Page 24 of The Lady Knows Best

Her whole body twitched. A shudder of disgust? A shiver of longing?

She wanted to believe she was too controlled, too careful, for any such displays of passion.

Now, he knew better.

She reached up to inspect her hair, then brushed away the wrinkles in her skirt, where his hand had gripped her waist. “So, we have a deal?”

If he were any sort of gentleman, he would rescind his threat about revealing her involvement with the Magazine for Misses, release her from this promise, and find someone new.

“Yes,” he said with a single, crisp nod, “we do.”

“But courtship first.” She did not meet his eye.

He tried to recall what Alistair had said about wooing, but the only words that he could find rattling around in his mind were his friend’s taunt: You’re thinking of ruining.

“Of course.”

She moved toward the door, giving him a wide berth. “I should go. Before I’m missed.”

Without waiting for his reply, she slipped silently from the room.

If he had any lingering doubts, he pushed them away without trouble. She was perfectly eligible to be his viscountess: noble lineage on her mother’s side, respectable brothers, sisters married to a marquess and a duke. Pretty enough, in her way. She met every condition of the wager, and he . . . well, he’d never doubted he would win in the end.

Have you given any thought to what happens after?

Alistair’s question of the night before poked at Miles’s conscience, prodding him into movement. He set about snuffing each of the candles Daphne had lit.

She certainly could not claim to be ignorant of his reputation. And if that fiery first kiss had been any indication, the fact that she reviled him wasn’t all bad.

He wished now that he hadn’t agreed to wait two weeks. The rituals of courtship were beyond his expertise; his skills lay in quite another direction.

He’d just have to find some way to use the time to his advantage.

And speaking of time, why was he hiding in a dark room, if he was meant to be making his intentions toward Daphne known? Although, being subjected to the shrill notes of an inexpertly played flute filtering up through the floor had given him an idea....

He returned to the drawing room just in time to join in the smattering of applause for the unfortunate flautist. Then, he spoke a few words to Lady Estley, who, after she had quelled her surprise and spoken to a footman in turn, presented him with a folio of music bound in green leather.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” he said with a bow. Then he tucked the book beneath his arm and made his way to where Daphne was seated with her sisters.

“Might I persuade you to accompany me, Miss Burke?”

She parted her lips—to refuse, almost certainly, though they still bore the signs of his kiss—but a murmur of encouragement began nearby, accentuated by the sharp thrust of her younger sister’s elbow.

Daphne stood. “I would be honored, my l—”

Then, evidently remembering how he’d teased her upstairs, she bit off the honorific, her chin jutting forward in a gesture of defiance that was becoming increasingly familiar to him, and which he enjoyed more than was wise.

He offered his free arm to escort her to the pianoforte.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded through clenched teeth masquerading as a smile.

“Courting you.”

“Here? Tonight?”

He was vaguely aware of the whispered conversation around them, rising now to a buzz as anyone who hadn’t heard about their dance at the Clearwaters’ ball learned the news and speculation began to grow.

“A fortnight isn’t much time,” he reminded her. “And as I understand it, a proper courtship generally involves certain public actions. Unless you’ve decided you’d prefer an improp—”