An Improper Proposal (The Distinguished Rogues Book 6)

by Heather Boyd

  Distaste, quickly masked, flickered over Talbot’s face but he smiled and took his leave in a rush, with a promise to see Iris again soon.

  Whitney frowned after his retreating form. “Well, I must say he has a distinct presence but rather abrupt in his manner of leaving.”

  Iris grimaced. “I’m sure he has many demands on his time.”

  The frown and the words combined did not give Martin the impression she’d meant to compliment the man. “Do you know him well?”

  “Not really. He was an acquaintance of my father’s some years ago and always speaks of him when our paths cross.”

  Whitney patted Iris’s hand soothingly. “Then I shall overlook his haste just to make you happy.”

  What the devil was Whitney blathering about? By her own account, Talbot hardly knew Iris Hedley. What did it matter if he was not liked?

  “I’ve no care for him either way but it would be rude to ignore him.” Iris met his gaze and the corner of her mouth lifted into a tentative smile. Despite Whitney’s odd behavior, a tremor of anticipation, of shared purpose, filled him. He shifted his position on the bench seat as her smile widened. She leaned close to Whitney. “You cannot say no one of interest comes to the park, Miss Crewe. Lord Acton is headed this way, and he is very handsome.”

  Astonishment and then a keen sense of loss filled Martin at the sound of Iris’s earnest praise for another man. He turned. Seated atop a dappled gray gelding, Lord Acton presented a fine figure and quite likely inspired passion in many women. To hear Iris speak so well of another cut him to the quick.

  Acton trotted up to the carriage and greeted them warmly. “Good afternoon, Louth, and ladies. ’Tis a fine day for it.”

  Whitney’s mouth turned down in a frown. “Have you been prowling Rotten Row long, my lord, in search of a victim for your amusement?”

  “Not particularly.” The earl patted his horse’s neck as the beast pranced. “I was just leaving the park and thought to pay my respects when I saw you waiting here.”

  Whitney smirked. “Are you on your way to call on your sister then? She came to Town last week. How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her?”

  Martin froze. The earl’s recent estrangement from his sister wasn’t a subject to discuss openly. Whitney didn’t approve of Acton. The harm his sister had done to the Marquess of Taverham’s marriage had cost the couple a decade of lost time and trust. Whitney, who still insisted Acton must have played a part in the estrangement, made no bones that her loyalties were with the couple.

  Acton ignored her remarks and turned his attention to Iris and nodded. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Hedley. Louth. Good day to you.”

  He kicked his mount and left them without a backward glance or a word to Whitney.

  “Drive on,” Whitney called out to the coachman and they lurched forward.

  “Stop,” Martin countered and was immediately obeyed. He exchanged a worried glance with Iris then faced his cousin. “Were you trying to be inexcusably rude?”

  “You were impolite,” Iris agreed.

  “Well, he had it coming.” Whitney protested.

  Before Martin could say another word on the subject, Iris twisted to face Whitney with a dark expression. “As I understand the matter from Lady Heathcote, the earl’s only crime was ignorance. Lord Acton placed his faith in his sister and she betrayed him. That must be painful enough without other people pouring salt on the wound.”

  Whitney’s eyes widened. “You dare take his side?”

  Iris shook her head. “It is not fair of you to hold him accountable for his sister’s actions. Believe me, I know how it hurts to have been that ignorant. My father made a lot of bad decisions I had no control over, and I continue to pay the price.”

  At last, Whitney appeared abashed. “I didn’t think of it that way. You know he was beastly to her.”

  “And he is trying to make amends by all accounts in any way he can,” Iris insisted.

  A warm glow filled Martin’s chest. When he got Iris alone, he would kiss her in thanks for making the attempt to straighten out his cousin. He’d tried many times to calm her ire but to no effect. “Miranda is at ease with Acton and that is all that matters.”

  Whitney shrugged. “Then he should stop bothering us.”

  Martin frowned. “He doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It would have been rude not to have spoken to each other.”

  Whitney shrugged again and he studied her sullen expression.

  “Apparently he bothers you a great deal though. Why?”

  Whitney smiled and she turned away. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could care less about what that scoundrel does.”

  As he opened his mouth to continue his line of questioning, he caught Iris’s warning glance suggesting he should not. What had Acton done, what more than he already knew, to provoke such spite in his cousin? They’d actually had very little to do with each other, though any recent meeting between the pair had always held an edge of hostility. The bachelor had never asked Whitney to dance but perhaps she felt slighted for being overlooked. He would have to find out what was going on but Hyde Park wasn’t the place for such a discussion.

  “Perhaps we could step out and take a stroll,” Iris suggested softly.

  He glanced at her face and noted her pallor. “An excellent idea. Exercise is just the thing to turn the mind from unpleasantness.”

  Martin waved the grooms aside and assisted the ladies down from the carriage. As they strolled along the paths together, Martin took the rear but was constantly forced to direct his gaze away from the sway of Iris’s hips. He loved the feel of her curves beneath his hands, tiny though she was. However, he wasn’t the man to pursue her and so he turned his mind back to the real problem—how to convince Iris to marry instead of becoming a mistress.

  Despite a few promising and enthusiastic conversations with several bachelors along the path, he could detect no overt sign of her interest in other men.

  There was her glowing praise of Acton, though. He at least had been friendly toward her earlier.

  Martin glanced away as distaste filled him. He was no matchmaker and had no right to choose a husband for her. He didn’t know the first thing about what Iris looked for in a man but he could guide her in the direction of every decent bachelor he knew, and would. Acton, for all his past mistakes, wasn’t an utter scoundrel when it came to women and rich enough, he suspected, to marry a woman without a penny to her name.

  He let his attention move ahead, where it landed on a lady pushing a wicker perambulator along the path toward them. A tall older man walked slowly at her side and they appeared quite cozy together. His breath caught as he recognized the woman.

  That was his daughter’s housekeeper coming toward him.

  His glance fell to the wheeled contraption she pushed. Dear God, was his daughter in Hyde Park, or another child?

  He glanced around discreetly, hoping to avoid a meeting but the nearest dissecting path was too far away. He’d prefer to avoid a meeting without drawing undue attention but it seemed he could not avoid the encounter.

  When Mrs. Hughes finally saw him, her step faltered as she took in his party. He nodded to her politely and stepped aside so she could pass him by, and hoped she would go on her way without stopping. The man at her side, a stranger to him, smiled fondly down at the perambulator as the child gurgled. He caught a brief glimpse of his daughter and his apprehension grew.

  “Wait,” Iris cried out and bent to pick up a white cloth that lay upon the path unnoticed. “Is this yours, by chance?”

  She hurried toward Mrs. Hughes, casting a glance at his child where she lie wrapped up snuggly and protected from taking a chill. As Iris stared down at his daughter, a soft smile teased her lips. “What a beautiful child.”

  “She’s a lamb, truly,” Mrs. Hughes claimed as proudly as any mother, with a nervous glance in his direction.

  Mrs. Hughes tucked the scrap of cloth more firmly at the end of the wicker basket
as Iris leaned close to stroke the child’s cheek. “She is so very young.”

  “She is,” the gentleman agreed. “She lost her poor mother at birth, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, I’m so very sorry,” Iris murmured. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Mrs. Hughes’s eyes bulged. “No. Nothing is required for the child. She has everything she needs and is well cared for now.”

  “That is such a relief.” Iris folded her hands at her waist, and he sensed she was restraining herself. “Might I ask her name?”

  At the question, the housekeeper paled. “I just call her ‘my lamb’.”

  Iris looked at her curiously but accepted the response. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Martin called to her. “Miss Hedley?”

  Iris quickly said her goodbyes, touched the babe’s cheek and hurried toward him.

  “Forgive me.” A blush filled Iris’s cheeks as she glanced up at him. “I adore children of that age.”

  “Quite all right,” he assured her, tipping his hat to Mrs. Hughes. He certainly didn’t mind her admiring his offspring but if Iris knew he was the father, would she feel differently? Would she condemn him as a careless cad and scorn the child for the irregular nature of her birth, as many in society would?

  Whitney spotted a female acquaintance and hurried forward, leaving Iris alone with him.

  Iris gripped his arm. “Do you think it strange that the woman did not share the child’s first name or her connections?”

  “Not terribly,” he said carefully, alarmed by her continued interest in the child’s identity. He was at a loss to decide what to call her and that confused him too. It shouldn’t be so hard to name a baby.

  “I’ve never met anyone who would not share a babe’s first name when asked. I wonder whose child it is? Perhaps I ought not to have spoken to her at all but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Iris worried her lip a moment. “She is so very young and normally would be kept at home, protected from the elements and disease until she is much older.”

  His heart flipped at the mention of risk to the child. “I’m sure the woman knows what she’s doing.”

  “I do hope so.” Iris did not seem convinced, judging by the growing frown on her face.

  He leaned toward her ear and pitched his voice low, eager to change the topic of conversation. “Have you thought what you would do if you became pregnant to a protector?”

  “I would keep the child,” she said immediately. Her brow furrowed and she glanced over her shoulder toward Mrs. Hughes’s retreating back. “I’ve no idea if it’s the done thing or not but that is my answer.”

  “You would allow your child to suffer an irregular birth?”

  She licked her lips. “I should not like to see them suffer of course, but that is likely what will happen, isn’t it?”

  “Very true, and yet there are some gentlemen who would do the right thing.” Martin would have married Vivian if he’d been given the choice. “What if your protector were to propose marriage to give the child his name? Could you marry the man if you did not love him?”

  “Many women do marry for a title rather than affection.” A tiny smile twisted her lips. “I would have to consider the matter at that time, of course.”

  He stopped. “You would hesitate to live a respectable life?”

  “Well, I cannot say with any certainty what I would do at this moment. I’ve not even begun to be a mistress.” She smiled cheekily. “Perhaps he picks his toes at the dinner table and drinks custard with his pork chops.”

  What nonsense. “These are serious matters, Iris. You cannot make light of them. Mistresses get with child every day and it is the children who suffer for their father’s mistakes.”

  She seemed taken aback by his fervor. “Why are you so concerned?”

  Why indeed? He steadied his temper. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  She glanced behind her toward the retreating form of Mrs. Hughes and the baby once more but they’d already left the park, her expression wistful and sad. “If I had a child, I would likely marry the father if he cared to ask but then I would not have any other choice in my life. I could never earn my own money, as a mistress can do.”

  “If you were to marry, you would not need to be a mistress who earned a living. Your husband would provide for you.”

  “I still cannot say what I would do until I am in the situation.” She peered at him. “However, as you are not interested in being my protector, and certainly you’ve never shown an interest in offering marriage, then I think this conversation must end. I will decide what to do if the time comes.”

  “But—”

  “Enough now.” She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them. “You are drawing attention. I should like to go home to Lady Heathcote.”

  She hurried after Whitney and whispered in her ear. Whitney scowled at him, said her goodbyes and, ignoring him, marched Iris back toward his carriage.

  The carriage ride to Lady Heathcote’s abode was the most uncomfortable journey he’d ever experienced because Iris never glanced his way even once. He’d grown used to her smiles and easy welcome. He’d never been made to feel invisible before and he had to say he didn’t enjoy the sensation one bit.

  Seven

  Iris loved everything about Esme’s home. From the soft cushions on every chair, fresh flowers filling every room, to the raucous laughter drifting from the private parlor where Esme entertained her closest friends. It was a far cry from the shabby decor of the Marshalsea she’d just returned from, and this was exactly the home she would create once she became a mistress. A place where she could be herself and damn anyone who disagreed.

  She tossed a plump cushion back onto her bed with a heavy sigh and began to strip off the practical dull-brown gown she wore to the Marshalsea so as not to draw attention. Despite how well her mistress education had progressed so far, she was angry, and that was rare for her. The earl’s habit of pointing out her ignorance of certain aspects of a mistress’s life had embarrassed her. She hadn’t even enjoyed her visit with her father very much today, being too aware any decision she made would end her respectability in his eyes. She had one choice left to be rid of Talbot’s demands.

  It annoyed her too that the earl was correct in one particular respect. She hadn’t the faintest notion of what she might do if she became pregnant with her protector’s child. Her father might very well never look at her again if that circumstance happened, but then again, he wouldn’t speak to her if she was revealed as a thief’s accomplice either and sent to New South Wales for the crime. She certainly hadn’t expected her feelings to matter so much to Lord Louth but he was hell bent on making her change her mind by pointing out all the flaws in her decisions.

  “Horrible man to see my greatest wish and use it against me,” she grumbled. She did indeed love little children with all her heart and had always wished for a family of her own. Louth had certainly witnessed her interest in them in Hyde Park yesterday and homed in on her greatest regret. When she’d been a debutant, she’d hoped to have a pair of children by her current age. She had even gone so far as to choose her favorite names from among the flowers. Violet would be her eldest daughter’s name if she had any say in naming them, but that wish would remain unfulfilled forever at this rate.

  She laid the plain gown she’d worn to the Marshalsea over the back of a damask chair and glanced about her fine room. Another beautiful room in someone else’s home, and more often than not extremely soothing, except today it felt like a prison. Talbot had no idea of the riches surrounding her daily and she planned to keep it that way to protect Esme for as long as possible. She rubbed her face, tired to her core of pretending everything was all right. She revealed nothing but the body she stood up in, clad in borrowed gowns and shattered dreams.

  Iris changed into the elegant dove-gray muslin Esme had ordered laid out in readiness for an afternoon of callers. Esme was a popular widow and enterta
ined lavishly in her home at all hours, and she’d insisted early on that Iris look the part despite her poverty. She’d also placed a string of amber beads beside the gown. Iris could not wear them. As she returned the string of amber gems to a drawer and out of sight, she caught her reflection in the looking glass. Was she really pretty enough to be a mistress men wanted? Was it possible to kiss a man and feel absolutely nothing for the rest of her life?

  She laughed softly, knowing the answer immediately. It took one good kiss and she was putty in a man’s hands. When Louth had kissed her, she had become swept away by the experience and longed for his touch even now. However, he was determined not to be her protector or anything else less scandalous, so she had to stop thinking of him in those terms and imagine someone else in his place.

  It wasn’t easy when he was the only comforting male presence in her life.

  Once properly attired, she made her way to Esme’s private parlor and tapped on the sturdy oak door, determined to forget Louth and move forward. At Esme’s entreaty, she slipped into the room and surveyed the occupants with a warm smile. There were two other ladies in the room and two men, all of them whispering furiously.

  “She’s the devil in human form,” Lady Matilda James promised with a delighted smile that belied her harsh words. She glanced around at her companions and nodded sagely, setting her feathered headpiece to bobbing. The woman also glittered with fortune in rare gems and Iris averted her eyes from them. “That’s one young lady headed for ruin, mark my words.”

  Despite her discomfort, Iris smiled. One of the more frivolous pastimes of Esme’s friends was predicting which new face on the marriage mart would soon risk making a fool of themselves over some handsome scoundrel. No doubt they’d speculated on her character once too but she knew from experience their hearts would always be on the ladies side in any situation. “Lady Ames, Lady James. How lovely to see you both again.”