The Bad Boy Billionaire's Wicked Arrangement by Maya Rodale Page B

Ashbrooke continues his rakehell ways despite his marriage to the buxom bluestocking who at least has books to comfort her.
    It was not the life she had planned, nor was it a life she wished for.
    Emma would never forgive him that.
    I am a wallflower , she wanted to protest. I love another. But she was a smart girl. Thus, Emma knew none of that mattered anymore. Not after a duke kissed her in the garden, in full view of at least two dozen of London’s greatest gossips. In a way, that was more official than actually signing the marriage contracts.
    “Welcome to happily ever after,” Ashbrooke said, linking his arm with hers. “Allow me to explain.”
    “Please do,” she said in a strangled whisper. Rage had a way of tangling up words.
    “You are one of London’s Least Likely,” the duke said smoothly and she bit down on her lip.
    “Really, you are going to start with that? I had heard you were considered an expert seducer. Clearly, that rumor is an outrageous exaggeration.”
    “As you pointed out, I have, over the years, acquired a reputation as something a rake.”
    “That’s an understatement,” she said. “One might say a ruthless scoundrel, a notorious libertine, a horrible jackanapes.”
    “Think, Emma, of how this betrothal could serve each other,” Ashbrooke said, keeping is voice even and his grasp on her secure. “My reputation would be mended by an engagement with a respectable girl.”
    “Words every girl wants to hear to describe herself. Really, I cannot fathom how you got your reputation for being such a seductive charmer.”
    “On my arm, you will become a sensation,” Ashbrooke said plainly. “Let us face the facts: No one noticed you before, but everyone will want you now. When you cry off in a few weeks, I shall be inconsolable and take an extended visit away from London and you shall have your pick of suitors.”
    Hope flickered. Then died.
    “I’m not sure the world works like that,” Emma said. The world was a different place for those that were not charming, powerful, wealthy dukes. “I would be seen as The Duke Of Ashbrooke’s jilted fiancé. Hardly the stuff of other men’s dreams.”
    “That’s where you are wrong,” he stated flatly.
    “I knew you would be arrogant,” Emma muttered “I am not pleased to be proven correct.”
    “It’s not arrogance, it’s the facts,” he said with an impatient sigh.
    “Why should I not cry off now? Because I really would like to.” Emma glared stubbornly up at him. She detected a hint of a smile, a spark of appreciation in his eyes. She scowled all the more.
    “You could jilt me now,” he said slowly. “Even though two dozen women are already spinning stories of our whirlwind romance and romantic stroll in the garden. Everyone will think this was just a joke. You will be no better off than before. You’d be worse, even. And if you cried off now, we wouldn’t have the fortune.”
    Her breath caught. Hope flickered again.
    “What fortune?”
    “My dear aunt Agatha is holding a house party at which she shall determine who will inherit her enormous fortune. She is also ancient.”
    Hope flickered again, and a flame burst forth. And then it died again.
    “Allow me to confirm that I am understanding you correctly,” Emma said slowly. “You would like us to pose as a betrothed couple to swindle your wealthy, elderly aunt out of her fortune.”
    “It does sound nefarious when phrased like that, I grant you,” he said, grinning. “But it’s all part of The Fortune Games, a mad scheme of Agatha’s own creation.”
    “Ah yes, Lady Agatha Grey’s Fortune Games. I have heard the most intriguing things about it. You have never won, have you?” Emma asked, eyes narrowed. Why should I team up with a loser? She didn’t dare say it, but she hoped her expression conveyed it.
    “With you as my blushing bride I would,” he said, so confidently. “We would.”
    “And then I may jilt you and keep my portion of the