He jumped onto the carriage step, turning to beam a smile at the collected journalists. “Congratulate us,” he said, then he sprang inside, snapped the door closed, and rapped on the roof to signal Miles to go on.

The coach jerked forward, the horses moving into a trot on this relatively empty street. A few intrepid scribblers jogged after them but gave up as the carriage turned a corner and was swallowed by thicker traffic.

“Congratulate us on what?” Rose asked as Steven settled into the seat opposite her.

Steven’s grin beamed out, his eyes sparkling with merriment. “Our betrothal,” he said.

Chapter Three

“Our . . .” Rose’s words died as she clutched the velvet-cushioned seat. “I beg your pardon—our what?”

Steven’s grin had faded, but he sat forward, animated, light glinting on the bright buttons of his uniform coat.

“Hear me out, love. If we tell the journalists we’ve been engaged all this time, they’ll have to eat what they’ve been printing about you. Always entertaining, watching scandal-sheet scribblers backpedal.”

“But . . .” Rose struggled for breath. Was he insane? She couldn’t pretend to be engaged to him. She’d only just met him.

And yet . . . The camaraderie she’d sensed with Captain McBride was still between them. He was smiling, encouraging her, wanting her to dare to do this.

And why not? The journalists liked to print stories about Rose—from how much her wedding gown had cost to the shocking fact that the first duchess’s jewels had been around her neck when she’d walked down the aisle. They hadn’t, in fact, been jewels Charles had purchased for his first wife, but ones that had belonged to his mother. The first duchess had never worn those, preferring more modern pieces.

If the journalists were going to print stories, why not make certain they wrote about what Rose wanted them to? As Steven said, turn the tables on them?

She’d not had the courage to face them before. But with Steven beside her, Rose was again finding the playfulness she’d had when Charles had courted her—her willingness to ignore convention was one of the things that had attracted Charles to her. Lively, Charles had called her. And cheeky.

Rose sat forward to meet him, sunlight playing between them. “An enticing thought,” she said, wanting to laugh. “But what happens when the charade is at an end? If they believe I jilted you, they will lambaste me.”

“Not necessarily.” Steven’s gray eyes were alight, he looking less hungover by the minute. “I intend to make sure that by the time we are finished, you’ll have plenty of money and can go anywhere you like, do as you please, to hell with what anyone thinks. I have access to some of the best solicitors in London—in all of Britain, in fact—both through my barrister brother and my Mackenzie connections through my sister. Those solicitors could make your stepson cough up what is legally owed you as well as bring suit against the newspapers.”

Rose listened, excitement rising, while Steven rattled this off. “You thought of all this standing in your bedroom this morning, did you?”

Steven shrugged. “It came to me when you told me the vultures were lying in wait at the front door. I didn’t want to leave you to face them alone. With one stroke, you can foil all your enemies.” He slashed his hand down, brushing her knee in the process. Warmth blossomed there, and Rose wanted to both laugh and shiver.

It sounded like such fun—Steven was handing her a tendril of hope, one she wanted to grab and not let go.

She tried to make herself calm. “There is one catch in your plan, you know. If I am betrothed to you, my skinflint stepson will say he has no need to part with any brass at all. A husband takes care of a wife. I won’t get the settlements if he believes I’m ready to marry again.”

Steven gave her an admonishing look. “You leave that to me and the solicitors. Hart Mackenzie employs the best and most ruthless in the realm, and my brother Sinclair knows them all personally. The solicitors will work behind the scenes to bring you what you’re owed, while in front of them, you and I will work to restore your good name.” He lifted the window blind to look briefly out at the cold morning, then dropped it. “I’ve already sewn the seeds, so you need to go along with it, don’t you?”

The smile he turned on her as he said the last words crumbled any kind of objections. Steven McBride could make anyone do anything he wanted with such a smile, she decided, which did strange things to her heart.

Rose sank back to the seat, fanning herself with her black-gloved hand. “Why on earth would you do all this for me? You don’t even know me.”

“I’ll say I’m repaying your kindness in taking me home when you thought I was a drunken vagrant. Most ladies would sweep their skirts aside or shout for the police. You felt sorry for me instead.”

“I showed you a kindness, so you wish to pretend to be engaged to me?”

He shrugged. “The ruse also gives me a beautiful lady to escort about. You must keep up your end of it and accompany me everywhere. There are certain . . . attentions I wish to avoid on this trip. A respectable young woman at my side will be just the thing.”

Rose shot him an amused look though she felt a twinge of envy. “The ladies again?” Women likely fell at his feet, and the fact that Steven had to stave them off meant they were many and determined. “Are you certain you wish to be hampered by a fiancée?”