Splendid

by Julia Quinn

  Marriage?

  The notion was beginning to seem more and more appealing. He’d always planned to put off marriage until his late thirties. Then he could do what everyone expected him to do and marry some girl without a personality and promptly ignore her. Well, not so promptly. There was that matter of getting an heir. But once he got that taken care of, he could forget about her existence. He didn’t need a wife getting in his way.

  But the fact of the matter was—he wanted Emma in his way. He went out of his way to get her in his way. The idea of Emma as his wife dispelled all of his earlier notions of marriage. He felt warm inside at the thought of waking up next to her in the morning, of not having to sneak around just to get a moment alone with her. It didn’t seem to make very much sense to wait around for a wife he could successfully ignore when he could have one he didn’t want to ignore.

  And, of course, there was that matter of getting an heir. The process didn’t seem tedious anymore if it involved Emma. And for the first time, he found himself looking into the future and trying to picture those heirs his mother kept reminding him about. A little boy with carroty hair. No, a little girl with carroty hair—that was what he wanted. A tiny little girl with carroty hair and big violet eyes who would hurl herself into his arms and scream, “Papa!” when he walked into the room.

  And after that, he’d tuck her into bed, grab her mother, tuck her into bed, and get down to the business of creating a little boy with carroty hair and big violet eyes.

  Christ, it sounded like he’d already made his decision.

  Was he crazy? Was he ready to throw over nearly a decade of plans for a tiny red-haired American chit?

  Alex groaned again and hauled himself out of the tub, water running down his lean body in thin rivulets. He grabbed the towel that his valet had left neatly folded on a chair near the bathtub, quickly dried himself off, and padded over to his closet and took out a robe. Wrapping it around him, he flopped down on his bed.

  He was fairly certain that Emma would accept him if he asked her to marry him. He knew she missed her father and had always intended to go back to America, but he could be flexible. There was no reason they couldn’t go visit Boston every other year or so. In fact, the rest of her family was here in London, and he knew they wanted her to stay. He didn’t really want a wife who married him because of familial pressure, but he figured he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. There would be plenty of time to convince Emma that she loved him.

  Alex sat up like a bolt. Did he want Emma to love him? That might be a little bit more than he could take. If someone loved you—someone decent and kind, that is—you had a responsibility not to trample all over her heart. And while he had no intention of hurting Emma, he knew that he could injure her just by not loving her back.

  Of course, maybe he did love her back.

  But then again, maybe she didn’t love him in the first place. She hadn’t actually said as much. He couldn’t very well love someone back if she didn’t love him first.

  He could, however, love her first.

  And that meant that he was going to have to convince her to love him back.

  But the question was moot anyway because he hadn’t yet decided to love her.

  Or had he?

  Alex bounded off the bed and began pacing to and fro across his room. Had he decided to love her? He didn’t know. And furthermore, did a man actually decide to love a woman, or did it just sort of grow on you until one day you hop out of a bathtub and realize that you’ve loved her for ages, for so long that you’re not even sure when it all started and that you’re really just fighting the inevitable because it’s become a habit to thwart your mother and your sister.

  Oh God, he loved Emma. Now what was he going to do? Oh, fine, he could ask her to marry him, and she’d probably say yes, but he didn’t think that was going to be good enough. He didn’t want her to marry him just because she liked him; he wanted her to marry him because she loved him, loved him so much that she couldn’t bear the thought of life without him because he was slowly beginning to realize that that was how he felt about her.

  Maybe he should test the waters a little before he actually proposed—try to get an idea of what she really felt for him. There was no huge rush to ask her. Now that he had committed himself to this marriage idea, he was eager to get her legally bound to him for life, but he supposed a few days wouldn’t make much of a difference. After all, if it became apparent that she wasn’t going to return his feelings, he might not want to propose.

  Who was he kidding? Of course he’d propose. Napoleon himself couldn’t stop him.

  But there really wasn’t much harm in waiting just a little while—if only for his peace of mind. After all, it wasn’t as if she was going away anytime soon. And no one else was going to ask in the meantime. Alex was fairly certain he’d made sure of that. Few men were brave enough to ask her to dance twice in one evening, much less to ask her to marry them. Alex had staked a claim. And it was getting time to claim that claim.

  Friday would do nicely. There was some function he was supposed to attend on Wednesday. He couldn’t remember where, but his secretary would have it written down back in London, and Emma would certainly be present. He could talk to her then, probe a little and try to guess her feelings. On Thursday his mother was having a small dinner party. He’d have a good chance of getting her alone then. His mother certainly did her best to give him every opportunity of doing so. On Friday morning he’d pick out an engagement ring from the family jewels and then head over to the Blydon mansion, propose, and be done with it.

  Except that he really wouldn’t be done with anything. Alex smiled peacefully. He would be beginning everything.

  Chapter 15

  Oh Lord, what was she thinking?

  Tuesday afternoon saw Emma standing on the steps in front of Alex’s bachelor’s lodgings, an elegant townhouse located only five blocks away from the Blydon home in Grosvenor Square. It wasn’t very large; Alex didn’t like to entertain, and Emma supposed he planned to move into the family mansion when he married.

  Which she hoped would be rather soon.

  She lifted her hand up to the large brass knocker and then quickly whirled around. “Would you just go away?” she hissed. Ned was loitering about six feet away from the bottom of the steps.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Someone has to walk you home.”

  “Alex can walk me home.”

  “What if he says no?”

  “Ned Blydon, that is a perfectly cruel thing to say,” Emma blurted out, her heart dropping into her stomach. “He’s not going to say no,” she muttered. “I think.”

  “What?”

  “Go!”

  Ned started walking away backwards. “I’m going. I’m going.”

  Emma watched Ned disappear around the corner before turning back to the brass knocker that was looming large in front of her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the knocker and let it fall with a resounding thud. The noise was overly loud to her already frazzled senses, and she jumped nervously backwards, catching her heel on the edge of the step. With a small yelp, she flailed her arms, trying to catch her balance until she desperately grabbed hold of the railing, pitching herself forward at a bizarre angle.

  And that was her position when the butler opened the door and looked down at her in an extremely quizzical manner.

  “Oh, hello,” Emma chirped, smiling weakly as she straightened herself as quickly as she could. “Is his grace receiving?”

  The butler did not reply immediately, preferring to look her up and down in silent judgment. She was Quality, that was sure, but it was unheard of for a wellborn lady to call unescorted at an unmarried gentleman’s home. He was wavering over the wisdom of allowing her to enter when Emma suddenly looked up at him with those huge violet eyes, and he was lost. Closing his eyes momentarily, he went against his better judgment and said, “Won’t you come in?” He ushered her into a small parlor just off the main ha
ll. “I’ll see if his grace is available.”

  The butler trudged up the stairs until he located Alex in his study on the second floor.

  “What is it, Smithers?” Alex asked absently, barely looking up from the papers he was studying.

  “There is an unescorted young lady to see you, your grace.”

  Alex laid the papers down on his desk, gave his butler a sharp look, and then replied, “I do not know any young ladies who would call on me at home without an escort.” He picked up his papers again and leafed through them briskly.

  “As you wish, your grace.” Smithers started to back out of the room but stopped just short of closing the door. “Are you certain, your grace?”

  Alex put down the papers again and looked at his butler with an irritated expression. “Am I certain of what, Smithers?”

  “Are you certain that you do not know this particular young lady? She seemed quite, er, earnest, your grace.”

  Alex decided to humor his butler. “What did she look like, Smithers?”

  “She is quite petite, and her hair is a rather bright color.”

  “What?!” Alex burst out, standing up so sharply he banged his knee on his desk.

  The crinkles around the butler’s eyes softened slightly. “And she has the biggest violet eyes I have seen since Mrs. Smithers passed on seven years ago.”

  “Good Lord, Smithers, why didn’t you say so!” Alex dashed out of the room and nearly hurtled himself down the stairs.

  Smithers followed at a somewhat more sedate pace. “I wasn’t aware you were interested in the color of my late wife’s eyes,” he said softly, smiling wider than he had in seven years.

  “Emma!” Alex exclaimed as he bounded into the room. “What on earth are you doing here? Is something wrong? Does your family know you’re here?”

  Emma licked her lips nervously before answering. “No, no they don’t. Except for Ned. He walked me over.”

  “Your cousin allowed you to come here unescorted? Is he insane?”

  “No, although he thinks I am,” Emma admitted, her voice a little mournful. Alex didn’t look overjoyed to see her. She stood up hastily. “I can leave if this isn’t a good time.”

  “No!” Alex exclaimed loudly as he crossed the room and shut the door. “Please stay. I’m just rather surprised to see you here.”

  “I know this is highly irregular,” Emma began, not having any idea how to broach the subject of marriage. “But I wanted to speak to you privately, and you know how difficult it is to get a few moments alone in London.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow. He knew.

  “Ned told me that you returned yesterday afternoon. He said he saw you last night at White’s.”

  Alex wondered if Ned had also told her that he had spent the better part of an hour grilling him about Emma.

  Emma stood up suddenly, too anxious to sit down. She began to pace, nervously catching her lower lip between her teeth.

  “You do that a lot,” Alex pointed out with an indulgent smile.

  She whirled around. “What?”

  “Nibble on your lower lip. I find it rather endearing.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  Alex crossed the room and caught her upper arms in his hands. “Emma,” he said in a low voice, looking very deeply into her eyes. “Please tell me what is wrong. You’re obviously very upset about something.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up into Alex’s intense green eyes. With her head tipped back in a vulnerable position, she felt as if he could see into the very depths of her soul. She swallowed convulsively, fighting the urge to press her body against his and simply melt into his arms. She could feel the heat emanating from his body and desperately longed to become a part of that warmth.

  Alex could see her violet eyes begin to smolder with desire, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to lean down and capture her lips with his own. He had no idea how to try to make her feel better, but he was fairly certain that what she didn’t need was another intimate encounter with him.

  Emma didn’t know how long she remained in that position before she remembered to breathe, but she finally exhaled and said, “I need to talk to you about something, and I cannot think clearly when you are standing so close to me.”

  Alex took that as a good sign. “Of course,” he said solicitously, releasing her arms and motioning to the sofa where she had been seated just moments earlier. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he began to consider his situation. He’d been planning to propose to Emma on Friday, but this might be as good a time as any. She must have some tender feelings for him or she never would have dared to come by herself to his townhouse. And after all, he’d have more opportunity here to kiss her senseless after she said yes (which he was praying she would) than he would at her cousins’ home, where he’d been planning on proposing. He’d just wait until she told him whatever it was that was bothering her so much, and then he’d ask her. It would be a great moment.

  Emma scurried over to the sofa and sat down, perching herself on the edge. “Alex?” she said, leaning forward. “I have to ask you something, and I’m afraid you’ll say no.”

  Alex sat down in a chair adjacent to the sofa. He leaned forward, too, so that his face was not so very far from hers. “You’ll never know unless you ask.”

  “I’m even more afraid you’ll say yes,” she muttered.

  Alex was intrigued, but he didn’t say anything.

  Emma took a deep breath, swallowed, and squared her shoulders. She’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but she had never dreamed how terrified she would feel as she was trying to get the words out. “Alex,” she said suddenly, her voice coming out overly loud. Swallowing again, she willed herself to talk a little more softly. “Alex,” she repeated. “I need—that is, I want—No, no.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and luminous. “This is very difficult for me.”

  “I can see that,” Alex said consolingly. He thought she was going to shred the handkerchief she held in her hands.

  “Alex, I would like to request your hand in marriage.” The words tumbled out very quickly, and Emma suddenly exhaled, not even aware that she’d been holding her breath.

  Alex blinked, but other than his eyelids, he did not move a muscle.

  Emma looked at him anxiously. “Alex?”

  “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

  She started to twist the folds of her dark green skirt in her hand, not quite brave enough to look him in the eye. “Yes.”

  “I thought that’s what you said.” Alex suddenly sat back, rather stunned. He’d just managed to convince himself that it was time to ask Emma to marry him, and she’d beaten him to the punch. A small voice in the back of his head was telling him that this was a good thing, that if she had actually asked him to marry her, it probably meant that she’d say yes to him when he finally got around to asking her the same question. But an even larger voice in the front of his head was saying that this was all wrong, that she had somehow denied him something he wanted very badly. Damn it, he’d been looking forward to proposing. He’d been rehearsing nonstop for two days. He couldn’t get to sleep at night because he couldn’t stop himself from playing out various scenarios in his mind. He had even given serious thought to getting down on one knee. Instead he was slouched in a chair that wasn’t quite big enough for him while Emma was perched so precariously on the edge of his sofa that he was afraid she’d fall off.

  “Emma, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he finally said.

  She deflated. That wasn’t a very positive response.

  “What I mean is,” Alex continued, “usually it’s the man who asks the woman to marry him.”

  “I just couldn’t wait until you got around to asking me,” Emma said, somewhat sheepishly. “If you got around to asking me.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to wait very long,” Alex muttered under his breath.

  Emma obviously didn’t hear him because she looked n
o less anxious than she had earlier. “The problem is that I need to marry you rather quickly, I’m afraid.”

  Alex thought that was an extremely cryptic comment indeed, since they hadn’t performed the act that usually required a woman to marry a man rather quickly.

  “This is very uncommon,” he said, shaking his head.

  “I realize that,” she improvised, “but you’ve often told me I’m an uncommon female.”

  “I haven’t actually heard of a woman proposing to a man,” Alex said, measuring his words carefully. “I don’t think it’s exactly illegal, but it just isn’t done.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. She was beginning to understand what was going on here. She had bruised Alex’s considerable male pride. Normally she would be enjoying this, but her entire life’s happiness was at stake. He was sitting over there, feeling sorry for himself because she’d stolen from him some kind of inherent male right, and he hadn’t even given one thought to how much courage it must have taken her to come to his home unescorted and ask him to marry her. This wasn’t exactly something she’d been brought up to do. “Methods of proposing marriage” definitely had not been squeezed in between Latin and piano lessons when she was growing up. Nevertheless, she decided that one of them was going to have to be the mature one in this scenario, and it might as well be her.

  “Really, Alex,” she said with a sweet smile. “You should feel flattered. It’s a rare man who has a woman so besotted with him that she defies convention and asks him to marry her.”

  Alex blinked. “I was going to ask you on Friday,” he said in a slightly petulant tone. “I had even rehearsed what I was going to say.”

  “You were?” Emma exclaimed joyfully. “You did? Oh, Alex, I’m so happy!” Unable to contain herself, she bounded up off of the sofa and knelt in front of Alex, taking both of his hands in hers.

  He looked down at her, his expression still a little bit childish. “I was rather excited about proposing. I’ve never done it before, you know. And now I don’t get to.”

  Emma beamed, giving his hands a squeeze. “You still can. I promise I’ll say yes.”