Page 12 of The Earl's Hired Bride
He bit back a laugh. “Miss Spencer, we may only have the shortest acquaintance, but I assure you, you have many more charms that a sow’s ear.”
“I thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now me . . .” She sighed and grew more sober. “She might tell me that if you’ve something to hide, the safest place is under someone’s nose.”
He stilled. “Are you hiding something, Miss Spencer?”
She blinked at him, and then grinned again. “Only my nerves, I hope. I admit I find myself tempted by the job, my lord, and amused by the irony of fate, bringing us together. We could not be more opposite, you see. You have too much interest in your situation. I, on the other hand, would feel infinitely richer for the favorable interest of just one person.” Her mouth twitched. “I don’t count the interest of a landlord chasing me down for rent, you see, or a butcher who is only interested in trading favors for finer cuts of meat.”
Good God. Well. At least she needed him as much as he needed her.
“Too bad we couldn’t just make a trade between us,” she said with a smile. “But here we are instead, on the verge of a perilous pretense.”
“Perilous?” Hart frowned. Why did he feel slightly bewildered every time she spoke? “Daunting perhaps. It will be quite a bit of work, especially for you. But perilous?”
“Daunting for me, perhaps you are right.” Her gaze unfocused as if she were thinking. “There are obstacles. I don’t have the right wardrobe, for one.”
“I’ll see to that,” he said easily.
“And will I not need a sponsor, if you wish me to go about in Society?” She frowned. “I assume you do wish me to make public appearances, otherwise why bother?”
“My mother will be your sponsor.”
She blinked. “Truly? Well, that will solve a whole host of difficulties, I should think. But still, this is a perilous business for you, my lord.”
“For me?” She’d stumped him again.
“Yes, for you will be quite at my mercy, won’t you?” She shook her head. “Hestia Wright was wrong about one thing—I’m not a gentlewoman, not really.”
He had no idea how to respond to that.
“I have ties to yourbeau monde, if I am to be truthful.”
“Truthful would be best,” he agreed ironically.
“Actually, my mother has ties—to some of the highest blood in the land. But they are notrecognizedties, if you know what I mean.”
Did he? She was illegitimately connected to Society? And would it interfere?
Frowning greatly, she appeared to be considering the same question. “But my situation is not likely to change and I do not have to use my real name—which likely means nothing to anyone, anyway.” She nodded, as if she’d solved the puzzle to her satisfaction. “There now. We can forge ahead. And you can rest assured that you are in good hands, my lord. There are a great many unscrupulous girls in every class of society. I can imagine any one of them who would go along with your scheme, just for a chance to cry foul and compromise later—and force your hand. Never mind that the betrothal was false, the marriage would be real enough—or your honor destroyed.”
Hart stilled, but she merely smiled and forged on. “It’s a good thing you found me, then, isn’t it? I’ll never play you false like that, sir. I’ll stick strictly to the terms of our agreement.”
She raised her brows expectantly.
He was still reeling from her little speech. What a fascinating conundrum she was. Clearly she’d had a little experience with the wicked ways of the world, but next to none with persons in his position. If he toyed with a girl of his own class, he would be caught, as she said. But with her—a girl with no family, no protection? She was in more danger from him than the reverse. Did she not know that he could have her jailed with a word? He could easily crush her future, and the future of anyone else who lived with her in Cheapside.
But he would not. He was a man of his word—and a man a bit unbalanced by her charming mix of worldliness and naïveté.
Or perhaps the sensation was caused by the odd motion of her brows, still dancing up and down as she gazed at him, waiting.
For what? “Errr...?’ Thank God there was no one here to witness the utter defeat of his sangfroid.
“The terms?” she repeated. “Of our agreement?”
“Oh, yes. Much of the groundwork is laid,” he told her. “I’d been expecting my cousin to play the role, you see. A distant cousin, from America.”
“Ah, that’s where the Americans come in.” She frowned. “Dothey dance?”
He gaped at her. “I don’t know.” But the thought struck him. “Do you?”
