Mary Balogh by A Counterfeit Betrothal; The Notorious Rake Page A

in the village church, or that I was eager, anyway, and that you wished only to do whatpleased me. I told her that as soon as our betrothal was announced, she could stay and help plan the wedding.”
    “You are getting close,” he said. “I believe it was the next sentence.”
    “We want the banns read immediately after the betrothal announcement,” she said.
    “That was the one,” he said. “And I might have saved you the trouble of repeating yourself, Soph. I heard correctly the first time. May I ask you something? Are you trying to trap me into marriage? Are you playing a more clever game than all the other females who fancy me? It is a good thing you don’t wear stays, Soph—you don’t, do you? You would be popping them all over the place at this moment.”
    “Well!” The word finally found its way past Sophia’s lips. “The conceit. The unmitigated conceit. All the other females.
All
? How many dozen, Francis? How many hundred? Or should I go higher? I would marry a toad sooner than marry you. I would marry a snake sooner than marry …”
    “I follow your meaning,” he said, smiling even more warmly and lifting her hand briefly to his lips. “It is just that you are chuckleheaded then, Soph? Smile, darling.”
    She smiled. “Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” she said from between her teeth.
    “When on the stage,” he said, “you have to throw yourself heart and soul into the part. Once the banns are read, my darling, we are going to be dead ducks, you and I. It will be bad enough to have to face down a broken engagement, Soph. But that? It is out of the question.”
    Tears sprang to her eyes. “But she will go back home,” she said. “As soon as this is settled one way or the other, she said she will return to Rushton. Whether we become betrothed or not, she will go. And what is the point of being engaged, Francis, if she does not stay?”
    “What indeed?” he said.
    “She will stay if there is a wedding to prepare for,” she said.
    Lord Francis scratched his head and apparently watched the bowlers for a few moments. “Maybe so, Soph,” he said. “But will she go home anyway after we are married? That is the question. And what am I talking about, saying
after
we are married? Insanity is infectious. It must be.”
    “She still loves Papa,” Sophia said. “She as much as admitted so to me. And he must love her, Francis. She is so much lovelier than his mistress.”
    “Good Lord, Soph,” he said. “You are not supposed to know anything about mistresses, and even if you do, the word should never be allowed to pass your lips.”
    “His ladybird then,” she said, exasperated. “His bit of muslin. His …”
    “Yes,” he said, tossing a look up to a fluffy white cloud that was floating by. “Lady Clifton is certainly a better looker than Lady Mornington. But it does not follow that he therefore wants her more, Soph. If you want my opinion, trying to bring them back together again after fourteen years is rather like trying to flog the proverbial dead horse. Oh, Lord, waterworks?”
    “No,” she said crossly, turning with hurried steps back toward the house. “Just a little insect in my eye, that is all. And the sun is too bright. I forgot to bring my parasol with me.”
    He caught up to her, drew her hand through his arm, and patted it. “Perhaps I am wrong,” he said. “Perhaps I am, Soph.”
    “No, you are not,” she said, fumbling about her person for a handkerchief, then taking the one he offered her. “She has been here for a whole day and they have scarce said a word to each other except last night out onthe terrace when we forced them together. It is quite hopeless. She will go back home, whether it be tomorrow or next week or next month.”
    He curled his fingers beneath hers on his arm. “Perhaps all they need is time,” he said. “It must be awkward meeting again after so long and with so many other people around to provide an interested audience. Perhaps in time