Had she lingered, the breeches would have been next.
She was sure her face was aflame.
“His lordship is the man I wish to marry,” she said.
Strange how the words did not feel as foreign as she had supposed they would.
“You are utterly certain, Grace?” Lady Emilia asked, her tone one of sisterly concern.
Grace was heartily glad Dev had found such a kindhearted wife. Though she was an aristocrat and the daughter of a duke, she had warmed to Grace and her sisters almost instantly. Their bond was strong and true. And Lady Emilia’s love for Dev was undeniable. It was the rare sort of passion that seemed to only grow as time went on.
The sort that only existed in novels.
“I am certain,” she lied to her sister-in-law, reminding herself of all the reasons why this feigned betrothal with Aylesford was a good idea.
Listing the reasons in her mind…
The viscount would return the book to her, with Dev none the wiser.
She would no longer be required to suffer potential suitors during the course of her feigned betrothal.
She would be able to carry on with whatever she wished and follow her heart after the betrothal reached its inevitable end.
No more guilt and responsibility.
Being betrothed to Aylesford would not be entirely awful. He was ridiculously handsome, after all. And perhaps she would have the opportunity to kiss him. To touch him. If she wished, that was.
She did not wish, she told herself.
Oh yes, you do, said a voice from deep within. It decidedly was not Pragmatic Grace.
She chased the voice away.
Lady Emilia’s gaze searched hers, almost as if she doubted the truth of Grace’s words. “You arecompletelycertain, Grace?”
Grace blinked. Was Aylesford truly that much of a reprobate? Her knowledge of his past was admittedly limited. All she knew was that he was a rake. And that he held an incredibly high opinion of himself. Not that such an opinion was unwarranted, but it went against the grain. She could not help but want to topple it.
“I am completely certain that I wish to wed Lord Aylesford,” she fibbed, smiling.
Her lips were stretched so wide, her cheeks ached.
Lady Emilia frowned at her. “Very well then, my dear. I will inform your brother of your decision, and your betrothal will be announced this very night.”
“This very night?” she asked, before she could think better of the words.
In truth, if she were indeed pleased by the prospect of becoming Viscountess Aylesford as she had pretended, she would like nothing better than for the announcement to occur with all haste. Instead, the mere mentioning of it filled her with misgiving.
But it was a feigned betrothal, she reminded herself.
Nothing about it was real. She would cut the ties with Aylesford as soon as she could. And she would be all the better for it.
“The betrothal will be announced tonight,” Lady Emilia confirmed then, her expression sympathetic, her gaze searching. “You are still sure, my dear?”
“Sure,” she echoed.
Even though something deep inside her suggested she was anything but.
Chapter Five
