could Mama have forged a check? How could she not have seen that would obviously lead to disaster? But recriminations would get her nothing but maternal hysteria, and that she couldn’t bear. “You will not go to jail,” Zoe said firmly.
“But I want you to be happy married to Lord Sebastian,” Mother said.
“Of course I’ll be happy,” Zoe lied smoothly.
“You aren’t in love with him.”
That startled her but she tried not to show it. “I will make the best of this, Mother.”
“If you don’t love him, there’s nothing to stop you marrying his brother. You could have him, Zoe, if you just try. The deal’s not done yet. You could still change your mind. And if you sew up the duke first—”
“Mother, no.”
Her mother took quick, fluttery breaths and her hand trembled over her heart. “Dear Zoe, I’ve been having such pains. I’m so worried about you. It would ease my heart to know you had married the right man.”
“Mother, you’ve been as healthy as a horse your entire life. This may have worked for Mrs. Vanderbilt, but I’ve heard Consuelo’s story, and it’s not going to work on me. You’re not dying, and I’m not going to be pressured to chase a duke because of a fictitious bad heart. I will never be a duchess.”
“What are you talking about? If the duke does not marry, you will.”
Zoe shook her head. Mother might use quivering breaths, batting eyelashes and tears to get her way, but she was as strong and formidable as the steel her father had been famous for producing. The duke knew the truth and he had probably told his family. Mother might as well know it, too. “I won’t be married to Sebastian long enough.”
* * *
Nigel escorted Julia to the south drawing room, where it was customary to gather for cocktails before the meal. They reached the open doors just as their grandmother, the dowager, exclaimed, “Good heavens, are those her knees? Is she in her shift? Where is her skirt?” Then, her voice higher pitched, “Sebastian, what are you doing on your knee? Are you rehearsing for a play?”
Julia looked around the doorway and gasped, “Oh, how romantic.”
Nigel saw the scene in the room and his gut twisted with anger. He agreed with his grandmother: What in hell did his brother think he was doing?
In front of his fiancée, his hair soaked from the rain, his tuxedo jacket obviously thrown on in haste, Sebastian had dropped to one knee. He held a small velvet box in the palm of his outstretched hand.
Smoothing her skirt with nervous hands, Miss Gifford sparkled like a handful of stars in the glow of the candles and lamps. A white-and-silver dress with delicate straps fell from her slim shoulders, coasted over her slender figure, ended in gauzy, floating bits of fabric that swirled just above her knees. She stared down at Sebastian with huge, surprised violet eyes.
Whatever Sebastian was doing, she was not in on it.
Sebastian took her hand and bestowed a kiss on her fingertips, his gaze focused on nothing but her. But pure shock registered in her eyes...and in the dropped jaws and gaping mouths of his mother, Grandmama, his sister Isobel and Mother’s two male guests—Quigley, a writer, and Sir Raynard, an older local squire.
“We did it over the telephone before, and I knew you deserved more, Zoe,” Sebastian said, his expression deceptively earnest. “I’m sorry I’m late. I hopped off to town this morning and picked this up. I had it made especially for you. Took me a deuced long time to come up with the right inscription, then get it engraved. But you deserve a proper proposal of marriage.”
It was satisfying to watch Miss Gifford squirm with embarrassment as Sebastian flicked open the box with a twist of one hand. In white velvet sat a heart-shaped ruby the size of a quail’s egg, surrounded by diamonds.
“Marry me, my beloved Zoe,” his brother said huskily. “Make me the happiest romantic fool in England. Now kiss me, love.”
Nigel wanted to haul his brother to his feet. There was no need for a proposal. Sebastian should have been proposing the date for the blasted divorce.
But in one swift movement, Sebastian jumped to his feet and pulled Miss Gifford into his arms. In front of horrified guests, Sebastian sealed his mouth to his fiancée’s lips.
A hot red flush of embarrassment rushed up the back of Nigel’s neck. As duke, he had to put a stop to the scandalous display—
A cane sharply struck the floor. The dowager duchess’s voice soared to fill the drawing room. “Good heavens, Sebastian, desist. How will I face my dinner with this image burned on my eyes?”
DINNER AT BRIDESWELL
What did he mean by proposing to her?
They had a business agreement already. What more did they need beyond an intent to sign a contract and a handshake to seal it?
A footman bowed at Zoe’s side, presenting a silver tray filled with oysters, redolent with garlic and lemon. Her appetite had evaporated but she plopped an oyster on her plate to be polite, alongside two wafer-thin slices of cucumber topped with cream cheese and caviar, also taken to make it appear she was not at all troubled, that she was thrilled Sebastian had made her a gushily romantic offer of marriage.
He had kissed her. Not just a sweet peck, suitable for viewing by his mother and grandmother. He’d swept her into a flamboyant, passionate kiss, long and intense. But she hadn’t felt anything except surprise.
Sebastian sat across from her, down the table from his brother. Zoe couldn’t read Sebastian’s heavy-lidded, cool and jaded gaze. They were a small, intimate party housed in a gigantic dining room. There was the duke; the dowager, who had found Sebastian’s romantic proposal shocking; the duchess; Sebastian; his sister Julia; his fourteen-year-old sister, Isobel; two older gentlemen friends of the duchess; herself; and Mother.
Zoe glanced down at the ostentatious ruby ring. The proposal and the kiss must have been gestures to distract his family. To make them believe this marriage was the real thing. But it wasn’t, and the Duke of Langford knew it.
He hadn’t told the rest of the family. Why not? Why not try to turn them all against her, if he was so against this marriage?
She applied a fork to the oyster, drawing out the plump treat and swallowing. Tart lemon, rich cream, the bite of garlic exploded on her tongue. Exquisite, but she was too startled to really think about the food going down her throat. Champagne was poured into her glass.
Conversation droned around her. The dowager—a tall, thin woman in a dress of the prewar style—was making an emphatic point. She knew how to make her voice cut through all others. Sebastian was talking to Mother, and Mother, who now knew the truth of the arrangement, was determined to change their minds about ending the marriage. She appeared transfixed by Sebastian’s every charming word.
Zoe had been just like that on the first night she’d met Sebastian.
She’d thought jazz
