Pushing off from the rail, he shuttled the distance between them, noting the wild pulse in her throat and the immediate widening of her eyes. His brow lifted. “I counter that we suit rather well.”

“That’s lust.”

“Lust is as good a basis for an aristocratic marriage as any,” he said.

“But you said you wanted love.”

Rhystan reached out a hand to tuck a loosened strand of hair behind one ear. Her lush mouth parted on a soundless sigh that she couldn’t quite hide. “No, you misunderstand me. I require the pretense of love. Easy enough when one puts one’s mind to the task. A glance here, a touch there. Whispered nothings and sentimental looks. Love is but a show, you see. You have to admit that Byron had the right of it—the man was a swindler of women’s soft hearts.”

He could see the argument push to her lips, then see her swallow it down with force. Oh, the rub that she still chose to believe in love nearly made him laugh out loud. Despite her strong opinions and unconventional views, his fierce princess remained quixotic at heart. Some things hadn’t changed. He tucked that bit of information away to use later.

Worrying that temptingly plump lip of hers, she heaved out a breath. After the barest moment of indecision, her shoulders straightened and she met his stare. “If I agree to your terms and I’m followed to England by my pursuer, will you agree to help me identify who wants me dead and why?”

Rhystan squashed the burst of triumph. “Yes.”

“And Tej and Asha will both accompany me?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“And I can walk away once your business has concluded in town, ending the engagement?” She paused, lashing him with a guarded glance. “Without recrimination.”

“Once our mutual goals have been achieved, yes.”

Sarani closed her eyes, her proud frame hunching slightly. “Then I agree.”

Twelve

This betrothal is a means to an end.

The Duke of Embry is a means to an end.

Sarani repeated the mantras almost every hour of every day for the next few weeks. The fact that it was wedlock to the only man she’d ever wanted to marry meant nothing. The fact that she had broken his trust and lost his heart also meant nothing. It would not be too much of a stretch to pretend to love him. She had once, after all.

This was a mutually agreed upon decision that would benefit them both.

They were both adults; they could do this.

It was only when the Belonging had turned toward the English Channel that her nerves started to coil and knot with trepidation. Blast it, could she do this? London wasn’t Joor. She wasn’t a princess in her own palace…in her own space.