That's what Lord Benedict and Lady Sommerwood will try to find out.
It all starts when he asks if she can help him escape the attentions of his friend's besotted sisters. When she agrees, they plot how to make it work:
"We should not let such an opportunity pass by—to further our scheme, I mean."
"Of course." She nibbled her lower lip while she thought. "Do you know any love poetry? Surely you have wooed other maidens with something similar."
He found himself chuckling again at her forthright manner. He had never anticipated discussing passionate matters so dispassionately. "I have not wooed any fair maidens with poetry recently, so I am bound to be a bit out of practice."
"We shall have to improvise then. Here." She handed him her book. "It would also be best if you were on one knee. Yes, precisely like that."
"Ow! I think a pebble found its way underneath—"
"Even better. The tears in your eyes will demonstrate your heightened emotion, if anyone were to draw close enough to see it." She tilted her head, pondering the tableau further. "Perhaps you should sweep your arm to the side while reading to me."
"It seems more Drury Lane than devoted swain. I know. I shall place my hand over my heart. Like this."
"Yes, that is excellent." Her eyes lit up in the most enchanting fashion. "And I shall clasp my hands together, as if spellbound by your impassioned delivery."
He could not wrest his gaze away from her hands, placed as they were atop her bosom. It was a very nice bosom, too. How had it escaped his notice previously? Now he could think of nothing else but the delicious curves and the tantalizing skin exposed above her bodice and…
"It will be difficult to maintain this pretense," she began.
Indeed it would be. He was enjoying the view, and her company, a great deal more than he had anticipated. He forced his eyes up to hers, but fortunately she did not seem aware of where his thoughts had been heading.
"—if I call you Lord Benedict," she finished.
He grinned. "Yes, if we are to play at being lovers, you must call me Tristan."
Her lips twitched for a brief moment. "No wonder they are falling at your feet. You have been named after a romantic hero."
"A tragic one though."
"Yes, but impressionable young women love a tragic hero even more than a living one."
"That is a relief," he said. "For I had not planned on expiring any-time soon. Especially now that I find it would only serve to endear myself further if I were to leave this mortal coil."
She tipped her head back and laughed. Tristan was utterly captivated by the uninhibited sound. He spent most of his time in London with those whose every word and action seemed calculated when compared to Lady Sommerwood's response. What a refreshing change she was.
"You will want to call me by my name," she said. "It is Sophia."
"Sophia." He lifted her hand, brushing his lips against her bare skin. "I appreciate you permitting me to be your faux admirer."
A light flush dashed across her cheeks, but she kept her forthright gaze on his. "The pleasure, and pretense, are all mine."
~~~~~
Lord Benedict is trying to evade two besotted misses at a Valentine country-house party. He enlists the help of a lovely young widow, Lady Sommerwood, and they hit upon a perfect solution: they shall pretend they are having a secret affair. Their faux romance quickly leads to genuine passion, but can an affair built on falsehoods possibly turn into true love?
~~Previously published in the Fool For Love anthology~~
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