Page 20 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“I may have been dramatic.”

“You were drinking your third whisky at two o’clock in the afternoon. You were sincere.” Sebastian closed the journal, folded it neatly, and set it on the table beside his glass. “Out with it.”

Oliver gestured toward the footman. A measure of whisky appeared at his elbow within moments, amber liquid catching the afternoon light that fell through the tall windows. He took a sip. The warmth spread through him, familiar, steadying. He had not come to White’s with the intention of discussing his arrangement with Louisa Fairchild. He had come because Tuesday afternoons at White’s with Sebastian were a fixture of his life, predictable in a way he valued.

But Sebastian was watching him with that look. The one that meant he would sit in perfect silence for as long as it took, patient beyond all reasonable expectation, until Oliver either spoke or went mad from the quiet.

“I have entered into an arrangement,” Oliver said.

Sebastian’s glass paused halfway to his mouth. “An arrangement.”

“A mutually beneficial agreement with a young lady. She assists me with a persistent problem. I assist her with a separate but related concern. Both parties benefit. No one is harmed.”

“Good heavens.” Sebastian set his glass down hard. “You have taken a mistress.”

“I have not taken a mistress.”

“You have proposed.”

“I have absolutely not proposed.”

“Then what in the name of all that is holy constitutes a mutually beneficial arrangement with a young lady that requires you to sit in my club looking like the cat that found the cream?”

Oliver leaned back. He could hear Lord Barrington’s voice carrying from the card room, bragging about his new hunter.

“Miss Louisa Fairchild,” he said. “She has agreed to play the part of my courtship interest for the remainder of the Season. In return, I am helping her attract the attention of a gentleman she has admired for some time.”

Sebastian stared at him.

“It is practical,” Oliver continued. “The matchmaking mothers have grown more aggressive this year. Lady Blackwood cornered me at the Bancroft ball for twenty minutes. Mrs. Worthington sent a footman to my house with an invitation to dine with her daughter. Alone. If society believes I am courting Miss Fairchild, the pursuits will diminish. She, meanwhile, benefits from the visibility my attention provides. The gentleman in question has already begun noticing her.”

Sebastian was still staring.

“It is a sound plan,” Oliver said. “Logical. Efficient. Everyone profits.”

Sebastian picked up his whisky. Took a long, slow drink. Set it down. Folded his hands in his lap. Drew a breath through his nose.

Then he laughed.

“Oh, Oliver.” Sebastian pressed his knuckles against his mouth, failing entirely to suppress the grin that had consumed his face. “Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.”

“I fail to see what is amusing.”

“You fail to see.” Sebastian wiped the corner of his eye. “England’s most eligible duke has entered into a pretend courtship with a young lady, for the purpose of convincing society that he is interested in her, while secretly helping her attract the attention of another man, whom she actually wants. Did I miss anything? Because I want to ensure I have the full measure of this catastrophe before I respond.”

“It is not a catastrophe. It is a strategy.”

“It is a penny novel. You are living inside a penny novel, and you walked into this club to tell me about it with a straight face.”

Oliver’s fingers tightened around his glass. He could feel the cut crystal pressing into the pads of his thumbs, the bite of it grounding him against the irritation crawling up the back of his neck. Sebastian had a gift for finding the thread that unraveled people. He had been doing it since they were boys, since the summer Oliver’s father had sent him to stay with the Hawthorne family in Sussex, the first time Oliver had slept through an entire night without waking to listen for raised voices through walls.

“The young lady in question is perfectly sensible,” Oliver said. “She is not dazzled by my title, which is precisely the point. She treats me with a refreshing absence of flattery. The arrangement works because neither of us harbors romantic illusions about the other.”

“Miss Louisa Fairchild.” Sebastian rolled the name across his tongue. “The Fairchild family on Curzon Street? Modest fortune, respectable father, declining circumstances?”

“You know them?”

“I know of them. Her mother is apparently a formidable woman who manages their household with military precision despite reduced means. I believe her father invested unwisely in a canal scheme several years ago.” Sebastian tilted his head. “And this young lady is, by your account, completely unimpressed by you.”