“And that bet was…?”
“That Westerley could convince Miss Jackson—now Lady Westerley—to marry him, and that he could accomplish this in less than twenty-four hours.” He winced at the sound of that. Simon had known better than to bet against Greys. The man rarely lost, if ever.
“I take it she did not accept his suit so easily?”
“No, I believe it took him closer to a week.” Simon had been quite disappointed.
“And might I know the terms of this wager?”
“If I was wrong, then, for the duration of the Season, I would be honor-bound to perform the duties as Greystone’s—”
“Butler,” she finished for him. She wasn’t scolding him—yet.
“The terms were that my identity remain a secret. And aside from a few necessary exceptions, I couldn’t tell anyone who I was. Which wasn’t problematic, until… you came along.”
“Me?” But she appeared rather pleased at the notion. And the sun, which was very low in the sky, shone a golden light on her face.
Simon halted his explanation to steal a kiss, a kiss that left both of them a little breathless.
“You would make an excellent spy. Whenever I turned around, there you were, watching me, catching me dealing with my steward, or one of my sisters, always thinking the worst.” He grinned.
“I thought you were going to corrupt poor Posy!” she accused. “And how was I to know?” But then she smiled, but with a crease between her eyes and shaking her head. “All of this was for a silly bet?”
“Honor dictated that I fulfill the terms. I had to follow it through.” Simon squeezed her. “And if I forfeited, your cousin would win the distinction of selecting the woman I am to marry. This was the part of the wager I regretted most of all.”
Violet grew serious, watching him closely. “And he selected me?” She frowned.
“He tried, but I wouldn’t allow it. I have proposed to you because I wanted to. The decision was all mine.”
“But then how…?” She blinked at him. “You are really… Blackheart? The Duke of Blackheart.”
“Yes, and as to how, well, the terms of the bet have been renegotiated.” Simon glanced over his shoulder and absently noticed that shadows partially hid the details carved into the statue. Hopefully, the setting sun would provide him the same sort of cover. “This is what I was discussing with Greystone most of the day. I offered him Heart Place, but he refused. I was willing to do anything…”
“But it would have been dishonorable.” Violet showed her understanding. “Honor, once forfeited by a gentleman, is nearly impossible to get back.”
“Yes.” But he would have done so, if necessary. As it was, he was going to have to sacrifice his dignity instead.
“Trouble was,” he explained. “Greys and I were not the only ones with wagers.”
“Go on now!” Mr. Spencer interrupted, shouting across to them. “Enough with the stalling!”
Violet glanced over to where the others waited, and then back to Simon.
“Westerley and Greystone bet that I would concede before the end of the Season, and Chaswick, Spencer, and Mantis, now the Earl of Crestwood, bet that I would not. The losers of their collective wagers would sprint through the park...” He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with one hand. “Unclothed.”
Violet’s brows raised, and then she darted her gaze to the statue and back.
“Without so much as a fig leaf.” Simon winced.
“And if your bet with my cousin was renegotiated, or if Greys released you from the terms, it would ruin their wager,” Violet guessed.
“Yes, so, this afternoon, Chaswick proposed an alternative.”
“And that was?”
He reached up and untied his cravat.
“Oh Simon, no!” Her mouth fell open. “So… you… must… without…?”
