Page 14 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“It is not identical. A woman who lacks confidence would not have accused a duke of using her as a hedge at the Bancroft ball. What you do is quieter. You diminish yourself before anyone else can. It is a defense, not a deficit.”

She was quiet for several paces. The gravel crunched beneath their feet in a steady, companionable rhythm. A small brown dog raced past them, pursued by a red-faced footman calling a name that sounded unfortunate.

“Second condition,” she said, her voice steadier now. “You will not interfere directly with Frederick. Whatever progress occurs must happen naturally. I will not have him manipulated.”

“Agreed. I have no interest in managing Lord Langley’s affections. I merely intend to ensure he notices the opportunity he has been ignoring.”

“By making him jealous.”

“By reminding him that you exist. Jealousy is his decision.”

She shot him a look. “You are alarmingly good at splitting hairs.”

“Years of practice. It is the primary qualification for a seat in the House of Lords.”

Her laugh escaped before she could catch it, bright, unguarded, ringing across the water. Two ducks startled from the bank. She pressed her gloved fingers to her mouth, eyes wide, as though the sound had betrayed her.

Oliver felt his own smile widen before he could govern it. He looked away, toward the Row, where a pair of riders cantered past in a blur of black coats. The laugh had settled under his ribs in a place he had not expected.

“Third condition,” she continued, recovering. “When the Season ends, we part without complications. No lingering obligations. No debts between us.”

“Agreed.”

“You accepted that alarmingly quickly.”

“Because it aligns with my own intentions. I am not in the market for entanglements, Miss Fairchild. I require a single Season of peace. You require a single Season of visibility. We serve each other’s purposes, then we are finished.”

She nodded. The bonnet’s brim dipped. For a moment he could not see her expression.

They had reached the bridge. Oliver paused, resting his forearm against the stone balustrade, watching the sunlight fracture across the Serpentine’s surface. Louisa stood beside him, her gloved hands folded over the railing, her gaze fixed on the far shore where a family of geese processed with immense self-importance through the reeds.

“We should establish a signal,” he said.

“A signal.”

“For when one of us needs rescuing at an event. If I am trapped by Lady Blackwood’s latest campaign, I require a means of extraction. If you are cornered by a bore, or notice your Frederick staring beyond you, I shall do the same for you.”

“What sort of signal did you have in mind?”

He considered. “A fan. You could raise your fan to your left shoulder. Subtle enough. Easily overlooked by anyone not watching for it.”

“I do not carry a fan.”

He turned his head. “You attend London society events in the height of summer without a fan?”

“They are cumbersome. I spend the entire evening worrying about dropping them.”

“Well,” he offered, “then I suppose that we can only hope that when you need your Frederick’s attention, I notice, and that…”

Her lips pressed together. Her body heaved with a sigh, then she turned back to the water.

“Fine,” she said. “I will carry a fan. And stop referring to him as my Frederick.”

He grinned. “Excellent. Left shoulder for rescue. Right shoulder for run.”

“When would I need to run?”

“When Lady Blackwood begins discussing her daughter’s watercolors. Trust me. You will understand.”