Page 14

“I find myself facing the prospect of an unwelcome marriage,” Miss Brown said, “and I would like to avoid that fate.”

“An unwelcome marriage?”

Who, in the name of all that was holy, had proposed marriage to Miss Brown? While Simon was fairly certain he was holding himself together outwardly, his legs still felt odd. He jiggled one to see if it would work. It didn’t seem promising.

“Yes, one might even call it a forced marriage.”

“A forced marriage?”

Simon was aware that he was going to have to do more than parrot Miss Brown’s words, but the blancmange problem was apparently spreading to his brain.

“Yes, and I’ve been over and over my options. I fear the only thing that will make the … gentleman in question withdraw his suit is the prospect of his intended being damaged goods.”

“You cannot simply refuse him?” Simon asked.

“He is … very persuasive. And very determined.”

Oh, dear Heavens. Simon tried the other leg. Nothing. “And you want me to …”

“To ruin me. Yes.”

Simon took a beat. And several more beats. “How would this … ruination occur?” Hypothetically. For he could not seriously entertain the idea. He could barely even speak the word aloud.

“The usual way. We are found in a compromising position at a party. The party bit will prove challenging. I don’t go to many. I don’t go to any. But Lady Harcourt still receives the occasional invitation, and I am hopeful that with enough lead time, I can manipulate the household such that we will attend a party sometime in the next few months. Or, if it isn’t too much to ask, perhaps you could host a party.”

If it wasn’t too much to ask? She was conceding that asking him to host a party might be overstepping, but asking him to ruin her at said party was a reasonable request? The world had turned upside down.

“Regardless, there shall be a party. And then we can arrange to be closeted together in a room.” She paused. “And of course arrange to be caught out, too; discovery is the essential bit.”

Simon’s stomach lurched at the notion of being “closeted together” in a room with Miss Brown. Conducting themselves in such a fashion that society would shame them. Being discovered.

The scenario made him sweat. It was a terrible idea.

Yet also … not terrible?

No. Terrible.

He placed a palm on the arm of his chair to steady himself, belatedly realizing that he was already sitting down and not in need of steadying. It merely felt that way.

“You needn’t actually ruin me!” Miss Brown cried suddenly. “Oh, my goodness, I have made a hash of this. I am seized with panic.”

Seized with panic? Miss Brown had, heretofore, been the picture of matter-of-factness. If she was panicking, she was hiding it well.

Unlike him, he feared, judging by her worried expression. He had thought, mere moments ago, that he was keeping calm outwardly. He feared that was no longer the case.

She leaned in as if imparting a secret. Reflexively, he angled himself to meet her, as if they were in a noisy, crowded drawing room and not utterly alone in his library.

Simon had never before been utterly alone with Miss Brown.

He leaned back again.

“We merely need to create the appearance of ruination,” she said.

“The appearance of ruination.” The parroting continued.

“Yes. Should someone come across us appearing to be in a compromising position, that would be sufficient to brand me as unmarriageable. There needn’t be any actual compromising.”

Was that … disappointing?