An Innocent Proposal

by Helen Dickson

  He recalled something she had said when he had returned from Rotherfield—that what she had given him that night at Dunstan House she had given from the heart. She’d been trying to tell him that she loved him, and he hadn’t listened. That was unforgivable of him. Many were the times he’d wanted to go to her, knowing she was behind the closed door that connected their rooms, the image of her both powerful and tantalising. Over the months he had watched her, he had felt disquieting emotions rise to threaten his wandering equilibrium. He had wanted desperately to reach out to her, but his own stupidity over Marianne, and his pride, had held him back.

  With the revelation of how deep his love was for her, it was as though his mind had become free of its burden of pain and sorrow at the same time—the kind of freedom Louisa must have felt on being relieved of the weight of the child, when their daughter was born. Unable to bear being apart from her, he would return to Huntswood to put things right between them without delay, and to hell with the state of the nation.

  Distracted from his thoughts, he turned when someone knocked and entered their box, handing him a note. He smiled on opening it, recognising the familiar handwriting of Lady Bricknell. She was requesting that he might care to visit her in her box at some time during a break in the performance.

  “My God!” exclaimed Edward from beside him. “Who is that gorgeous creature with Lady Bricknell? She can’t be real.”

  Alistair raised his eyes and glanced across at Lady Bricknell’s box, smiling his acceptance to her invitation. Absently his eyes shifted to the other occupants, two gentlemen—one he knew to be Lady Bricknell’s latest swain—and a lady sitting in front of her. Recognition hit him like a thunderbolt. He became frozen, staring in stunned silence, all his tender thoughts of a moment before vanishing like a morning mist. It was as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. Anger, uncurling from his stomach, surged through him.

  “That gorgeous creature, as you so aptly put it, Edward, is my wife,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes burning across at her with a fire that scorched her raw. “And I can confirm that she is perfectly real.”

  Alistair’s eyes fixed on Louisa, whose whole presence seemed to blaze across the theatre at him, eliminating all else, the pit between them becoming like a multicoloured boiling cauldron of moving bodies, but they could have been alone, facing each other across a dangerous, unbridgeable chasm.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alistair kept his eyes fixed on Louisa, unable to believe she had come to London without either his knowledge or permission. How dared she defy him—force his hand in this manner? he seethed. But he could not deny that, clad in a shimmering azure gossamer-silk gown with a low scooped neckline, her neck and shoulders and the soft swell of her breasts aglow, she was like a vision from heaven. Her wealth of strawberry-blonde hair had been perfectly arranged, and one thick, glossy ringlet was draped over her shoulder. Her face and figure were flawless, and anyone looking at her would see only perfection. All through the latter months of her pregnancy she had glowed—she had been lovely then—but here among the glitter of London society she was magnificent.

  With her face partly screened by her fan, she seemed to be absorbed in what was taking place around her, her attention caught by what was going on in the auditorium as she purposely avoided looking his way. He watched, growing angrier by the minute, as people entered Lady Bricknell’s box, one after the other, with no other purpose than to be introduced to Louisa, bending over her hand far too long, he thought.

  What the devil did she think she was up to, a smile on her lips and in her astonishing amber eyes for anyone who looked at her, fluttering her endless eyelashes flirtatiously, laughing and sighing with a demure playfulness, and inviting lingering, lascivious looks and indecent thoughts by sporting an outrageous décolletage? He could see that none of the raffish young men was immune to her sparkling personality, for her beauty, coupled with the mischief in her eyes, was irresistible.

  Crumpling the note in his hand, Alistair rose abruptly. “Come along, Edward. Let me introduce you to my wife. It would appear that you are the only man here tonight who hasn’t made himself known to her.”

  Lady Bricknell was in good spirits and full of smiles as she acknowledged several people who came to visit them, enjoying the enthusiastic reception she and Louisa received and the repartee. She had seen Alistair leave his box and knew he would be on his way. Ushering the gentleman who was bent over Louisa’s hand unceremoniously out, she cast her a sharp look.

  “Chin up, my dear,” she smiled, waving her fan languidly, “and smile. Remember what I told you. Flirt just a little and be charm and graciousness personified. Mark my words—you’ll have your husband eating out of your hand before the night is over. If the reception so far is anything to go by, you have already caused something of a stir.”

  Louisa took a deep breath. Now that the moment had come when she must come face to face with her husband, she was afraid. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. At that moment the door to their box opened and Alistair stepped inside, followed by Edward Thornton, and Louisa was acutely conscious that his eyes were glued to her face as he greeted Lady Bricknell, his manner cool yet polite.

  “Why, how kind of you to come, Alistair,” Lady Bricknell greeted him with a cheerful heartiness. “Louisa told me earlier when I called at Dunstan House that you would be here this evening. I had reserved a box for myself and my friends,” she said, indicating the two gentlemen sitting to one side of her, “and took the opportunity of inviting her along. It seemed such a pity to leave her all alone when she could be here enjoying herself.”

  “How considerate of you, Lady Bricknell—and how nice of Louisa to honour us with her company,” Alistair said, his voice and his eyes like ice as he looked at his wife.

  The hard expression on his handsome face caused Louisa an involuntary shiver, which was not one of pleasure, but, remembering the part she was playing, she smiled sweetly. As good manners demanded, just as the theatre’s orchestra began playing the overture, Alistair introduced Sir Edward Thornton.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” she murmured, and, stirred by some feminine impulse of coquetry—and an urge to annoy her husband—she favoured Sir Edward with her most brilliant smile.

  “It’s a pleasure, Lady Dunstan. I had no idea Alistair had such a beautiful wife.” He stepped back and looked at Alistair. “You should bring your wife to London more often, Alistair. Her presence would enhance any event.”

  “Yes,” he said stiffly. “Maybe you’re right, Edward.”

  The performance was about to start and, after excusing himself, Sir Edward returned to his box, while Alistair sat next to his wife, determined not to leave her side for the entire evening as he watched her with brooding attentiveness. Only when everyone’s attention was taken up by what was happening on the stage did he lean towards her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by the others in the box.

  Beneath his icy calm, such was the force of his fury that Louisa flinched, but, catching Lady Bricknell’s sharp eyes, she took a deep breath and gave her husband a wide-eyed look of innocence.

  “Why, the same as everyone else, I suppose. I am here to enjoy the play.”

  “I little thought to see you engaged in such a mad escapade as this, but clearly I was mistaken. What in God’s name induced you to come here? Are you out to incur my anger? Is that it?”

  “What? More than I have already, you mean?”

  “Don’t be flippant,” he ground out, his face so close to Louisa’s that she could see the ice-cold satanic glitter in his blue eyes. “You know perfectly well I disapprove of your coming here. Had you suggested coming to London, I would have expressly forbidden you to do so.”

  “Which is precisely why I didn’t ask. When you left Huntswood so abruptly I suddenly felt the need to sample a little enjoyment myself. I am sorry if you are not ple
ased to see me, Alistair, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

  “So you might like to think, but make the most of it, for I insist you return to Huntswood tomorrow—where you should have remained.”

  “With Mark?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed and turned her head, looking at him, fixing her gaze calmly on his. “Don’t fret so, Alistair,” she said, with a lightness she did not feel. “Both Mark and Constance are here with me.” With an infuriating smile, she turned away, Alistair’s face having become so suffused with anger she thought he was about to have an apoplexy.

  “Constance is here with you?”

  “But of course. As if I would leave her behind. She depends on me for sustenance, don’t forget. And if you are worried about Mark getting behind with his studies then you can set your mind at rest. His tutor will be arriving at Dunstan House tomorrow.”

  Alistair’s countenance became as black as thunder. “How dare you defy me so blatantly?” his voice snarled warningly in her ear. “You will do as I say.”

  “No, Alistair,” she said firmly, quietly, her eyes unwavering as she met his gaze once more. She refused to be drawn, and holding her head up she smiled engagingly. How she would like to give his handsome, angry face a resounding slap and cut his conceit, his arrogance down to size, but instead she forced her face to remain calm. “I am your wife and will be your equal—not your chattel to be told what I will and will not do.”

  “Will you not? We shall see about that.” Alistair sat back and gave her a long, speculative look that she did not see as she focused her gaze on the stage, but after a few moments she glanced at him crossly with a sigh, wafting her face with her fan.

  “If you insist on being disagreeable for the entire evening, Alistair, I suggest you return to your friends. Perhaps they will tolerate your angry mood better than I.”

  Alistair didn’t move and his anger did not abate as the evening drew on. It was no easy matter for Louisa to ignore his hard gaze fixed on her, but she continued to smile more vividly, and to tease and laugh with the gentlemen who kept arriving in their box with what Alistair considered to be infuriating persistence. During an interlude of music and dance she caught his eye at one point and could see that he was ready to explode. She had every confidence he would not cause a scene, and yet it was inevitable that one would come later.

  But, she thought jubilantly and with immense satisfaction as she continued to play the part of an alluringly seductive woman bent on seducing her husband, at last, after some twelve months of marriage, she had the opportunity to teach Alistair Dunstan a lesson he would not forget easily. This time she would be in control, and she had no conscience about it whatsoever.

  She smiled sweetly at him when she saw his dark scowl after yet another young rake had found his way to their box to be introduced to her by Lady Bricknell—a young man who left with some considerable haste on being confronted by Lord Dunstan’s black look of thunder.

  “Must you look so put out, Alistair?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “It should flatter your vanity having your friends envy you your wife.”

  “It gives me no satisfaction to see other men coveting my wife,” he growled. “As soon as this damned performance is over we are leaving. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. I have to leave anyway to attend Constance.”

  “I am glad to see you have not forgotten where your duty lies,” he scorned.

  When the final piece ended, followed by spontaneous, thunderous applause, people began pouring out of the boxes. Alistair put his arm about Louisa’s waist, steady and as firm as a rock, and though it might seem to others that it was just a casual embrace to Louisa it was like a vice. He took her elbow and lost no time in steering her down the stairs to the foyer and out to his carriage, waiting in a line of others in the busy street.

  “Goodnight, Louisa,” murmured Lady Bricknell, coming to stand beside her while Alistair turned to say goodnight to Sir Edward. “You did well. Tonight I am confident that you will get your heart’s desire—and tomorrow the whole of London will be talking about you.”

  Lady Bricknell watched Alistair lead his wife away with a gleam in her eyes and a satisfied smile curving her lips. She had watched the changing expressions move across Alistair’s fiercely handsome face all evening—from fury to the violent jealousy a man felt when the woman he loved was being coveted by others. He had clung to Louisa’s side and watched her with all the substance of his being, his concentration glued to the slim and elegant figure by his side.

  She had never seen him behave with a woman as he had with his wife tonight, and she was in no doubt that Alistair was deeply in love with Louisa, that his senses had known it from the moment he had first set eyes on her that night at the Spring Gardens at Vauxhall, and that his mind had only recently absorbed the knowledge. She was certain that Louisa was in for a night to remember. Suddenly, feeling very old, she sighed and turned towards her own carriage, envying Louisa more than she would ever know her youth, her beauty and, she thought with irritation, when she looked at her latest lover waiting for her beside the carriage—a rather gross, unappealing man and already showing signs of running to seed—her husband.

  Louisa climbed inside the carriage and Alistair flung himself in after her. Snapping orders to the driver, he leaned back and glowered across at her in the semi-darkness, the glow from the carriage lamps making his face look demonical. Louisa sighed, settling into the corner and looking out, trying to remember Lady Bricknell’s advice about remaining calm and in control of herself, and not giving way to anger. Dunstan House was quiet when they arrived, with only a footman on duty to open the door.

  “Go to your room,” Alistair ground out.

  “I shall—when I have seen that the children are settled for the night.”

  With a whimsical smile, Louisa slowly climbed the stairs and went to check on Mark and Constance. Mark was sound asleep, his curly head peeping out above the bedclothes, but Constance was restless. As soon as her mother entered the room, as if sensing nourishment, her tiny fists began thrashing the air and her little face puckered as she let out a hungry wail. Crooning softly, Louisa lifted her out of her crib and cradled her in her arms, smiling across at the nursemaid who had come to tend her, quietly telling her to return to bed, that she would settle Constance when she had been fed.

  Sitting in a comfortable chair, she opened the front of her gown and put the baby to her breast, feeling the hungry tug of the pink little mouth, which never failed to send a sensation of delight washing over her. With a sigh she watched her daughter, a tiny little being that breathed and snuggled close, until at last, replete, she fell asleep, her little head nestling in the crook of Louisa’s arm. Gently placing her back in the crib, she bent and kissed her sleeping face, rosy and warm against her lips, hoping she would sleep through the night.

  Arranging the front of her dress, she sighed again, and with a look of serene contentment turned to find Alistair standing perfectly still, watching her from the doorway, a curiously warm look in his eyes. He didn’t speak as she walked past him onto the landing, but the scene he had witnessed of Louisa feeding their daughter had melted his anger like a summer mist when the sun came out.

  He recalled the time when Mark had been born and it had been suggested to Marianne that she nurse him herself, the custom of employing wet-nurses having been abandoned by a large number of middle-class ladies, but she had shrunk with horror and disgust at the mere thought of putting a child to her breast.

  Louisa walked towards her room and he followed her inside, closing the door and leaning against it. Having discarded his coat, he folded his arms and gazed at her, a half-smile curving his handsome lips. She really was the most remarkable woman he had ever met. His eyes never left her. He looked incongruous, filling the room with his presence.

  Louisa’s excitement was almost unendurable as, with shaking fingers, she began pulling out the combs and pins that held her hair in place, ig
noring the tug of her husband’s eyes as she gave it a gentle shake, conscious of the seductiveness of the gesture as she carried on with the charade, determined to play it out to the end. She knew the colour was rising in her cheeks, and that her eyes were sparkling.

  Seeing the mass of her loosened hair falling in a golden cascade about her shoulders, Alistair drew a sharp breath, feeling the blood pounding in his head as he stood, watching the play of the candles’ gleam on her flesh, glowing and lustrous in the golden light.

  The air inside the room was sultry and warm, with tiny moths coming in through the open windows, attracted by the light, and the gentlest of breezes stirring the curtains. Louisa was the first to break the silence, looking at Alistair wide-eyed and uncertain, relieved to see his mood had lightened. Her gaze took in the sheer male beauty of him, of his darkly handsome face and the saturnine twist to his firm lips, his wide, masculine shoulders and narrow waist. In all her life she had never known a man like him, and was at a loss to understand him.

  “Are you going to remain?” she asked softly.

  He sauntered towards her, scrutinising her intently, his eyes drawn to her mouth. “That is what you want, isn’t it? That is what all this is about—the reason why you have followed me to London?” His eyes were beginning to glint with wicked amusement. “I should hate to disappoint you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

  “You won’t. If you have no wish to stay then I would prefer it if you went.”

  “And if I don’t wish to leave?” he breathed, reaching out and very slowly tucking a thick strand of her hair behind her ear, the warmth smouldering in his eyes as he looked at her emphasising his desire to remain. “If I want to find out if what we experienced together once before can be as good between us again, would you mind if I stayed?” he asked, with a questioning lift to his brows.

  “No. I want you to, Alistair,” Louisa said, her heart beginning to pound with helpless anticipation.