Page 7 of Her Rake Fiancé

“Brother,” said Miss Grant, her voice shaking. “I have my class and my school. I can’t just abandon them. The children need me.”

Blackmore poured another glass of whisky. “You can still run the school until the wedding.”

She blinked at him with teary eyes. “Surely not just until then, brother! I can’t stop teaching them.”

“You gave me your word.”

The silence in the room was interrupted only by the crackling of the fire.

“So, Jane?” Blackmore insisted. “What do you say?”

Miss Grant locked eyes with Richard. They were impossibly wide behind her spectacles, wide and vulnerable and haunted. Her cheeks flushed even more, and Richard had a strange urge to rush to her, take her into his arms, and tell her all would be well, somehow.

He and Blackmore waited as she stood thinking, breathing hard. Then something crossed her expression—a fleeting image of an idea, he thought—and she brushed the side of her face so quickly it could have been a tic.

Then she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, making her breasts thrust out. Richard’s gaze glued to the two lush orbs under her gray muslin. He couldn’t help wondering what other delights were hiding under those plain, stiff layers.

He was so distracted he almost missed the word. “Yes.”

Richard tore his eyes from her chest and glared at her, but her gaze was on her brother.

“Pardon me, what did you say?” he demanded. “Perhaps this whisky is making me lose my mind.”

“I said yes,” she said coldly as she looked at him, “Lord Richard.”

Sister of a criminal or not, she was surely a properly raised English lady.

Something cold and slippery crawled down Richard’s spine. He had come here for information, to find out what happened to his brother, and now he was betrothed, when he never wished to be in his entire life.

No. The echo of the pain of his failed engagement slipped through his body.

“But I didn’t agree yet,” he said quite dumbly, as though he’d lost half of his wits.

Blackmore took a quick sip of his whisky, then came to lay his large hand on Richard’s shoulder. “If you want what you came here for, you will agree.”

Richard blinked, anger rising quickly up his windpipe. “Mr. Blackmore—” he started, putting his glass of whisky on the sideboard.

But Blackmore pinned him with his relentless stare. “I will give you all the information on the day of the wedding, Lord Richard. The moment you walk out of the church with the ring on your finger and my sister on your arm, you will know what you’re looking for.”

Richard swallowed a hard, painful knot in his throat. Which was more important, his own happiness or his brother’s life?

With every day that passed, Spencer may be closer to death. They didn’t know what happened to him nine months ago, where he was, if he was well, if he had been captured by someone, if he needed help.

How could Richard’s dislike of marrying a stranger compare to saving his brother’s life? He’d trade it in a heartbeat.

Even if he hated being backed into a corner, this was his chance to make a difference.

Richard nodded, and Blackmore’s dark eyes glimmered in satisfaction.

This was for Spencer, he told himself.

And then he said something that would seal his fate forever. “I agree.”

His eyes were drawn back to Jane. Since Lady Charity, he had plunged into meaningless nights of debauchery to dull the unyielding ache in the middle of his chest. However, bluestockings like Jane were never among the ladies in his repertoire. He was happy to share his body with a woman…

But not his heart.

“Do you, Lord Richard?” asked Blackmore, crossing his arms over his chest, a satisfied smile on his face. “Do you really agree?”