“Do not tell me Tisdale turned tail and dropped out of the regatta,” Stephan said in a droll voice.
“No. You will still have a chance to best him on the water.” Brice paused and then grinned. “But you will also have a chance to best him in a suitors’ game of love. All you have to do is play the gallant knight of auld and rescue a certain damsel in distress.”
Stephan gave him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about? Why are you using such archaic language?”
“Sir Galahad,” Brice said.
“What?”
“Not what. Who,” Brice replied. “You.”
Stephan studied his friend. “You do not look inebriated nor do you sound foxed, but you are not making any sense. I can assure you I am not looking for the Holy Grail.”
Brice shook his head. “But you are interested in Miss Caroline Nash, are you not?”
“I will admit to that, but I am no gallant knight.”
“She needs rescuing from Tisdale, does she not?” Brice asked.
“I am not sure I would use the word ‘rescue’ around her,” Stephan said. “I got the firm impression that Miss Nash does not like to be thought of as helpless.” His thoughts of her ran in a totally opposite direction. Judging from her enthusiastic response to the kiss he’d stolen—a kiss that had developed into something much more than he usually did with his temporary conquests—Caroline Nash was far from helpless. God might have to helphimthe next time.
“You are all set to go.”
Stephan drew his brows together suspiciously. “Go where?”
Brice sighed. “Are you trying to be thick as a plank today? I have arranged for you to win Caroline’s hand.”
Stephan’s suspicion increased. “What exactly have you done?”
“Actually, this was Caroline’s idea,” Brice replied and explained what she had wanted him to do. “Obviously, the whole idea would spoil my own plans,” he finished, “but I thought how splendidly this will work for you.”
Stephan arched a brow. “Except for a detail or two.”
It was Brice’s turn to frown. “What details? You do not give a damn about Prinny’s approval, and you know Tisdale is as much a prig as George was.”
“Agreed on both accounts,” Stephan said, “but what excuse am I going to use to suddenly have become enamored with Miss Nash?”
“Other than it is true?” Brice asked.
Christ, if Brice only knew how enamored Stephan really was orwhy… “I never said that. I said I am attracted to her.”
“Words,” Brice said. “All right. If you need areason, say that you were captivated with her last year when you met, but you had hoped to lift the cloud of suspicion hanging over your name before you made your intentions known.”
Stephan grimaced. “There is truth to that. Though the cloud still lingers, since there were no witnesses.” And, blast it, he’d always wanted his name—even without the title—to be an honorable one.
“Believe me, Caroline will not care,” Brice said.
“Is she that desperate?”
Brice paused, looking embarrassed. “I did not mean that. She does not think you any guiltier over Devon’s drowning than I do. Although, I suppose in a way Caroline is desperate, or she would not have asked me to pretend to be her suitor.”
Pretend. The word was like a bucket of cold water thrown over Stephan. For Caroline, this scheme was only a pretense for the duration of the house party. Even though his interest was real, she merely wanted someone to act as a diversion that would result in dissolution of Tisdale’s proposal. “Sir Reginald will look askance at this whole thing.”
“Questionable,” Brice replied. “Caroline told me her father wants a grandson who will inherit a title…not to mention Caroline would improve her lot. Your title exceeds Tisdale’s.”
Stephan hated the way thetontreated men like studs in a breeding barn, chosen for their pedigrees, and women as little more than brood mares, meant to produce blue-blooded aristocrats. But then, all kinds of wonderful ways to spend creating an heir suddenly sprang into Stephan’s mind. Caroline astride, riding him wildly… Caroline writhing beneath him… Caroline bent over with Stephan behind her… Andplaces. The forward cabin of his boat while it bobbed at anchor in rhythm to his thrusts. The soft grass of a meadow with blue skies and sunshine overhead. The forest’s natural cradle of a hallowed log with the fragrant smell of pine needles in the air. The sweet smell of freshly mown hay in a barn loft. A conventional bed, of course, with feathered mattresses and satin sheets, as well as numerous other rooms where a little imagination would more than suffice.
Of course, Caroline had not suggested producing heirs. She simply wanted an impersonator to give her reason to refuse Tisdale’s proposal. She would not take anything Stephan said as serious nor would she think of any kind of gallantry as real.