A Most Scandalous Proposal

by Ashlyn Macnamara

“No, it wasn’t your fault.” Julia threw back the covers and ran to pull her sister into an embrace. “I left because I wanted to make certain I’d never marry Clivesden.”

  “Yes, but …” Sophia shuddered in Julia’s arms. In spite of all reassurances, it seemed her sister was about to give in to a spate of crying.

  “No buts. Tell me about the theater.”

  “Theater?” Sophia raised her head and swiped at red-rimmed eyes. “Oh yes, the theater.”

  Julia studied her sister. Sophia’s cheeks burned bright red, and her normally neat curls lay in tangles about her ears. A suspicious-looking purplish mark stood in contrast to the porcelain skin at the base of her throat.

  “Mama said you were to attend the theater tonight with Highgate.”

  At the name, Sophia let out an airy sigh and leaned back against the wall, her arms about her waist. Her blue eyes held a faraway expression.

  “Did you even make it as far as the theater?”

  “What?” Sophia gave herself a shake. “Oh, no. Highgate thought it preferable not to appear in public, considering …” With a wave of her hand, she trailed off.

  “Where did you go then? You’ll forgive me the indiscretion, but you look as if—” She didn’t want to come out and say Sophia looked as if she’d just been tumbled, except that was exactly how she looked. Julia recognized the symptoms of afterglow.

  Sophia floated to the bed and, arms outflung, cast herself to the mattress.

  Julia stiffened in alarm. “Who, exactly, were you with just now?”

  Sophia’s eyelids fluttered open. “Why, Highgate, of course.”

  “And what were you doing all this time?”

  A wicked little smile revealed the tips of Sophia’s teeth. So worldly, that smile. “Having a discussion, among other things.”

  “Oh, Sophia, what have you done?” Julia rubbed her moist palms against the white lawn of her night rail. Virginal white. How ironic now.

  Sophia pushed herself up on her elbows. “Nothing to ruin me, precisely … Oh, it was delicious and sinful, but I imagine you must know that.”

  With a wan smile, Julia sank onto the bed, relief washing through her that she’d have someone to talk to, someone who would not berate her for throwing away a chance at a title and, worse, dragging the entire family down into scandal.

  “Oh, Sophia, what have I done? Mama must already be making plans to send us off to molder in the country. If we’re lucky, we might be able to show our faces in Town sometime in the next ten years.”

  “I thought you liked the country.”

  “I do, but I’ve ruined your future as well.”

  “How? You’re not going to marry Clivesden now, are you?”

  “Of course not. You must know he came after us.” With a forefinger, she traced a wrinkle in the counterpane. “After what he saw …”

  “What did he see, precisely?”

  “Benedict and me … in bed … together.”

  Sophia let out a squeal.

  “Once word of that gets out, and you know it will, no one will have me.”

  “But isn’t that what you want? And don’t say no one. If Benedict has ruined you, he’ll be gentleman enough to make you an offer.”

  “He’s already arranged for a special license.”

  Sophia reached out and patted her hand. “Well, there you are then.”

  Struck by the irony of the situation, Julia stared at her sister. Here was Sophia, dreamy, flighty Sophia, being practical about the entire scandalous mess, when a few minutes earlier she’d nearly given in to another one of her tearful spells.

  “Sophia, about the wedding …”

  “If Benedict has a special license, you can marry whenever you please.”

  “No, I mean your wedding. You cannot cry off.”

  “But Highgate assured me I wasn’t ruined.” Sophia ducked her head to study her folded hands. “Although he did ask me to reconsider our plan.”

  “You must. It has nothing to do with whatever just happened with Highgate and everything to do with the wager.”

  SOPHIA’S hands went suddenly cold, and she fisted them in her skirts in a vain attempt to bring the feeling back. “Wager?” Even her voice sounded faint. “What wager?”

  “Clivesden was so confident he’d win my hand, he wagered I’d become his countess—before he ever proposed and before I even knew his intentions.”

  Sophia looked up sharply. “He proposed? When?”

  “He did. The night of your engagement dinner. Sophia?” Alarm sharpened her sister’s tone.

  Of course, Julia thought she was about to burst into a flood of tears, as she’d often done in the past over Clivesden’s slights. No more. She would waste no more of them on him.

  “I never asked for any of this, you know.” Julia jumped to her feet. “I never once encouraged him. I did not even know he was interested until the night at the Posselthwaites’, and you know—you know, Sophia—I did all I could to encourage him in your direction.”

  “I know,” Sophia whispered. Her voice refused to go any louder.

  Julia took a step forward. Her chin trembled. “It’s not as if he ever loved me or planned to. Do you want to know why he chose me over you?”

  She paused, pacing across the room and back, but Sophia couldn’t bring herself to answer. Morbid curiosity prodded her to learn the reason. Whatever it was, she could withstand it.

  “He doesn’t want a wife who loves him. He told me he wanted me specifically because I did not love him, and what’s more, I did not seem to love anybody. Apparently, I have a reputation among the men of the ton. They think I’m made of ice.”

  “And so he proposed to you?” Her words emerged flat, when, like a dam bursting, the years of built-up pain within her ought to have shattered in a violent eruption of heat, as rage seethed to life. Instead, calm pervaded her. Imagine, she was actually discussing Clivesden proposing to another woman—her own sister, no less—and the prospect didn’t bother her in the least.

  “I’m sorry. I did not think I ought to tell you. I knew you’d be upset.”

  “I’m not upset, honestly.”

  “I turned him down flat,” Julia went on as if Sophia hadn’t spoken. “Papa and Clivesden blindsided me that night. They made an arrangement behind my back, because I never suspected a thing. I could not very well make a scene in the middle of a ballroom in front of the entire ton. And part of it was shock. I could barely believe what was happening.”

  “Julia, I’m not going to cry this time. Truly.”

  But Julia hadn’t finished her speech. She leaned over and placed a hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt in all this, but please understand one thing. Any of the hurt comes from Clivesden’s doings, not mine. It’s always been him. For the past five years.”

  “I know,” Sophia whispered. “I understand that now.” She understood even more, an unpleasant truth, perhaps even more profound than the one Julia had just voiced. Clivesden hadn’t spent the last five years hurting her—not intentionally. He couldn’t have when he’d barely acknowledged her existence. If anyone had hurt Sophia, it was Sophia herself in allowing her fantasies and her illusions to take root to such an extent they blurred reality. “But what does any of this have to do with my betrothal to Highgate?”

  “Papa owes Clivesden a great deal of money.” Julia sat beside her once again and looked her in the eye. “If he can’t pay, the family is bankrupt. Clivesden was willing to forgive the debt in exchange for, well, me.”

  “No!”

  “It’s true. It’s all true. Papa admitted as much. Can you imagine if Mama knew? She’d have preferred I went through with it as a duty to the family.”

  “But how … how could they?” Sophia couldn’t say more. The eruption of fury she’d expected much earlier seethed through her now. And yet her eyes remained strangely dry, as if the spate of heated emotion had evaporated all her tears.

  “For what it’s worth, I mainly bla
me Clivesden. It had to be his idea. The wager he made, claiming he would marry me—the amount of the wager was the same amount Papa owes him. I think … No, I’m sure, he meant to find a way to recoup his losses.”

  “The cad. The utter, utter cad!” Sophia gulped in cool air, in hopes of calming the inferno within. “To think,” she said when she could go on, “only a week ago, I’d have done anything to be standing in your shoes—or at least to have caught his eye in time.”

  “Yes, well, because I’ve managed things so he no longer wants me, he’s determined to send Papa to prison over the debt. This is why you must marry Highgate. If you are settled, this cannot hurt you.”

  “And what of Mama?”

  “I’ve already promised to look after her. Papa is satisfied with the arrangement.”

  “What will become of him then?”

  “That remains to be seen. He has to survive a duel with Clivesden first.”

  Sophia reached for her throat to tug at her locket. “A duel? Papa means to fight a duel?”

  “Yes, with Benedict as his second. Sophia”—Julia’s brow puckered—“Sophia I just remembered. This talk of the wager. Does the name Keaton mean anything to you?”

  “He’s betrothed to that strumpet.”

  Julia looked as if she might laugh at that, but really, what could she possibly laugh about under the circumstances? “Truly? I wonder what he knows about Clivesden.”

  “I’ve no idea, but Highgate knows a great deal. But why do you ask about Keaton?”

  Julia’s forehead wrinkled, an expression Sophia recognized as an indication her sister was turning something over in her mind. A plan of some sort. A plan that might well mean trouble—for somebody. “Keaton was there the night Papa lost all that money. And now you tell me Highgate knows something.”

  “They have a great deal of history together, it turns out. It’s not pretty.”

  “Then you’d best tell me everything. Perhaps we can stop the proceedings.”

  RUFUS just happened to be passing through the corridor that bisected the town house from the foyer to the conservatory when Hastings replied to a knock. He didn’t even need to glance at the case clock to realize the hour was unfashionably early for callers.

  Curious, he slipped closer. Hastings seemed to be in serious discussion with somebody—somebody too small for Rufus to make out over the butler’s stocky frame.

  “This is highly irregular.” Hastings infused his tone with the censorious manner of his employer. No doubt, Mariah had chosen him for the ability.

  “But—”

  At the sound of the feminine voice, Rufus froze. Sophia stood on the doorstep, alone from all appearances.

  “Miss,” Hastings went on, “it is simply not done.”

  Right, then. Time to intervene. Rufus strode into the foyer, his Hessians thudding sharply on the parquet. “Whatever isn’t done, an exception can be made.”

  Sophia shivered on the threshold, clutching a midnight-blue cloak about her shoulders. A broad-brimmed bonnet shadowed her face, but not enough to hide her rounded eyes or her pallor. At the sight of him, the tension about her lips eased.

  Those lips. He’d tasted them last night, merely sipped from them, but not enough to quench his thirst for her—not when his fingers tingled at the recollection of her body melting about them, contracting in shuddering release.

  “My lord.” Hastings’s protest broke in on his memory. “The young lady is alone.”

  “The young lady is my betrothed, and furthermore, my sister’s presence in this house fulfills the requirement for an appropriate chaperone.”

  He stopped just short of ordering Hastings off, but the butler took the hint all the same. With a sniff that bordered on insubordination, he turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. No doubt, Mariah would have a full report before the hour was out.

  “Fortunately,” he added once Hastings was out of earshot, “my sister is still abed. With any luck, she will not disturb us. Now what has led you to risk your reputation in coming here?”

  She laid a gloved hand on the superfine sleeve of his coat, and he fancied warmth seeping into his forearm at four precise points, each the exact size of her fingertips. His heart gave a thump. Perhaps she’d come to a decision about their future.

  “Oh, Highgate.” Her voice trembled on his name. “Might we talk somewhere a bit more private?”

  His heart gave another thud. Something in her tone hinted at ominous news. In spite of all that had passed between them, in spite of all she’d learned of Clivesden, would she refuse him in the end?

  “Yes, of course,” he replied mechanically, while his mind searched for the ideal venue. He didn’t want to take her to the morning room and risk his sister interrupting Sophia’s set-down. Mariah would be as insufferable as ever about the entire situation. He didn’t want to deal with her gloating on top of his disappointment over not marrying Sophia.

  He led her along the corridor to a little-used room. The late Lord Wexford’s study had stood untouched since his demise, a masculine space enclosed with dark-paneled walls and heavy wooden furnishings. Draperies of heavy velvet shut out the morning’s feeble sunlight. A fitting scene for the end of Highgate’s renewed hope for the future.

  He took up a spot by the window and watched Sophia out of the corner of his eye. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip as she surveyed her surroundings.

  “I’ve come to ask your help,” she said at last.

  He snapped his head about to face her. “Help?”

  “Yes, please. You must agree. We cannot do this without a man’s perspective.”

  He arched a brow, as relief flooded his body. Best to appear intrigued than to reveal his concern that she’d come to cry off. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”

  “There’s to be a duel, you see. Papa has challenged Clivesden.”

  Rufus straightened his spine. “Your father and Clivesden? Not Revelstoke?”

  “No,” Sophia said. “Julia knows better how it all came about, but that’s not what’s important. We must discover when and where it will be held.”

  He opened his mouth to ask why she wanted such information and just as immediately closed it again. He knew why. Sophia, or perhaps her sister—or, worse, the pair of them—were scheming to stop the proceedings. “No.”

  “No?” She stepped toward him. “You cannot mean that.”

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  “But—”

  “You cannot stop this. It’s a matter of honor.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Once honor has been satisfied, everyone will get back to their lives.”

  “Those who survive, you mean. And what if it’s Papa who gets shot?”

  He allowed his thumbs to trace the ridges of her collarbones. At least she wasn’t pulling away. “These things rarely end in an actual injury.”

  Sophia lifted her gaze to the ceiling for moment. There was nothing she could say to that. Nothing whatsoever. “Why do men have to be so stupid about things?”

  “Pride, my dear, pure and simple.”

  “But …” She paused. “You had very good reason to call Clivesden out, and … you never did.”

  SOPHIA watched him run a hand through his hair, causing it to stand out in spiky disarray. It made him look boyish, somehow, endearingly so. She wanted to smooth it back into place.

  “My wife was already gone, so what was the point? Shooting Ludlowe, as he was known then, would not have brought her back, and it would not have changed her feelings. Besides, she was more at fault than Ludlowe ever was. He was convenient for her. If she hadn’t chosen him, she’d have chosen another.”

  A sudden chill passed through her, and she clutched her cloak about her throat, seeking warmth. She wanted his warmth, she realized, wanted his arms about her, one hand smoothing along her back. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, to breathe him in and forget everything else.

  No, that was not quite true, either. In reality, she wan
ted to make him forget, to erase his past and leave him with a future. “You’ve given this a great deal of consideration, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t had a great deal else to think about in the last few years. In a way, it’s been convenient. Whenever Mariah started badgering me about my duty to my title, I merely had to remind her of my past scandal. What good family would want someone with my past staining their reputation?”

  “And yet you came to Town this season.”

  A mirthless smile tugged at his lips. “Mariah can wear you down after a while. She started claiming people will have forgotten after ten years. I partly came as a means to shut her up, reckoning the ton’s daughters would take one look at my face and shun me. That would only prove my point.”

  “And instead you’ve become embroiled in our affairs.”

  He shifted his grip to place his hands beneath her cloak. Long fingers curled about her waist. The simple warmth of his ungloved palms through the thin muslin of her day dress radiated from the point of contact to pool deep within. The recollection of those knowing hands on her body set that liquid heat to simmering.

  “I’ve weathered worse. I reckon it’s been worth it, if only that I’ve been permitted to touch your purity and innocence for a few brief moments.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed.” His whispered words hung in the air, fairly echoed off the paneled walls. Then he leaned closer.

  Heavens, what he could do with that mouth of his. Before meeting him, she’d never have expected such thin lips to be capable of such sensuous kisses. She shivered at the recollection of their easy slide over hers, coaxing, demanding that she open to him.

  He was about to do so again. Oh, how she wanted him to. But she couldn’t. He’d already flustered her into nearly forgetting why she’d come.

  At the last moment, she tipped her chin down and ducked away. “No, I’ll not let you distract me from my purpose.”

  His darkened gaze focused on her lips. “Did you have a purpose in coming here then?”

  “Yes.” His hands still held her by the waist, and she twisted out of their grip. The longer she remained in physical contact, the greater the chance she’d surrender to temptation. “Please, Highgate … Rufus …”