To Bed a Beaty

She stared at him in disbelief. How could Drew love her if he had given up any claim to her? Was he truly trying to be noble, hoping to make her happy? Was it possible that Drew loved her?

“You should tell him how you feel,” the earl repeated.

Roslyn could barely hear for her chaotic thoughts. What if she told Drew of her love? What then? Would he still want to marry her? And if so, what would her answer be? Did she dare risk wedding him?

She could wind up facing the same kind of pain Winifred had endured all the years of her marriage. She and Drew could end up battling bitterly with each other, destroying whatever tender feelings they shared now and turning passion to hate.

Yet did she really have a choice? If she hoped to achieve her heart’s desire, she had to risk having it shattered. If she hoped to have a chance at happiness with Drew, she had to be willing to give up her impossible notions of a perfect, idealistic marriage for something that was real and honest and strong and lasting.

She had no choice. Because she had no future without Drew. No possibility of happiness. He filled the emptiness inside her, made her feel complete.

She didn’t know if she could ever mean that much to him. Didn’t know if he could return her love, but she knew she had to take the risk.

The thought that Drew might never love her the way she did him left Roslyn shaken, but she had to try. If he didn’t love her yet, she would have to make him love her. She could use the tricks of seduction he had taught her, which she had never really employed-

Realizing that Haviland was watching her silent debate, Roslyn suddenly shook herself. It was beyond rude to be plotting her pursuit of Drew when the earl stood before her.

“Thank you, my lord,” Roslyn said, her voice uneven. “I will take your advice and tell Arden how I feel.”

Haviland’s smile held regret as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “It will be my great loss.”

Warmth rose to her cheeks at the compliment. “I’m certain you will find a bride who can make you happy.”

“I trust so. I need a wife if I’m to have any hope of stopping my grandmother from hounding me into an early grave.”

There was a glimmer of humor in his eyes, which told Roslyn that she hadn’t wounded him too deeply with her refusal. But of course, she hadn’t, since his heart wasn’t engaged-just as hers was not with him.

Haviland gave her a considering look. “I might be more successful if you would aid my search.”

“You want my help in finding you a bride?” Roslyn asked in surprise.

He grinned that charming, rueful grin of his. “In all honesty, I do. I obviously haven’t managed very well on my own.”

She returned a self-conscious laugh. “I will be happy to consider it, Lord Haviland. But now…if you will please excuse me? I must go to London at once.”

“To see Arden?”

“No, to see a friend.”

She had to speak to Fanny immediately and seek her counsel. Fanny would know how she should proceed in trying to win Drew’s heart-or so Roslyn tried to reassure herself as she went to the bellpull to order the gig readied.

She only prayed she wasn’t too late.

Chapter Twenty

I will do whatever it takes to make Arden love me. I shall begin by employing every trick of seduction I have ever learned.

– Roslyn to Fanny

When Drew woke to find himself sprawled on the sofa, a host of drums pounded inside his skull, while his roiling stomach chimed a chorus of protest at the abuse it had suffered.

Sitting up gingerly, Drew held his throbbing head in his hands. The stench of whiskey permeating the library was no doubt ruining his priceless collection of rare books, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a bloody damn.

He had lost Roslyn. Given her up to his rival. Which explained why the agony in his heart pained him even more than the agony in his head.

What an utter imbecile he’d been, encouraging Haviland to go after her. Now that he was marginally sober, he could only lament his insane moment of magnanimity.

Had Haviland proposed to her by now? If so, had she accepted?

Drew clutched his head harder. He couldn’t bear to think of it. And yet he could think of nothing else.

What in hell’s name was he to do now? If Roslyn hadn’t accepted Haviland’s suit, Drew decided, he would go after her himself. He would make her wed him, even though she didn’t love him. And then he would spend the rest of his life trying to win her love.

Oh, God…she didn’t love him.

And she didn’t believe he could ever love her. He would have to show her that he did love her. Rather desperately in fact.

He wouldn’t let Haviland have her, even if she loved the bastard. He wasn’t ever going to give her up. He couldn’t. Not a damn thing in his life made sense without her.

Yet he might be too late…

With a muted groan, Drew pulled out his pocket watch and realized that the time was already past noon. He would have to call on Roslyn to learn his fate-but he had to bathe and change his attire first.

Rising, he dragged himself to the door and emerged carefully from the library, squinting against the brighter light when he reached the grand entrance hall.

His majordomo was standing at attention but appeared not to notice Drew’s disheveled appearance and bleary eyes. Advisable, since a wise servant knew better than to show disapproval of his master’s foibles.

“May I assist you, your grace?” the butler queried quite properly.

Drew winced at the sound, for it only made his head throb harder. “Yes, Foslett. You can have a bath drawn for me, and then order my curricle made ready in an hour. And have the library cleaned and fumigated at once.”

“Very good, your grace. Would you care to see your messages? Two came for you this morning, but I disliked disturbing you. One is from Lady Freemantle.”

Constance, was Drew’s first thought. His heart skipping a beat, he sliced through the seal with his forefinger and read the short note.

Her ladyship reported that Constance had rested fairly through the night and seemed a little better this morning. And the physician was more optimistic that his patient would eventually recover.

It was some consolation, Drew thought morosely, that Constance’s prognosis was improving, even though his own fate was so precarious.

“Thank you, Foslett. What is the second message?”

“It is from Miss Roslyn Loring, your grace,” the butler said, handing Drew a folded sheet of vellum.

His heart somersaulted…and then continued beating erratically as he ripped open the missive.

Dear Duke, I would be pleased if you would meet me this evening at eight o’clock at Fanny’s special private residence, Number Eleven Crawford Place. I have a proposition to put to you.

Your friend, Roslyn.

Warring emotions of hope and dread battled inside him. What the devil did she mean by inviting him to meet her at Fanny’s private house?

Drew glanced at the butler. “You may send a reply to Danvers Hall, confirming my acceptance.”

“The message did not come from the Hall, your grace, but from here in London. I believe the footman was employed by a Miss Irwin.”

Drew frowned in puzzlement, but he wasn’t going to question what Roslyn was doing in London. He would