She could hear the crunch of Edmund’s footsteps as he advanced on them. “Tell me it’s not Lady Winthrop,” he said, naming a pretty young baroness who had been recently widowed. “You know I’ve been trying to cajole her into my bed.”
“Never mind who it is,” Lucian snapped. “Do the decent thing and afford us a little privacy.”
Edmund groaned. “It is Lady Winthrop, isn’t it? I’ve laid five quid against McClanahan that I’ll be the first one to… What’s this? LadyRosalie?”
Rosalie couldn’t meet his eye as she gave the ties of her dress one final tug. “It’s not what you think,” she said quickly.
Edmund’s voice was rich with amusement. “Given both of your states of dishabille, I’d say it is exactly what I think. Good God, the daughter of a duke… andyou! This is going to be the scandal of the century!”
“Please, Mr. Reeves—” Rosalie began.
But she was drowned out by Lucian, who spoke at the same time. “There’s not going to be any scandal. Lady Rosalie and I are going to marry.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What?” Rosalie yelped.
“What?” Edmund cried in the same breath, helpfully masking the fact that Rosalie had bellowed like a fishwife.
Lucian gave him a baleful look. “Is your hearing starting to go? I said we’re getting married.”
“But you’re…” Edmund glanced from Lucian to Rosalie and back again. He swallowed thickly, as if struggling to come up with a polite way to phrase it. “Not the marrying sort,” he finally said.
Lucian dismissed this with a flick of his wrist. “They say reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
“And are you reformed?” Edmund asked.
Lucian answered by turning his gaze on Rosalie. “I am now.” He gave her a look that was equal parts fond and fiery.
It was remarkably effective. No wonder he was the most sought-after bedpartner in all of London. It was a good thing Rosalie was already sitting down, because otherwise, she would have swooned onto the flagstones.
She reminded herself that he did not mean it. That he was merely creating a distraction, which would allow them sufficient time to formulate a plan.
“I can’t believe it,” Edmund breathed. “Just wait until everyone hears about this!”
The fond expression fell from Lucian’s face as he swung to face Edmund. “Not yet.”
Edmund was cackling. “Yes, yet!”
Lucian gave him an exasperated look. “Think, man! There’s nothing you’re more fond of than a wager.”
Edmund frowned. “True.”
“Well, consider the odds you’ll get if you bet that I’ll find myself married in the next fortnight.”
Edmund’s mouth fell open, and his eyes took on a faraway look. “It could be my greatest coup,” he whispered.
“Yes!” Lucian agreed. “But only if you keep your mouth shut.”
“You’re right.” Edmund clasped his hands. “Of course, you’re right.” He looked at them again, his eyes bright. “A fortnight? You promise?”
Lucian placed a hand over his heart. “Hopefully less.”
Edmund frowned. “That won’t leave time to call the banns.”
“I could not possibly wait that long,” Lucian said. “We’ll be marrying by special license.”
Edmund peered at him. “You’re not bamming me, are you?”
