Page 20 of The Best Marquess

He held up the dish for Pippa to dip her spoon into. “Here.”

“Good lord,” she breathed reverently, returning for a second spoonful. Then a third.

For the next several minutes they ate Finn’s ice, then finished the lemon, only pausing briefly to wince as the cold made their temples throb.

“So,” said Finn, when not a drop of ice remained and he’d set both dishes down by the railing to be collected by the waiter later. “Down to business. This soiree of Lady Kingsford’s. What are your thoughts?”

“I know one thing for certain. It will be the perfect occasion to ruin Grandmother’s plotting. All the most important people in society have accepted; I think the only ones not coming are Gabriel and Lilian. Grandmother is furious with Lilian, she thought to be undisputed hostess of the Season in announcing one granddaughter birthing a duke’s heir, then another granddaughter scooping Devonshire from the marriage mart.”

Finn snorted. “How did the dowager get so awful?”

“No idea,” said Pippa, shrugging. “But I do know Father marrying Mother for love was his one rebellion against her, and she’s made him pay ever since. Well, made us pay, for we have half Mother’s so-called common blood. Grandmother has tried various tactics over the years, beating it out of us, shaming and belittling it out of us, but now we are of age, she is taking the forced marriages for all approach.”

“Did she succeed or fail with Lilian?”

“Both. Grandmother arranged the marriage; however, she certainly wasn’t expecting them to fall in love, or for Lilian to find her inner lioness. But Devonshire is a much better bet, for she knows him. He grew up in society. The duke is not going to fall in love with me any more than I’m going to fall in love with him. We are far, far too different. So, it fits her idea of the perfect ton union: two ancient bloodlines, duty above all, cool civility at the breakfast table, et cetera, et cetera.”

Finn shivered as a brisk wind whipped around Berkeley Square. Fortunately, Pippa’s carriage blocked the worst of it. “Father is cut of the same cloth. I can almost imagine him and the dowager in a chemist’s laboratory together, adding a pinch of bloodline, a cup of duty, and two sprigs of cool civility to a cauldron while cackling manically.”

Pippa laughed then bit her lip. “Lord Pinehurst accepted his invitation, but will he be there if he is so unwell?”

“Oh yes. Only death would halt him. I do wonder though…perhaps if we announced earlier on in the evening? So he could leave?”

“Definitely. The earlier the better. I don’t want to give Grandmother any opportunity to say something first. But on the other hand, we need as many witnesses as possible. Preferably the gossipiest gossips in London to ensure the news spreads swiftly.”

Finn considered. “Then after the receiving line and all guests are in the drawing room with a drink, but before the entertainment begins in earnest? Don’t want to compete with the string quartet or the dancing.”

“Exactly. How do you want to announce?”

“No theatrics, I promise.”

Pippa peered at him over her spectacles. “Are you sure? Some gunpowder, some flames…perhaps a flock of doves…you could enter the drawing room performing a one-armed handstand on the back of a magnificent stallion.”

“Only if you swing from the chandelier by your ankles before somersaulting into my arms.”

“I can barely see your arms standing in front of you. More likely I would somersault into a potted plant.”

Was it so wrong that he adored their banter? Even after sixteen years it felt like he would never tire of talking to Pippa. He loved every eccentric inch of her. The way she was so damned practical, but also allowed herself brief forays into the absurd. Yes, this was a pretend engagement, but oh, if it were for real…

Finn straightened his shoulders. “To prevent any injuries, preserve our dignity, and save the soiree guests from any rogue doves or explosions, I’ll walk to the center of the drawing room, call for quiet, then ask you to join me. One announcement later, I’ll…”

Kiss you until you swoon against my chest. Then I’ll carry you away to a private spot and pleasure you until you beg for more and we try some of those scenes from The Highland Marauder. Or A Wicked Comte. The filthier the better.

He almost moaned as a barrage of erotic thoughts flooded his mind. That was the trouble with reading so many romance novels; he might not have done these things, but he could imagine them easily and they made his cock so damned hard. It was just as well he wore a greatcoat right now, otherwise Pippa would know his thoughts had wandered far, far away from the realm of friendship. “I’ll…tuck your arm in mine and we’ll accept the well wishes. And fainting. And dawn appointments.”

“I honestly don’t know who Grandmother would shoot first, me or you,” said Pippa. “Probably me, if only out of respect for your father, who she actually likes.”

“As your loyal second, I would distract her. Perhaps I could juggle some Florentine leather dildos or twirl some cock rings on a stick. This would double as an advertisement for Bliss, I must think of my glorious investor.”

She didn’t laugh. “You really would. Can I just say…there is no one I’d rather be pretend betrothed to than you?”

Finn closed his eyes briefly. Had she inched forward toward love? Or would pretend be as far as he progressed? “That is very kind. Now, I hate to be the wet blanket, but I can no longer feel my toes.”

“Go!” she replied. “Get warm. I shall see you at the soiree for The Great Betrothal Quest. I cannot wait.”

“Me either,” he said, bowing, then closing her carriage door.

God help him.