The Bedding Proposal

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Leo had thought of his own father in that moment, understanding what it was like to lose a parent at a young age. He’d only been seven when he’d learned firsthand about grief and death.

  He’d been glad when Thalia continued talking.

  “After that,” she said, “my mother saw to it that I focused on what she considered proper feminine matters such as clothes and dancing and preparing me for the Season. She wanted me to make an advantageous marriage, you see.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Well, I hardly need discuss how that turned out.”

  Hampered by the sling he was still wearing, he’d wrapped his good hand around her elbow, then slid it through so their arms were hooked. She hadn’t resisted, returning to their discussion of the horses up for auction as they strolled along.

  Once the sale began, he’d settled for bidding on the grays, while she had seen a beautiful little mare that had made her sigh with longing. Despite his encouragement, she’d refused to bid. She’d also refused to let him bid on her behalf.

  “You ought to have let me buy that roan filly for you,” he said now as they began to make their way back to the coach. “It would have been my pleasure.”

  She paused. “Thank you, but I do not accept gifts from gentlemen.”

  Does she not?

  Most women adored gifts, particularly from lovers. But in spite of her lurid reputation, he was beginning to wonder if there were any lovers. He certainly hadn’t seen evidence that he had rivals. And now that he had gained access to her house and spent some time alone with her, he found himself questioning the stories he’d believed about her when he’d started his pursuit.

  So who precisely was the real Lady Thalia Lennox? And what was the truth of her past and the circumstances that had led to the demise of her marriage?

  “If not gifts, then would you at least allow me to buy you a hot chocolate at Gunter’s? I trust you can have no objection to that?”

  Her dark brows furrowed. “Not to the chocolate, no, but Gunter’s is . . . well, I no longer frequent that establishment.”

  Because of her divorce, she meant. Because she didn’t feel welcome among the members of the Ton who gathered there to eat ices and sip tea.

  He knew that she was ostracized by Society. Realized that she wasn’t invited to parties and entertainments with the people who had once called themselves her friends. Her former husband had suffered no such harm and was warmly greeted at all manner of Society events. Supposedly, Thalia had had an affair: the justification for her disgrace. In the Ton’s eyes, Gordon Kemp was the wronged party. But Leo wondered now if he really was.

  Whatever Thalia may or may not have done, Leo couldn’t believe that the blame lay solely with her. There had to be far more to the story than what was readily visible on the surface.

  But for now, he wanted to take her out for a simple cup of cocoa. And the idea that she wasn’t “allowed” in Gunter’s, well, it made him angry. He didn’t bother pretending not to understand her hesitancy.

  “The last time I checked, Gunter’s was a public establishment. If we wish to dine there, it is nobody’s business but our own.”

  Her eyes widened slightly before they took on a look of sad resignation. “Yes, but it is not somewhere that a woman such as myself goes.”

  “I fail to see why not. They serve ladies and gentleman and you are a lady. You have every right to visit their premises. I presume you have never been refused service?”

  “No, but I have not gone there in years.”

  His jaw tightened in what his family would have recognized as his mulish streak. “Then it is long past time you did.”

  “It will cause an uproar—”

  “Let it. What do either of us care for the opinions of a bunch of staid old harridans and disapproving ape leaders?”

  “It is more than old harridans and ape leaders. Believe me, I know.” She laid her hand on his sleeve. “Leo, it is most kind of you to defend me in such a way, but I reconciled myself to my particular situation ages ago. To be honest, it is wearisome being snubbed and stared at. I would much rather drink chocolate with you at my town house. Let us just go back there.”

  He looked into her eyes. “I don’t believe in taking the coward’s way out.”

  “No, there is nothing of the coward in you, Lord Leopold. As for me, I have learned to choose my battles. Besides, Mrs. Grove makes better hot chocolate. Ices are Gunter’s specialty. If we want to stage a rebellion, we ought to do it in the summer.”

  He studied her for another moment, then relented. “I am going to hold you to that, you know. You and me and ices at Gunter’s and Society be damned.”

  She smiled, but said nothing further.

  With her hand still on his arm, he started them toward the coach once more.

  “You know,” he said, “it just occurred to me that perhaps you don’t want to be seen with me in public.”

  Her eyes flashed up to meet his. “If that were true, I wouldn’t have come out with you this morning. I am sure someone noticed us together.”

  “Of course they did. It’s not every day I escort the most beautiful woman in London to a horse auction.”

  She shot him another look, the caramel hue of her eyes turning warm. “Trying to flatter me, Lord Leopold?”

  “If it will help win your favor, then undoubtedly.”

  As she had done the day before, she laughed. The sound made his chest swell with pleasure. Maybe drinking hot chocolate alone with her at her town house was the better plan, after all.

  * * *

  “You are right,” Lord Leopold said nearly two hours later. “Mrs. Grove’s hot chocolate is better than Gunter’s.” His china cup made a faint clink as he set it onto its saucer.

  He’d positioned the saucer on a nearby tea table so he could drink using only one hand. Still, he looked decidedly uncomfortable at times as he dealt with all the restrictions to his movements.

  She’d asked him earlier how his injury was faring. He’d given her a curt smile and said only that it was healing. She’d decided to prod no further on the subject, since men could sometimes be touchy about such matters.

  “I shall once again convey your compliments to her,” she said, setting aside her own cup. “Mrs. Grove beamed like a girl yesterday when I told her how much you enjoyed her sandwiches and sweetmeats.”

  “Well, the praise is entirely genuine,” he said. “You don’t suppose she could make up nuncheon for us, do you? It’s been hours since breakfast.”

  “But you just ate chocolate and biscuits.”

  “A delicious appetizer.” He laid a hand on his flat, waistcoat-covered stomach. “Are you not hungry?”

  “No, not terribly. But I would be a poor hostess if I did not feed a guest who is in need of a meal.”

  She rose and crossed to the bellpull.

  She was making her way back to the sofa when she heard an odd cracking sound. Without warning, her ankle slid sideways as the heel of her half boot collapsed beneath her.

  “Oh!” She reached out instinctively to steady her balance, and stumbled, catching the edge of her gown beneath her other foot. She pitched forward, her muscles tightening instinctively as she began to fall.

  A pair of strong arms reached out and caught her. She pulled in a gasping breath and looked up into Leo’s eyes as he held her safe and secure. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest, her arms curved around his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a long moment she could think of nothing but him and how right it felt to be held in his embrace.

  “My heel broke,” she said weakly.

  “Is that what happened? I thought maybe you’d tripped on the carpet. Are you all right? Are you injured?”

  “I don’t believe so,” she said automatically. Her nerves were still humming from her near fall—and perhaps from something more.

  Knowing she should put some space between them, she stepped back.

  Pain stabbed through her ankle.
“Ow!”

  “You are hurt.” Without waiting for her consent, Leo swept her up into his arms and carried her the short distance to the sofa. Carefully, he laid her onto the cushions.

  She clenched her teeth against the pain, which began to subside from sharp to throbbing. Leo knelt at her side and reached down to unlace her boot.

  It was only then that she noticed his sling, the black cloth dangling empty around his neck. Why wasn’t he wearing it? And come to think, how was it that he’d caught her, and then carried her, when his injury still needed to be immobilized?

  “Leo, your arm—,” she began.

  Her words were cut short when a fresh wave of agony speared through her ankle as he drew off her right boot. “Lie still and let me see if you’ve broken anything,” he said.

  She gritted her teeth again as he manipulated her ankle with gentle fingers. “Ow,” she complained again. “That hurts.”

  “I am sure it does.” He finished his examination, then laid her stocking-clad foot onto a small decorative pillow that he slid underneath it. “It’s definitely sprained and already starting to swell. I expect you’ll have bruising too, but it’s not broken.”

  “Are you certain? Maybe we should call the doctor.”

  He reached out and pulled off her other boot, setting it next to its mate on the floor. “We can, but he’s going to tell you what I just did.”

  “How do you know? Are you a physician?”

  The edge of his mouth curved. “I don’t need to be. Between my twin brother and myself and our six siblings, I’ve seen more than my fair share of sprained ankles and broken limbs. I know how to tell one from the other.”

  Just then, a quiet tap came from the doorway. It was Fletcher. “You rang, milady,” he said, the butler moving farther into the room. His eyes widened when they fixed on Thalia stretched full-length across the sofa. “My lady, what has happened?”

  Leo stood, calm and innately commanding. “Lady Thalia took a tumble and has suffered a sprain. I need some clean cotton bindings to wrap her ankle, a towel, and ice chips secured inside a piece of waterproof leather or oilcloth. Bring those up first, then have a hot poultice of bran mash prepared. Place the poultice into a covered tureen once it’s ready so it will stay warm.”

  Fletcher stared for another moment. “I shall summon the doctor.”

  “No need. As I told Lady Thalia, I am well versed in these matters.” Leo looked at her. “Unless you require something stronger than brandy for the pain? You don’t keep laudanum around the house, do you?”

  “No.” Her lips tightened, remembering his views on laudanum. Truth be told, she didn’t much care for the drug’s effects either and the doctor would likely press her to take a draught. “I shall follow Lord Leopold’s advice,” she told the butler. “For now at least.”

  With a nod, Fletcher left the room.

  She waited until she knew they were alone, then fixed Leo with a pointed look. “Do you really know what you’re doing? Ice? And a hot poultice?”

  “Cold will reduce the swelling and heat relaxes the muscles. I’ve found that alternating the two brings excellent relief.”

  She considered, realizing she was familiar with a similar technique for treating horses. She supposed one might not be all that much different from the other. Resigned, she let herself sink more deeply into the sofa cushions.

  Her ankle throbbed. “So?” she said, needing something to distract herself from the pain, “you were telling me about your arm?”

  “I wasn’t, actually.” He turned and swept his gaze around the room. “Are you cold? Here, let me get you a wrap. It won’t do for you to take a chill.”

  “I am comfortable enough,” she said.

  But he ignored her and walked away.

  She twisted her head around, frustrated at being trapped on the sofa. “I am speaking to you, Lord Leopold.”

  “Pray continue,” he called from somewhere behind her. “I can hear you quite well.”

  She swallowed an oath. “I was just wondering if you have you been lying to me?”

  A pause followed. “About what?” he said.

  “You know full well what. Your injury. Or rather your supposed injury. Clearly your wound is not as severe as you have been leading me to believe. I am beginning to wonder if you were shot at all.”

  “Of course I was shot. You saw me bleeding, did you not?”

  She had. An image of him ashen and smeared with blood flashed through her mind. Unquestionably, he had been wounded.

  “Very well. But why the sling if your arm is healed enough to catch me and carry me?”

  He returned, the cashmere shawl she kept draped over the fireside wing chair in his hand. He’d removed the sling, she noticed, his “bad” arm hanging naturally at his side.

  He leaned down and placed the shawl over her, taking care to tuck it around her arms and shoulders. “Rest,” he said. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “I would prefer to talk about it now.”

  He met her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you are amazingly stubborn?”

  “I believe I could say the same of you.”

  A tiny smile played over his mouth. “See? Yet another thing we have in common.”

  A scowl creased her brow. “So?” she pressed after another few moments.

  He frowned back. “You’re right. I haven’t really needed to wear a sling. My arm is still sore and the stitches have yet to come out, but the wound is healing quickly. It’s just a matter of waiting for my body to recover fully.”

  “Then why the charade? Why come here pretending?”

  “I needed some means of fanning the flames of your guilt,” he said, surprising her with his blunt honesty. “You’ve made no secret of the fact that you are only allowing me to call on you because you feel badly about your role in my shooting. I worried that if you saw me looking far more hale and hearty than you deemed appropriate, you would put an early end to our arrangement.”

  “Something I still might do. Did you not think I would discover the truth?”

  He shrugged. “The risk seemed reasonable, and I thought seeing me in a weakened state might soften your rather formidable defenses. And it worked. Yesterday is the first time I ever heard you really laugh.”

  “It may well be the last.”

  “I hope not. I like your laugh.” His voice deepened. “And your smile too. I long to hear and see more of both.”

  Her heart gave an annoying double beat and she looked away. “I ought to kick you out right now.” She tried to put some force behind her words, but they sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

  “Luckily for me,” he said with quiet humor in his tone, “you cannot walk at present and Fletcher is too old to strong-arm me.”

  She fixed him with a look. “I could still find a way, if I wished to.”

  He smiled. “I am sure you could.”

  She said nothing further, plucking at the edge of her shawl with her fingertips. Why wasn’t she tossing him out? After all, he’d lied to her and admitted it. She ought to be outraged.

  She was outraged. And yet . . .

  “Don’t ever lie to me again,” she said with complete seriousness. “There is nothing I find quite so repellent as deception. If I discover that you’ve told me another untruth, I really will toss you out of my house and make certain you never enter it again.”

  His expression turned solemn. “You have my word, Thalia. No more lies. I will be honest with you from this day forward. I trust I have your word that you will do the same?”

  She studied him, wondering why she was even considering making such a bargain. Men lied; it was as simple as that. Heaven knew she had learned that lesson in the cruelest of ways. Yet for reasons that escaped her, she believed him.

  “Yes,” she said softly, “you have my word.”

  Before he could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  “Your ice and bandages must be ready,” Leo said.

  H
e was right, she saw, as Fletcher walked in bearing a silver tray laden with the requested items.

  “How are you doing, milady?” the butler asked after setting his burden onto a nearby table. “Mrs. Grove and the rest of the staff are most concerned. She is in the kitchen now, preparing the poultice that his lordship requested.”

  “Thank you, Fletcher,” Thalia told him, while Leo walked over to inspect the items on the tray. “I am resting comfortably. Tell Mrs. Grove and the others not to worry. It is nothing more than a little sprain.”

  “Time will tell how severe a sprain it is,” Leo said, addressing his words to the butler. “Lady Thalia will need to stay off her feet tonight and likely tomorrow as well. Alert the kitchen to have a supper tray sent to her bedchamber this evening—”

  “I can eat in the dining room as usual—,” she interrupted.

  “—and inform her maid to arrange a bolster of feather pillows at the foot of her bed,” Leo continued as if she had not spoken. “Her ankle requires elevation tonight to continue easing the swelling.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Fletcher said. “The arrangements shall be made as you request.”

  Ingrained manners were the only thing that kept her mouth from falling open over the exchange. Thalia didn’t know which man she found more vexing, Leo for giving orders to her butler—again—or Fletcher for following them a second time. Still, she said nothing until Fletcher left the room.

  “Just because I am mildly discomposed at present,” she said, twisting her fingers around her shawl fringe, “doesn’t give you leave to order my servants about.”

  Leo lifted the tray and carried it closer. “I am only doing what needs done.”

  “So you say. I knew you were stubborn and arrogant, but I didn’t realize you were overbearing too.”

  He shrugged. “Another Byron trait.”

  “Does your family have any positive qualities?”

  “Many,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “But we only display them when it is to our advantage.”

  She gave a soft snort and crossed her arms over her chest. “That I can readily believe. I met your brother once. I believe.”