London, England

April 28, 1812

Some people say that love struck them like a bolt of lightning. This was not the case for Preston Caldwell, Viscount Leighton. Love had snuck up on him when he didn't pay attention. Wormed its way into his heart until it was irrevocably for one woman and one woman only. But she was not for him. She was Lady Amelia Warble - the belle of the ball, the incomparable of the Season, the daughter of a duke, an heiress... The list went on and on. She was also his best friend's sister. And she was in love with another man.

Something she had just expounded on in great detail, to his dismay, as she paced from side to side in his study. His inner sanctum, which she had barged into some time earlier in a huff. If her brother found out that his sister had spent any time alone with a rake like Preston—best friend or not—there would be hell to pay. He really ought to evict her from the room most promptly. But he was rather enjoying the show.

Amelia didn't just talk with her mouth, she used her entire body. Arms flailing, hands waving and head accentuating every sentence. The pale blue dress with a darker sash tied at the high waist swished around her legs as she moved around the study. Her dark brown hair had been pulled from her face into a simple bun at the back of her head, but curled tendrils framed her pretty face.

He leaned back in his chair and swirled the brandy in the snifter as he watched the young lady continue her tirade. Something about how the man she loved wouldn't so much as look at her. He found that rather difficult to believe, if he was honest. The man must be a complete arse. Taking a sip of his drink, he smiled wryly as Amelia stopped in front of his desk.

"There is nothing to it," she said, her warm brown eyes meeting his. "You will have to marry me."

The brandy he'd been savouring sprayed onto his desk as he sputtered. Sitting up straight, he stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"You will have to marry me."

Ignoring the wild beating of his heart, he stood to his full height, staring down at her. "I think not."

She waved his excuse away as if it meant little more than someone declining another cup of tea. "You obviously won't actually have to marry me," she said. "It's a ruse to make Lord Pensington notice me."

Preston frowned. "I don't see how marrying—" He stopped himself and cleared his throat. "How pretending to plan a marriage to me is going to help with that."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Men always want what they cannot have. Everyone knows this."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I do not know this." Although he could not have her, and he definitely wanted her. Bloody hell.

"Come now, Leighton." Her voice took on a wheedling tone as she leaned closer, her hands on the desk to hold her weight. He tried not to notice that the cut of her dress was showing her bosom at a great advantage. He failed. "It could be good for you as well."

"Oh?" He crooked an eyebrow in the way he knew infuriated her. "How is that?"

She straightened again. He rather missed the view. "You're a rake. Having the ton believe you are about to be married will improve your prospects. Why, the mamas will all believe you are properly reformed and ready to be a suitable husband to their darling daughters."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he smirked. "Darling, you're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"You said it yourself." It was his turn to place his hands on the desk and lean forward. "I'm a rake. I have no interest in being considered honourable or a good prospect for marriage."

With a frustrated scoff, she pulled back and returned to pacing the room. Preston moved around the desk to lean his hips against it as he watched her.

"What would your brother say?" he asked. "Would you tell him it's fake?"

Her steps halted, and her eyes widened. "Are you considering helping me?"

"No." Maybe. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But the prospect tickled his interest. He'd have an excuse to spend time in her company, even if it was only to see her end up with another man.

"Oh, Leighton!" She clapped her hands together excitedly. "Please fake-marry me!"

"Your brother would kill me," he muttered. "Adrian is my best friend. I cannot imagine he would ever want me anywhere near his little sister."

"Aren't we lucky he's out of town at the moment, then?" She grinned, her eyes glittering merrily. "By the time he returns, I will be happily engaged to Lord Pensington, and you may tell him it was only ever a ruse."

"I have not agreed yet."

Her grin widened. "But you will, won't you?"

Giving her a frustrated glare, he reached for his drink again to take another sip. He needed it. Putting the glass back down, he considered his options. "I do not know how successful your ruse would be," he said. "From what I hear, Pensington is in no rush to find himself a wife. You being betrothed to me won't change his stand."

"It might." Amelia lifted a dainty shoulder in a shrug. "He is not completely oblivious to my existence. We have danced several times, and he is ever so pleasant. You say he is in no hurry to wed. It is my hope that realising I will no longer be available will spur him on. I am quite the catch, you know."

There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she made the declaration, but she was not wrong. A duke's daughter was a desirable prospect for most men of the ton. He just wasn't sure the Marquess of Pensington cared much. Preston wasn't one of the marquess's closest friends, but they had attended school at the same time and would sometimes share a drink and play a game of cards at White's. At no point had Preston been given the impression the other man wanted to get married anytime soon. Then again, if anyone could change a man's mind about marriage, it would be Amelia.

He would marry her in a heartbeat.

Averting his eyes from her winsome gaze, he stared down at his boots. Some rake he was. Brought down by his best friend's sister. He didn't know when, exactly, he had fallen in love with Amelia, but he had realised it last year during her first Season. It had become rather obvious when he found himself wanting to throttle any man looking at her the wrong way. Having spent the last few years enjoying the life of a bachelor—maybe a little too much—it was a sobering realisation that what he truly wanted was to settle down with this one woman. He didn't want her to marry Pensington. Or anyone else. He wanted her to marry him.

"I'll do it."

It took him a moment to realise he'd actually said it. Then Amelia let out a joyous whoop and rushed across the floor to throw herself at him, giving him a big hug. She was soft and warm against him, and he gripped the edge of the desk to keep himself from embracing her. Or worse. Closing his eyes for a moment, he instantly regretted it as it heightened the feel of her body pressed to his chest. The light, flowery fragrance from her soap tickled his nose.

Pulling away from him, she beamed. "Oh, thank you, Leighton! You won't regret it, I promise!"

A wry smile touched his lips. He was fairly certain he would very much regret it.

~~~~~~