Sophie shook her head. “I haven’t.” She wouldn’t shirk her duty to her family, no matter how much she might like to. “However, I thought perhaps we could wait a few more months before making anything official.”

“Two months,” he said firmly.

Her traitorous teacup trembled on its saucer. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m willing to wait two months—and then we will announce our betrothal.”

Sophie’s mouth went dry. “We can discuss the timing and the other particulars toward the end of season,” she hedged. The mere thought of adhering to a timeline, setting a definitive date, made panic bubble at the back of her throat.

“Two months,” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard her, “should be sufficient. It’s longer than I’d hoped, but we’ll use the time to become better acquainted and marry as soon as the banns are read. With any luck, you’ll be with child by Christmas.”

Sophie choked on a swallow of tea. Barely managed to keep from spraying it across the table onto the marquess’s pristine waistcoat. She smothered her mouth with her napkin, hacking and coughing until tears spilled down her cheeks.

Lord Singleton leaned forward, clearly distressed and unsure what to do. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She blotted her eyes with the corner of her napkin and shook her head. “I’m fine. Your comment simply took me by surprise.” The truth was that she couldn’t imagine any of it—not the betrothal, the wedding, and most definitely not the wedding night. An involuntary shudder enveloped her body.

Though she’d met Lord Singleton almost a year ago, he was still a relative stranger—who was already anticipating procreating with her. She fanned herself with her napkin.

“Your mother tells me you’re planning to attend Lady Rufflebum’s ball,” he said, oozing a specific strain of charm—one she seemed to be immune to. “I do hope you’ll allow me to claim you for the first set.”

Sophie pasted on a smile and graciously agreed. It felt like she was taking the first momentous step toward saving her family from financial and social ruin.

But she couldn’t help wishing that saving her family didn’t mean sacrificing her own future. Like yellowing leaves on the brink of a brutal winter, her dreams were about to shrivel and die.

Chapter 4

Lurking behind the hedges outside Lady Rufflebum’s ballroom and trying to avoid amorous couples on the terrace had to be a new low—even for Reese.

His valet, Gordon, had tried to cajole Reese into attending the ball as a guest. But that would have required him to wear an evening jacket and to walk through the front door and to be generally … civil.

Which was really asking a bit too much.