The Beguilement of Lady Eustacia Cavanagh (The Cavanaughs 3)

With a dip of her head, she turned her mare toward the beginning of Rotten Row.

They cantered beneath the trees, and she told herself to concentrate on the moment—on riding with Frederick and the associated simple pleasures—and not let any other thoughts intrude.

While she was reasonably successful in directing her thoughts, her feelings were less easy to corral.

Frederick sensed her distance, her distraction. After they’d galloped down the tan and turned their horses to walk back for a second run, he studied her face more closely and realized she was pensive.

Instinct prodded. He’d been waiting, watching for just the right moment to broach the sensitive topic that, at least in his mind, hovered between them.

He would have to speak soon, and his manipulator’s instincts were insisting that this moment was propitious.

Should he speak? Or risk waiting for some even better time?

And if no other good chance came his way?

Yet something in him still balked at the prospect of rolling the dice—she might refuse him, and then what?

He glanced around. There was no one within hearing distance. Before he could think any further, he drew breath and, in an even but quiet—private—tone said, “It seems to me that, since announcing our engagement, we’ve rubbed along very well.” When she glanced at him, he caught her eyes, arched a brow, and gently smiled. “For instance, I haven’t previously shared my morning rides with any lady, yet I enjoy our gallops.”

She dipped her head. “I do, too. I love to ride, and given my brothers are rarely available these days, I haven’t recently been able to indulge in the pastime. As you know, a single lady galloping down Rotten Row is frowned upon and not just by the grandes dames.”

He nodded. “There’s our shared appreciation of good music, too, which reaches deeper than most of our peers.”

Her lips quirked upward. “It’s not easy to find someone willing to sit through an opera a second time just because there’s a new first violin.”

He chuckled. “Indeed. I have to admit that, on occasions such as that, I usually end up going alone.”

Their gazes met and held as the obvious extension—that she would always readily accompany him—hovered between them.

He couldn’t risk the moment stretching too thin. “Even last night,” he smoothly went on, “I gathered from the discussions that your views on politics and business largely align with mine.”

“Given our families, that’s probably not surprising.”

“Indeed—and then there are our families and, more, our views of society.” He didn’t have to fabricate his wryness as he said, “Despite our station, it seems you and I both prefer to live quietly, outside the glare of the ton.”

“Definitely.” After a moment, she added, “We are remarkably well matched.”

He could never hope for a better moment. They were almost back to the head of the track. He edged his horse higher on the verge and drew rein, and obligingly, she halted her mare alongside.

When she looked his way, her brows arching in question, he met her eyes. “In light of all the above, I can’t help but wonder if us actually marrying each other wouldn’t be the answer to both our prayers.”

Stacie held Frederick’s gaze and waited for her instinctive, violent aversion to marriage to leap to the front of her mind. But that habitual reaction didn’t materialize—at least not as her first thought. Instead, she found herself tilting her head, regarding him steadily, and with wary curiosity, asking, “How so?”

“Well, in my case”—his gaze remained on her face—“marrying you will rank as me very satisfactorily doing my duty to the title, which will mean my mother, sisters, and older relatives will cease badgering me over doing just that, and I will no longer be hounded to distraction during those times I choose to appear within the ton—for instance, at your musical evenings or at the theater or opera. You have no idea what a relief these last few evenings have been, now that the ton has accepted our engagement and I’m no longer viewed as an unclaimed eligible nobleman.”

She couldn’t help gently smiling; she knew the ways of their world.

He continued, “And in my eyes, best and most important of all is your understanding and appreciation of music. That’s something I could never hope to find in any other.” His gaze held hers. “You are unique—I have never come across a lady who would fit the position of my marchioness as perfectly as you.”

He paused, then went on, “That our engagement was initially proposed as temporary protection shouldn’t blind us to the fact that us marrying could well be in the best interests of us both, nor is there anything in our current situation that should discourage us from changing our minds and making our faux engagement real.”

The mare shifted, and Stacie glanced at the horse and patted its neck. She knew—in her mind, in her heart—that all he’d said was true. Yet even though her usual aversion had yet to strike with full force, she knew the picture he was painting simply could not be.

Regardless, most strangely—and she had no idea why—curiosity was still trumping, still holding back her usual panic, her invariable recoil from and denial of any suggestion of her marrying.

Perhaps because he was being so utterly reasonable and…unpushy. She sensed no pressure from him at all, no threat; this was just another discussion between them, albeit one of potentially life-changing consequence. She raised her head, met his eyes, and rather challengingly asked, “What do you see as the benefits for me?”

Frederick held tight to his purpose and fought to hit the right note—one of cataloging