“Horse racing and society go hand in hand,” she cut in.
“That gossip puts a little more food on your table.”
Her gaze cut toward the window, as if she could see through the grime.
Dev went on, undeterred. “I came here to ask you?—”
Her gaze flashed to meet his. “You mean tobullyme.”
What she might’ve lacked in material wealth, she made up for with an abundance of courage.
“I came here,” Dev continued, equably, “toconvinceyou to write nice things about me here and there.”
“Because of last night?”
“If you choose to see it that way.”
“I don’t see how a few write-ups in the turf rags will lift the esteem of society.”
The lady was quick, he would give her that. “You’re not wrong.”
Her head tilted in question. “What is this all about, Mr. Deverill? Why would you want to unearth anything about me? I’m nothing to you.”
“Oh, you’re someone, Lady Beatrix,” he said, dry. “You’re the someone who broke into my hotel suite last night.” He realized he was turning his pinky ring and stopped. “Besides, I make it a point to know everything there is to know about anyone that I’m going into business with.”
A little, disbelieving laugh escaped her. “You and I aren’t going into business together, Mr. Deverill.”
Oh, she wasn’t going to like the next part of this conversation. But opportunities and angles were coming to him, and there was one in particular that held the glimmer of promise… “Now that I’ve properly met you in your home and seen your circumstances firsthand, I think we might have a use for each other.”
“Now that you know I’m penniless,” she said, blunt—antagonistic, even.
Dev lifted empty hands, helpless to the facts. “You’ve seen how I live, and now I’ve seen how you live.”
He let the tit-for-tat settle into the air—and waited. In any negotiation, this moment inevitably arrived—the impasse. Ironically, one had to arrive at the impasse before progress couldbe made. What it came down to was who had the most patience and the most nerve. One needed both to come out on top.
“Will you never stop speaking in riddles, Mr. Deverill?” At last, her patience had run out.
“It’s simple, really,” he said. “You marry me.”
Oh, he had nerve to spare.
Lady Beatrix blinked. Her mouth fell open for the space of three incredulous seconds before she snapped it shut. It opened again. “Marryyou?”
“Well, agree to marry me.”
“You jest.”
“I’m not known for jesting, in the general sense.”
A scoff born of sheer incredulity scraped across her throat. “I won’t agree to marry you.”
Dev sensed now was the moment to ease up a hair, even as he continued to press forward. Another opportunity like Lady Beatrix St. Vincent wouldn’t fall into his lap again so easily. “Iknow that, andyouknow that, but society doesn’t have to.”
“So…you’re proposing…anengagement?”
“In the eyes of society, yes.”
“Why would I agree to such a thing?”
