the corner, surveying the scene with a wary eye. Uh-oh. At least one person in the room did not look happy about this.

Leaving Bree to the ladies, he strolled over to her aunt. “Forgive me, Lady Pensworth. I realize I should have consulted with you first, and I do intend to go through solicitors and draw up settlements and such.” He glanced back at Bree with what he hoped was an expression of adoration. “But I’ve waited seven years for this. I didn’t want to wait another week more.”

She eyed him closely. “Delia mentioned that the two of you knew each other previously. In Bath, was it?”

“Yes, when I accompanied Mother on her trip to take the waters. Lady Payne was there to take the waters as well, and Bree and I happened to meet in the park one day. She wasn’t yet out, so we only saw each other outside the usual avenues. But we were very . . . close.”

“Yet until you showed up a few weeks ago, she’s never so much as mentioned your name.”

Of course not. The blasted female hadn’t thought one whit about him once he’d left.

He forced a smile. “She’s hardly going to talk about her former suitor with the aunt of her husband, especially when said former suitor is off in another country where she’s unlikely to see him again.”

“Due to that pesky little incident with the duel, you mean.” Lady Pensworth eyed him over the top of her spectacles.

He stiffened. “Yes.”

“And what was the reason for the duel?”

He kept smiling and told himself that this was practice for what would probably be a worse interrogation by Bree’s father tomorrow. “All parties involved in the duel agreed not to divulge the reasons.”

“The other party is dead. I hardly think he’ll object.”

“No, but I do. Perhaps we could have this discussion at another time, in a more private setting?” Where he could handle the old harpy without everyone looking on.

She dipped her head. “If you wish. Though I am not the one who chose to eschew the usual formalities by announcing the betrothal willy-nilly without consulting her relations.”

“Your nephew’s widow isn’t some blushing innocent,” he said in a steely voice. “And she can do as she pleases.”

“Fortunately, so can I.” When he glowered at her, she added, “Very well, we’ll continue this discussion at a later time. But I really only have one other question of significance. Do you love her?”

Oh, God. It had been one thing to advise Bree how to mislead her relations, but it was quite another to be faced with lying to them himself. The sort of spying he’d done for Fulkham hadn’t prepared him for anything this personal.

Keep to the plan. A practical arrangement, remember? “I respect her. I enjoy her company.” He met Lady Pensworth’s gaze boldly. “And I need a wife to bear my heir. She will do nicely, I think.”

There. He’d established the ruse without having to spout lies about love and rapture.

Lady Pensworth sipped her wine. “I do hope you’ve informed her of those cold-blooded reasons for marrying her.”

“Of course. And she has her own ‘cold-blooded’ reasons—she wants a father for her son and someone to help her with Camden Hall.”

“She does, does she? Odd that she hasn’t mentioned that wish to me.”

“Forgive me, Lady Pensworth, but there are things a woman will tell her fiancé that she won’t tell a relation.”

Lady Pensworth’s eyes narrowed on him. “Even a fiancé who hasn’t bothered to visit her or court her in the month he’s been back in England?”

God rot it, the woman was suspicious. But there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “Other than your concern about Bree’s feelings, have you any other objections?”

She blinked. “Bree?”

“Sorry. Brilliana. Bree is the nickname I had for her, and now I can’t break myself of the habit of using it.”

“You gave her a nickname, eh? Interesting.” She seemed to regard him in a new light. “So, you’re marrying her to gain your heir, then.”

“And because we suit each other. It is a good match.”

“Just not a particularly romantic one.”

“I’m not particularly romantic,” he shot back.

“Yes, but she is.”

He couldn’t resist a cynical smile. “Are you sure about that?”

“I know Brilliana quite well,” she said frostily. “And I would hate to see—”

“There you are.” Bree took him by the arm. “Your mother and sister want us to lead out the dancing.”

“There’s dancing?” he said, startled.

“Surely you know your sister well enough to realize that any event she hosts must involve dancing of some kind. And now that you and I have made our announcement, she thinks it only right that there be more of a celebration. Which calls for dancing.”

He glanced back to see servants moving chairs out of the way and a young lady taking a seat behind the pianoforte. “Ah, that makes sense.”

His stomach knotted. This would be his first time dancing with Bree. In Bath they’d been unable to meet at social affairs, so no balls or assemblies.

Bad enough he would have to squire her around for weeks. Now he’d have the added torture of holding her in his arms, breathing in her scent, watching her lush curves undulate in a decided echo of the act of love itself.

Damn Fulkham to hell.

He turned toward Bree, but Lady Pensworth stayed him with a hand on his arm. Apparently the inquisition wasn’t over.

She fixed Bree with a questioning look. “Lord Margrave has just been telling me about your reasons for marrying. It all sounds very—”

“Practical?” Brilliana said lightly. “I know.” She leaned toward her aunt. “Don’t tell his mother and sister, but his lordship and I aren’t romantic sorts. He needs a wife, and I thought it was time I found a suitor who can be a father to Silas. It’s important for my son to have a man to look up to. I’m sure you agree.”

Niall met her aunt’s gaze evenly, trying hard not to gloat. Bree couldn’t have answered any better if he’d crafted her answer himself.

“Besides,” Bree went on with a suspicious gleam in her eye, “Niall isn’t eager to weather the marriage mart when he already knows me so well. It’s most trying for a man his age.”

A man his—What the blazes? He was only thirty, for God’s sake!

A faint smile crossed her aunt’s face. “Yes, I can see how it would be taxing.”

Oh, he was not going to let this stand. “Almost as taxing as running an estate alone will be for Bree. Being a woman, she recognizes that she needs a man to take such matters in hand.”

When Bree glared at him, he smirked at her. He was congratulating himself for getting his own back when Lady Pensworth said in a voice like ice, “Not all women need a man to ‘take such matters in hand.’ I’ve run my brother’s estate for years, since he can’t be bothered. So far, I’ve had no complaints from his tenants.”

Damnation. He’d overplayed his hand.

“Thank you, Aunt Agatha, for clarifying that,” Bree said, then tugged on Niall’s arm. “They’re calling for us. We’d better go.”

“Yes, of course.” Grateful for the reprieve, he let her pull him away. Hard to believe he was actually looking forward to the part of this mission that involved cornering criminals and risking life and limb.

Because Lady Pensworth would give any criminal a run for his money.

As they headed off to where dancers were assembling, Bree started laughing. “I wish you could see your face. Aunt Agatha certainly took you down a peg.”

“I am not avoiding the marriage mart, blast it. Why would you say that?”

“To further our ruse.” Her face was the very picture of innocence. “Wasn’t that what you directed me to do?”

“I didn’t tell you to make me sound like I’m in my dotage.”

“No.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “I came up with that all on my own.”

“For someone who feared she’d have trouble pretending,” he grumbled, “you’re doing exceedingly well.”

“I merely decided to take your advice to treat this as an adventure and enjoy myself.”

They halted in the middle of the room, with every eye upon them. “And your idea of an adventure is to mock me publicly?”

The music struck up then. A waltz.

“Was I mocking you?” she said as he took her in the proper hold. “I thought I was merely stating a fact. You are a bachelor of a certain age.”

He tugged her far too close for propriety, and two spots of color appeared on her cheeks, which pleased him inordinately. “Don’t press your luck, sweeting.” Then he began to dance.

Bree followed his lead like a woman born to waltz. She was all fluid grace and perfect symmetry, her body sweeping through the room as if borne by the music itself. It made him ache to whisk her right out onto a balcony somewhere and kiss her senseless.

But he’d promised not to “lure” her anywhere, so he would control himself. Although the longer her hand clung to his, the more he wanted to have her hand somewhere else . . . in his hair, against his bare chest . . . curving around his hardening cock.

He swore under his breath. How did this woman make him forget himself so easily?

Because when she was smiling as she was just now, with her face lit up like a sun-drenched meadow, she was so appealing that he forgot she’d once been a mercenary in skirts, coveting his title like the other debutantes. That when marrying him had meant exile and uncertainty, she’d married another man without so much as a letter to him.

“What did my aunt say?” she asked. “I tried to get over there quickly, but everyone had a million questions.”

“And what did you tell them?”

She arched one eyebrow. “You first.”

“Your aunt wanted to know the usual—how we met, what I felt for you, that sort of thing. I gave her exactly the answers that we agreed upon. Then you gave her nearly the same answers—thank you, by the way—so with any luck, she’ll be satisfied.”

“I doubt it.” She glanced at her aunt. “She’s scowling at us.”

“Not at us. At me. I don’t think she approves, despite my explanation about our arrangement. She says you’re too romantic to marry for practical reasons.” He eyed her closely. “Is that true?”

She looked away. “I suppose it was true once. But life has taught me that romance is foolish.”

“Was it really life that taught you that? Or your marriage? What happened—was it not a love match?” He couldn’t keep the snide tone from his voice.

And judging from the way she tipped up her chin, she made note of it. “Why would you assume that?”

“Because you now think romance is foolish.”

“It has nothing to do with . . . I don’t think . . .” She scowled at him. “I don’t want to talk about my marriage with you, that’s all. It’s private.”

Only with an effort did Niall hide his chagrin. It shouldn’t bother him that she wouldn’t tell him the details. What did it matter if she’d married Trevor for love? Or if she didn’t want to talk about why the marriage had soured? If it had soured.

He was past all that with her, damn it.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from prodding, especially when something awful occurred to him. “He wasn’t cruel, was he?”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said, so dismissively that he had to believe her. “Reynold and I got along perfectly well. He never raised his hand—or voice—to me. He was a good man.”

The kind of man she could fall in love with? “Is that why you don’t wish to marry again? Because you were madly in love with him and no other man compares? Or did he make you skeptical about marriage by proving to be a disappointment?”

“Why do you care?”

A good question, yet he couldn’t stop. “I don’t understand why you’re no longer interested in spending your life with a man you love. That’s what most women prefer.”

“And you know exactly what most women prefer, being a man.” She stared hard at him. “For your information, even if one marries the man one loves, a lifetime with him is not guaranteed. I’m a widow at twenty-four—hardly a ringing endorsement for the longevity of marriages. And given the usual man’s tendency to wander—”

“Ah, so Trevor was a philanderer.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to. Something made you cynical about marriage. And that’s a common enough reason.”

“I’m not cynical about marriage, and my husband was never a philanderer. We were perfectly content until he found out about—” She glared at him. “I told you I didn’t wish to discuss it. Besides, I wasn’t thinking of him. I was thinking of you.”

“Me!” The comment put him on his guard. He swept her into a turn. “I’ll admit I was a bit of a rogue. But only until I met you.”

She flashed him an arch smile. “Of course.”

“You don’t believe me?”

A veil came down over her face. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. That was all long ago, and we’re different people now.”

He would have probed further, but the waltz ended then, and they weren’t allowed to dance the next set together. With a certain glee, his friends all lined up to demand dances of her. And Clarissa insisted that he stand up with all of hers.

God rot them for conspiring against him in the usual fashion of friends teasing a new couple. He wondered what they’d think if they knew the truth.

And what was the truth? She’d certainly been evasive about that. He still didn’t know why she’d married that damned Trevor. Why she’d never bothered to tell him of it personally.

Thankfully, the evening didn’t go on much longer for him. Clarissa drew him aside to ask that he take home their mother, who was tiring.

He suppressed his snort. Tiring, right. That was Mother Code for I’m bored. Her bad hip kept her from dancing, and she never liked being left out.

Clarissa brought him over to the corner where Mother sat complaining—to Bree. Damnation. No telling what nonsense she was blathering. He only hoped she wasn’t reinforcing Bree’s impression of him as some sort of feckless scoundrel who’d abandoned his mother in her time of need.

He walked up to them. “Mother, Clarissa tells me you’re ready to leave. I told her I’d accompany you.”

As he helped his mother rise, Bree rose, too. “Will you be coming back?” she asked.

“Not tonight,” Mother answered for him. “You’ll have him to yourself very soon, my dear, but I’ve scarcely seen him since his return to England, and I do have a great deal to discuss with him.”

That was Mother Code for He was mine first, and don’t you forget it. Fortunately for Bree, she didn’t care.

God, that depressed him.

“Good night, then,” Bree said.

He nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Clarissa nudged him. “For heaven’s sake, you just got engaged. You should at least kiss her good night.”

The look of alarm on Bree’s face was unmistakable. Good God, she really wasn’t good at pretending. Before anyone could notice that, he stepped close and pressed his mouth to hers.

It was the briefest of kisses, but as he drew back and she stared up at him with wide, guileless eyes, for an instant he was back in Green Park, trying to coax the woman he loved into loving him in return.

And just as it had back then, his heart hammered in his chest and his blood ran wild. She looked sweet and beautiful and everything a man could desire. He wanted to throw caution to the winds and drag her back into his arms for the kind of kiss he used to give her.

Fortunately, his good sense prevailed. As she’d said, they were different people now. These days he was more conscious of his rank and wealth, and she was more guarded with men. Not to mention that they were both aware that this was just a ruse. Nothing else.

Or so he tried to tell himself, as he bowed to her and then left with Mother.

But as they headed for the door, he couldn’t help noticing that Lady Pensworth was looking upon him decidedly more kindly than before.