“Chosen this ship,” she finished, a faint blush cresting her cheeks.

“But it is my ship and here we are,” he said with a groan as he pulled himself to a sitting position. He licked parched lips and took the cup of water Sarani offered, wishing it were whisky instead. Anything to burn away the hint of jasmine seeping into his nostrils and making him desire impossible things. He swallowed and exhaled. “The current Earl of Beckforth is not the friendliest of men.”

A surprised gaze met his. “You know him?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

He blew air through his lips and thought back to what he knew—scant though it was, and it had only jogged his memory after he’d skimmed through the latest copy of Debrett’s he had in his collection. Beckforth had inherited the earldom when the previous earl had died without male issue. The man was rumored to be close-fisted with money and a quiet sort of man with an aloof nature. Not exactly the kind of earl to welcome a half-blooded daughter of a disowned third cousin.

Not that it mattered.

Princess Sarani Rao would hardly be welcomed with open arms if the peerage discovered her identity. The scandal when Lady Lisbeth had left England—in defiance of her parents and on a ship bound for India with an Indian prince—might have died over two decades, but those poisonous harridans who had chased her from the ton and vilified her were still very much alive. And they would not hesitate to revive painful gossip and malign Sarani for being the issue of such a union.

It would take a miracle to protect her.

Or…marriage to a powerful peer.

His gaze snapped to hers, and she sucked in a breath, jeweled eyes going wide as if he’d laid his hands upon her person. A nervous pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, and once more, Rhystan felt his body stir.

Why shouldn’t it be her?

He’d wanted to marry her once upon a time, and as he’d noted, he was still attracted to her. The pretense would be a believable one. It could be an arrangement, one that would be mutually beneficial: she would get her fresh start with the protection of a duke, and he would be freed of the parody of being paraded on display like a prize bull to hordes of matchmaking mothers. Especially to his own.

If he already had a fiancée, his mother couldn’t very well force him to court any other without inviting ridicule, could she? And once he’d made sure the dowager was hale and hearty, he could leave without any attachments.

A smile drifted over his lips as he considered his new plan.

Who would have thought it—his cursed first love, now his unwitting saving grace.

* * *