Page 25 of The Best Marquess

“Yes, Your Grace,” she murmured as she took his proffered arm, her mind churning as she pondered and discarded methods of becoming the duke’s worst nightmare.

Even now, Pippa could feel numerous envious glares boring into the back of her head. It made her want to bellow here, have him, and scurry back to her bedchamber to continue reading A Wicked Comte, which promised to be every bit as explicit as Finn had promised. But unlike the novel, the only weapons available for battle were items on the supper table.

While she couldn’t recall a duke crying off because he’d been slapped with a lobster tail or pelted with cream cakes, there was a first time for everything. With luck and ruthless purpose, perhaps Devonshire could be tripped in such a way that he fell headfirst into the lemonade bowl, broke the trestle table in two, and ended up with an ice sculpture of Queen Charlotte straddling his chest.

Ice Queen falls for Duke, the scandal sheet headline practically wrote itself.

But then Devonshire winked and handed her a linen napkin with two berry tarts nestled in it, and Pippa suppressed a scowl. It was much harder to envision death by ice sculpture when a man ignored Lady Kingsford’s edicts; however now she had two berry tarts she did not want.

“Mmmm, delightful,” Pippa murmured, taking the tiniest nibble. How ironic; for the first time in her life she was eating like a baby bird, just the way Grandmother wished.

“No need to peck on my account,” said the duke, his countenance warming. “I like a lady with a healthy appetite.”

This was truly excruciating. Why hadn’t she claimed to crave something she actually enjoyed?

A flash of movement to her right made Pippa turn her head, to see Finn waving madly as he balanced against the drawing room wall. Good lord. Was he standing on a footstool? But then he tapped the third finger on his left hand and pointed at the duke, then over at her grandmother.

Oh no.

Her worst fears realized. The broad hints Grandmother had made in front of the crowd were just the beginning; it seemed the woman wanted to trap her with an actual public announcement!

Furious, Pippa squashed the berry tarts into a ball, covered the mess with the napkin, then dropped it onto a passing footman’s empty tray. “Botheration,” she said. “I seem to have torn the hem of my gown. Would you excuse me?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Grandmother, clamping her hand around Pippa’s elbow. “We have planned it all perfectly. You are staying right here…everyone! Please do clear a space for the Earl of Kingsford, who has a most joyous announcement to make.”

In seconds she found herself pinned between the two of them, at the center of a drawing room so quiet they could have heard a mouse sneeze.

“Er…evening all,” said her father, looking baffled. “A joyous announcement. Hmmm.”

“Betrothal,” hissed his mother.

Lord Kingsford brightened. “Ah, yes! As a proud father, it is my great honor to announce the betrothal of my second daughter, the Lady Pippa Nash, to—”

“Lord Finlay Knighton!”

At Finn’s words, roared as he barreled his way through the crowd and left crushed toes and spilled drinks in his wake to reach Pippa’s side, there was a chorus of shrieks and grumbles. But one glance at the Duke of Devonshire’s shock, Lady Kingsford’s ire, and the spinsters and their mothers beaming, the gossips twirled in delight.

Pippa nearly swooned in relief as Finn took her hand, his warm, sure touch the only thing keeping her upright.

“Here now, lad,” said her father sotto voce. “What is going on?”

Grandmother laughed, the sound like glass breaking. “Lord Knighton. I know you and Pippa are old friends, but I cannot believe you would play such a childish prank in my drawing room.”

“It is no prank, madam,” announced Finn. “I have loved Pippa for as long as I can remember, and it is a dream come true that she has consented to become my wife.”

Pippa beamed in astonished admiration. She needed no hired actor; Finn belonged on the stage. That had sounded so genuine there were ladies sighing all around her and even a smattering of applause. She squeezed his hand. Finn really was the best friend a lady could ask for.

“I know that the Nash family,” Finn continued, “Lord Kingsford, the dowager Lady Kingsford, Lord Northam, Lady Georgiana, and the absent Duchess of Exton along with the Duke, wish us every blessing and happiness. So, I ask you to raise a glass to myself and my bride-to-be: Finlay Knighton and Pippa Nash.”

“Kiss her first!” yelled a feminine voice from the back of the drawing room, and soon a chant of kiss her filled the air like a church choir.

“Go on, then,” said Lord Kingsford, chuckling. “If it’s a love match as you claim.”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Grandmother, her face puce.

Pippa gazed into Finn’s eyes. It was indeed the perfect moment for the next step in kissing lessons. “Would you?”

He nodded, and she turned her cheek so he might press a brief kiss to it. Instead, Finn slid a finger under her chin, tilting it up. “Forgive me, Pippet,” he breathed.