Diana tugged him back down, rolling her eyes. “Only Penvale.” She snorted. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about how you’d fare against him, if it came to a duel.”

“He can run faster than I can, though,” Jeremy said. “Shouldn’t like it if he decided to give chase and just… tackle me.”

“I would pay money to see it,” Diana said cheerfully. Jeremy cast her a baleful look, which only seemed to heighten her amusement.

“In any case, my grandmother was not pleased to catch wind of this, and informed me it’s time I settle down. Stop bringing shame on the family. Et cetera.” Even as the words came out, he wondered why he was sharing this with her—theirs had never been a friendship of intimate confidences.

“She does seem rather determined to see you wed,” Diana agreed. “All the better for me, if it helps me win our wager.”

“I wouldn’t start counting your winnings just yet,” he warned her. “I’ve evaded the parson’s mousetrap this long, so I don’t see why I should stumble into it now.”

“You’ve never found yourself up against the combined will of me and the dowager marchioness,” Diana said, smiling in a self-satisfied manner. “You don’t stand a chance.” She hesitated a moment, and then added, “You will have to marry someday, you know. You’ve worked so hard to make your estate solvent again—you wouldn’t just throw that all away by never fathering an heir, would you?”

Jeremy stiffened, though he knew Diana was unaware that she’d trodden onto dangerous ground. “I’m so glad that the sole aim of my existence is now to find a woman I can tolerate, get her with child, and then pass this pressure and responsibility onto my son someday. What a bloody lovely prospect.”

Diana frowned. “Welcome to the aristocracy—which I believe you’ve inhabited all your life? I shouldn’t think this would come as a surprise to you.”

“I’ll remind you, I spent most of that life assuming that it wouldn’t matter much to anyone else what I did, because I wasn’t the one with the title.”

“You’re hardly the only second son to ever inherit a title unexpectedly, Willingham.” She paused, her expression softening. “It was terrible, what happened to your brother. And it was terrible that you couldn’t simply mourn him in peace, but that you had to instantly figure out how to keep the estate afloat. But you did that, and it’s not so absurd that your grandmother should expect you to marry someone and have a son to pass it on to.

“Now,” she added, her eyes flashing, “if you’d like to discuss the absurdity of the fact that it has to be your son who inherits it—that if you had an entire manor house full of daughters, none of them could be the next Marchioness of Willingham—then that I’d be more than happy to talk about.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he asked, giving her a ghost of a smile. “But the fact remains, I don’t feel any pressing obligation to marry some woman I can barely stand and saddle my son with all the responsibility I feel, just because I’m unlucky enough to have an elder brother who couldn’t say no to a stupid challenge.”

He broke off, surprised at the raw note he detected in his voice—one that Diana evidently heard as well, judging by the wrinkling of her brow.

“Willingham,” she said, “if you’ve things about your brother that you wish to get off your chest—”

“Nothing of the sort,” he said, forcing a laugh that he didn’t think was terribly convincing. “I’m not certain what’s gotten into me this evening, but I don’t think I’m terribly good company. Could we perhaps postpone this until tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she said, still looking at him with something close to concern. “We’ve plenty of time left, after all, for me to tell you that you’re brilliant in bed and send you back off into the world with your confidence newly restored.”

While this was, technically, precisely what they had agreed upon—or, rather, what he’d hoped the outcome of their agreement would be—it all sounded rather unsavory when stated like that. All he said in response, however, was, “Too right.”

“Good night, Willingham,” she said as he rose to his feet. He debated with himself with every step he took to the door, then turned just before opening it and said, “You know, Diana, my friends call me Jeremy.”

The word hung in the air between them: friends.

“And is that what we are?”

“I do not think a word has yet been invented to describe what we are,” he called over his shoulder, and was maddeningly pleased with himself as he shut the door on the sound of her laugh.

Fifteen

Diana lay in bed for as long as could possibly be deemed polite the next morning. Toogood delivered her a tray of toast and chocolate at some point, muttering under her breath all the while.

“It’s all right for some, I suppose, when others have been awake for hours…” And then, after a pause, “Last I checked ladies have two good feet just like the rest of us, but walking downstairs for breakfast is still somehow too much of a burden—”

“And two perfectly good ears as well, Toogood!” Diana called sweetly after her maid’s retreating back. She knew that any lady in her right mind would have shown Toogood the door years before, and yet Diana had become oddly fond of the woman over time. It was refreshing to know exactly what one’s help thought of one, rather than having to guess.