A Most Scandalous Proposal

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a single word, he placed a finger across it. “Don’t say it. Don’t tempt me further.”

  “What was I about to say?” she teased, in spite of the finger.

  “That you don’t want me to behave like a gentleman.”

  He knew her too well. She’d wanted to issue a challenge, just as she had so often during the course of their childhood. “Perhaps I don’t.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her away. “You do not understand. If I give into my passion in this moment, I would take you here and now, and you deserve so much more than a quick tumble on a cold floor.”

  “Strange, I do not feel the least bit cold.” She didn’t—not in Benedict’s arms.

  The corners of his mouth edged into a grim smile. “You might change your mind once it’s too late.” He settled back on his heels, placing distance between them. “Best we puzzle out how we’re to get a fire started. Tomorrow, I’ll show you about the place.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I DO NOT understand this insistence on a public spectacle, when the matter of this marriage could just as easily be solved in private.” Mariah tugged at a glove. “Away from curious eyes.”

  Across from her, Mrs. St. Claire puffed herself up, no doubt to retort—as politely as possible, naturally.

  Rufus trained his gaze out the window and attempted to ignore them, an impossible feat the way they sat. This was the carriage ride from hell. Not only was he crammed in with his sister, a captive audience to her ongoing—but oh-so-proper—argument with his future mother-in-law, but the crowds on Bond Street had slowed the horses to a standstill. Passersby paused to gawk for a moment or two at the crest emblazoned on his barouche before continuing on their way, at a much greater clip on foot.

  Next to her mother, Sophia shifted her weight, flapping one hand ineffectually in an effort to stir the stuffy air. She glanced at him, and he caught himself wishing she would smile, not that she had reason of late.

  Julia had been gone for two days; no doubt, her absence would be noticed soon. Clivesden had burst in on the family yesterday evening with some wild notion of going after Julia and her lover. No matter how much the St. Claires and even Clivesden himself might want to keep that information secret, it would get out and make the rounds under cover of raised fans from one ear to the next. Part of Sophia, at least, must agree with Mariah—and Mariah remained blissfully ignorant of the latest developments. The family need not draw attention to itself in the face of the impending scandal.

  “Mama, perhaps we ought to go home.”

  Mariah gave a firm nod. “Finally, the chit has said something sensible. I never thought she had it in her.”

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. St. Claire broke in before Rufus had a chance to leap to Sophia’s defense. “You are to be married. If you’re not seen purchasing your trousseau, people are bound to speculate why not.”

  Sophia caught his eye and paled. If Mrs. St. Claire wasn’t careful, Mariah might start asking difficult questions.

  He cleared his throat. “I believe we’d arrive at our destination more quickly if we walked.”

  Sophia sat up a bit straighter. “What a splendid notion.”

  “Young lady, you will remain right where you are.” Mariah leaned forward until her face hovered mere inches from Sophia’s. “It is unseemly for you to be seen in Highgate’s company unchaperoned, and I most certainly shall not walk.”

  Rufus turned to her. “Ah, yes, such a danger a man might pose to impressionable young misses in the midst of a crowded street. It isn’t as if I’m proposing to spirit her off into the side lanes at Vauxhall.”

  He tapped on the roof, an absurd action, perhaps, since they’d stood on the same spot for the past five minutes, but it signaled the footman to let down the steps.

  Rufus leapt from the carriage to the teeming thoroughfare. “I intend to take some air. Would you care to join me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mariah began, but Sophia ignored her.

  She laid a hand in his extended palm and alit. Her smile strained slightly at the corners, as if it knew it only existed as a façade to show the world everything was perfectly fine. “Thank goodness,” she murmured. “I couldn’t bear those two another moment.”

  “I can’t blame you there.” He tucked her hand inside his elbow and set off, leaving the barouche where it stood, stalled in the middle of the street.

  “I ought to thank you for the outing, but your sister is probably correct. We’d be best staying home.”

  Rufus touched his hat to a pair of passing ladies. They glanced his way and then turned for a second glimpse. It was the scar, of course. They viewed it as a symbol of his tragic first marriage. “I think the outing will do you good. Better than staying home and worrying over … things you cannot change.”

  She nodded in reply. It was the only possible response on a crowded Mayfair street where any number of eager ears strained to overhear. But he knew what thoughts turned in her mind—concern for her sister and apprehension for the future.

  The notion that he could gauge her thoughts on a mere expression and inclination of her head warmed him through. He’d never before reached such a level of sympathy with any woman.

  “I still wonder if a shopping expedition is the best idea. Once we reach the milliner’s, Mama is certain to forget herself.”

  He slanted a glance at her. He knew little of ladies’ fashions, but even his untrained eye could pick up the air of shabbiness that hung over her costume, the fraying about her hem, the lack of crispness to her spencer, the sagging lace edging her bonnet. She deserved much better than her family could offer. “Should you see anything you’d like, I shall charge it to my account.”

  She stopped in the middle of the pavement, two spots of rose springing into bloom below her eyes. The river of strollers continued to swell around them.

  “I cannot allow you to do that.” She kept her voice pitched low, but each word floated distinctly over the rumble of carriages.

  “It would be my pleasure. Consider it a gift for the trouble our arrangement has caused you.”

  The pink in her cheeks darkened, and she bit down on her lip. An image jolted through his mind. She might look just like this under more agreeable circumstances—in his bed, her pleasure spent. Blood pulsed to his groin at the thought of her lying sated in a tangle of white linen sheets, naked, her breathing shallow, and that lovely flush gracing more than her cheeks. It would cover her neck, her breasts …

  He held her gaze, and her blush deepened. “We … we ought to be on our way.”

  “Yes, we ought. At this rate, your mother and my sister will arrive before we do. I’m sure there’s something scandalous to that, although I can’t imagine what.” Well, beyond his wanton thoughts.

  “Your sister might claim you lured me off into some den of sin.”

  He blinked at her, and a grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “And what do you know of dens of sin?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Surely that wasn’t a tinge of disappointment he heard tainting her tone. Surely not.

  She turned away before he could be certain. They strode off down the street once more, making fast for the milliner’s. More passersby cast him speculative glances. He touched his hat to a young lady who looked as if she ought to still be in the schoolroom. The chit’s eyes went round, and her frowning governess chivvied her along.

  Sophia’s fingers curled into his elbow, and their shoulders brushed, as she leaned close to speak in confidence. “Why is everyone gaping so? It’s enough to make me think I’ve suddenly burst out in spots.”

  “They’ve heard news of our betrothal, my dear, and they’re wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “All manner of things that are none of their affair. Whether we’ll suit. How much I might have paid your father to take you off his hands. How long after the vows are spoken before you’ll cuckold me.”

  She
stopped once more. “But none of that is true. We’re not—” She broke off, mindful they stood in an overly interested crowd, but he didn’t need her to voice the rest of her thought.

  “It’s the way they think. They love to imagine the worst of people. Just like my sister. She’s forever drawing the worst possible conclusion and embellishing from there. It makes her feel superior.”

  “What …” She glanced around before dropping her voice. “What will she make of me once I’ve cried off?”

  He tamped down a rush of annoyance that she’d brought the subject up and managed to inject a degree of mildness into his response. “She’ll be overjoyed at the news. She thinks you quite beneath me. I, however, rarely share her opinions. In fact, I prefer as often as possible to take a contrary view.”

  There. He’d drawn more color to her cheeks. She looked quite fetching in her shabby bonnet with her complexion aglow. He must remember to compliment her more often.

  She cleared her throat. “I believe we’ve arrived.”

  They entered the shop, which, for the moment, was blessedly free of his sister. Bonnets, fans, lace, and all manner of ridiculous feminine accoutrements dripped from shelves. The air was tainted with a mixture of heavy perfume, dust, and flecks of feathers.

  “My goodness, if it isn’t Miss St. Claire.” Rufus watched a dark-haired young lady make her way between displays. The scent of perfume increased, and he searched his memory. Something familiar about her.

  In the midst of fingering a length of blue ribbon, Sophia stiffened. “Good afternoon.”

  Her tone lacked its usual warmth, but the newcomer ignored it. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your … Well, I suppose this is your betrothed, isn’t it?”

  “This is the Earl of Highgate,” Sophia murmured, eyes narrowed. On guard.

  “My lord.” The brunette dropped him a curtsey.

  He nodded an acknowledgment, but as Sophia had neglected to tell him the young lady’s name, he could not make more of a reply.

  At any rate, she turned her attention back to Sophia. “How is your sister? I hope she’s well. I haven’t seen her at any of the usual gatherings in days.”

  The color drained from Sophia’s cheeks, and her fingers tightened on Rufus’s arm. “I … Julia …”

  “I’m afraid she’s been ill these past days,” Rufus supplied.

  “What a pity. I heard the oddest rumor about her.” The brunette made a show of straightening the lace cascading from her cuffs. “Someone told me she’d left Town altogether. And she didn’t go alone.”

  Sophia started. “Who told you that?”

  The brunette threw back her head and emitted a high-pitched twitter of laughter, the awful keening enough to set any nearby dogs to baying. It triggered a memory. Clivesden’s companion from the Posselthwaite ball. His fingernails bit into his palms until the skin stretched tightly over his knuckles.

  “Now, now,” the brunette replied. “I cannot give away such information. While I’m sure he’s in a position to know, the notion is simply too ridiculous. Why should she elope with a younger son when she might have a title?”

  Sophia placed a hand to her throat. “Indeed.”

  Poor thing. She’d give up the truth in another minute. He grasped Sophia’s arm. Her shoulders squared, her bosom expanded, and the flesh beneath his fingers firmed, taking confidence from his presence.

  “I haven’t the time to stand and listen to idle gossip.” He thought of Mariah and infused his tone with the contempt only she was capable of—the sort of contempt that froze on contact.

  The brunette snapped her eyes to his and immediately slid her gaze along his left cheek.

  Releasing Sophia, he closed the distance between him and the interloper. She was small enough that he could loom over her. “You’ve been given an explanation for Miss Julia’s whereabouts. Further speculation is unbecoming to a young lady of your breeding.”

  One hand over her heart, she retreated, the bloom dropping from her cheeks. “If you’ll forgive me, my lord, I seem to have forgotten a pressing engagement.”

  Her heels beat a rapid tattoo on the floorboards as she exited the shop.

  “Gracious, Highgate, you’ve no call to frighten her half to death.”

  He turned to find Sophia’s eyes wide and shining. Was that admiration? The thought stunned him. Even in his unmarred youth, he could barely recall a woman ever looking on him in such a manner. And she’d called him Highgate, as if they were old acquaintances. Had she even realized?

  He allowed himself a smile. “I was merely imitating my sister. I’d no idea I’d be so successful at it. Perhaps I should take to treading the boards.”

  Her expression softened, but didn’t quite melt into the smile he’d hoped to conjure. “This is no time for jokes. She knows, and she’ll spread rumors.”

  Rufus cast a quick glance about the shop. The proprietor was occupied with a pair of society matrons at the opposite end. Good. He placed his hands on Sophia’s shoulders and guided her to the very back of the premises, where a towering display of feathered headpieces partially blocked them from view.

  Her lips parted on a gasp, and he could think of nothing but the other night when she’d responded to his kisses with such gusto. He stepped closer, breathed in her scent. Roses and sweetness and woman. How she tempted him to relive the experience, but not here in a milliner’s shop. Not when his sister and her mother might walk in at any moment. Time was of the essence.

  “She knows nothing.”

  “But she said—”

  “She suspects, certainly. She wanted confirmation. In another moment, you would have given it to her.”

  Sophia pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I owe you thanks for intervening. She caught me by surprise. But, oh, she must know. She was practically throwing herself at Clivesden at the Posselthwaite ball. She … she must have coaxed the story out of him.”

  Rufus clenched his jaw at the catch in her voice. He knew what she was thinking—that bloody bastard had let the dark-haired chit turn his head. “No, I don’t think she has.”

  “But she said he. Her informant was a gentleman.”

  “She was lying to get you to admit the truth. Clivesden would never have told her about your sister.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “Because he’s a man. Because he’s Clivesden and because he’s used to getting whatever he wants. He’d never admit a young lady got the better of him.”

  She pressed her lips together and stared at the floorboards. “The story will get out.”

  He reached out and caught her chin in his hand, tipping her head up until he captured her gaze. “Yes, I daresay it will. But you and I will weather the storm.” He stopped himself just before adding together.

  “I’m not thinking of myself,” Sophia said slowly. “I’m thinking of Julia.”

  TWINNED red chimneys, dropping crumbs of brick onto a slate roof dotted with missing slabs, topped a massive Tudor pile at the head of the broad, sweeping drive. Diamond-paned windows glinted dully in the watery daylight. The entire place brooded beneath a sad air of neglect.

  A sharp breeze bearing the salt tang of the nearby sea whipped at Julia’s bonnet. She shivered.

  “I never imagined your manor was anything like this,” she said, looking at her hands. She’d passed an uneasy night, clinging to her corner of the bed. Ignoring the unfamiliar presence beside her had been difficult. After the kisses she and Benedict had shared, though, he’d been a perfect gentleman and left her untouched.

  The thought was frustration and relief combined. While a part of her wanted to get past the hurdle of physical intimacy, another was quite content he hadn’t pressed the issue. With each kiss and each touch, she found it harder not to lose herself in him.

  “It’s been rather forgotten of late. I find myself in want of an estate manager.” Benedict placed his hand over hers and tucked it into his elbow. “Come. Let me show you.”

&nb
sp; Gravel crunched beneath her feet as they advanced. Pale ocher walls glowered at them, as if their arrival had disturbed the manor’s rest. Fine, jagged lines veined stone, eroded by salt-bearing winds off the Channel and overgrown with twining ivy.

  Julia pressed her free arm against her waist. “And you’re planning on making your home here?”

  “Few rooms in the main house are fit for human habitation. I leave them to what servants I’ve retained.” Yes, he’d mentioned his estate manager disappearing and others of the staff seeking employment elsewhere.

  They reached the front steps. Another gust threatened to snatch the bonnet from her head. “I know it doesn’t look like much,” Benedict went on, “but the land is good. Excellent pasturage.”

  When she made no reply, he tugged with his elbow. “At least let me show you the stables.”

  “The stables. Of course. Where else would you begin a tour of your property but the stables?”

  Their footsteps thudded along the pathway, the sound loud in a silence so complete the pounding of nearby surf reached her ears. They skirted weed-rank flower beds, once laid out in a precision years out of fashion, but now the plants trailed dolefully beyond their assigned confines. Sad, leggy bushes that hadn’t seen a proper pruning in years choked the paths of an overgrown maze. The state of dereliction was nearly comforting in its familiarity.

  Julia began a mental catalog of all the work needed to make the place habitable once again, from shoring up the sagging chimneys to replacing broken panes of glass to bringing the boxwood under control. And that was just on the outside. Goodness only knew what state the interior had been allowed to attain.

  By the time they rounded the corner to the stable yard, she added the repaving of the paths with proper flagstones to her list. “Is this why you came to Town?”

  Benedict hesitated before taking another step. “What?”

  “All this.” She swept her arm in an arc to indicate the shabby tableau of his property. “You’ve come to town to seek a wife to help you cope with all this.”