An Improper Proposition: An Improper Liaisons Novella

by Amy Rose Bennett

  An Improper Proposition

  An Improper Liaisons Novella

  Amy Rose Bennett

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  A Note from the Author…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  An Improper Proposition

  Copyright © 2014 Amy Rose Bennett

  Cover Design: © By Hang Le

  First E-book Publication: April 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of fiction or are used in a fictitious manner, including portrayal of historical figures and situations. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Richard, my very own hero and the love of my life.

  Your unending love, support and encouragement mean the world to me.

  Chapter 1

  The Marsh’s End Inn, The Wolds, Lincolnshire, March 1818.

  “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes. I mean…I’m not sure.” Bianca, The Dowager Countess of Wells, grasped her footman’s proffered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She glanced down at the body of her drunken assailant who was now sprawled on the flagstone floor outside the private dining room where she’d just partaken dinner. “But are you all right, Blake?”

  Blake shrugged one of his heavily muscled shoulders and shook out his right hand. “I’ll be fine, my lady. I’m just sorry that the brute managed to clip you on the way down.”

  “Yes…well.” Bianca resisted the urge to massage her rump. She’d been well and truly thwacked to the ground by the large flailing paw of her would-be-attacker, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge the extent of her discomfort before Blake. Thank heavens her footman had intervened in time.

  Her gaze darted down to the unconscious man again. Who’d have thought that a respectable inn in Lincolnshire would harbor such a lout? A sexually predacious lout.

  She shuddered as an ice cold frisson of delayed shock hit her full force. Even though the oaf had only grabbed her arm and propositioned her for a kiss, she was still rattled to her very bones. She put a hand on her stomach as a wave of nausea roiled. What if the brute had wanted more than a kiss? And what if Blake hadn’t been nearby?

  “Do you want me to call the innkeeper or the local constabulary, my lady?” Concern shadowed Blake’s green eyes as he raked his gaze over her. For a young man of three and twenty, he was perceptive beyond his years.

  Bianca shivered again, but this time it was because of Blake’s frankly assessing gaze. She shook her head. Swallowed down the bitter taste of bile in her mouth. “No. No thank you, Blake. I’d prefer it if we could avoid a scandal. Lord knows, I’ve had enough—” She bit her lip hard, inwardly cursing her lapse. Blake didn’t need to know about her less than respectable past. “Your well-placed punch seems justice enough for now. But perhaps you could escort me to my room…”

  Blake inclined his head, a lock of his disheveled black hair falling into his green eyes—he’d lost his periwig during the brief altercation. “Of course, my lady,” he replied smoothly, in the perfectly clipped tone used by every member of the ton. Mr. Harry Blake, the epitome of a gentleman, despite the fact he was only her footman.

  Bianca drew a steadying breath and with as much dignity as she could muster—given that the sleeve of her russet silk gown was torn, and her hair was falling in hopeless abandon about her shoulders—picked up her skirts and stepped over the stirring body in her path. The less than charitable part of her hoped the bastard would at least suffer a black eye and a broken tooth or two.

  Blake followed closely behind her. Perhaps too closely for the sake of propriety, but she didn’t care. His solid heat was reassuring as she negotiated the narrow stairs of the inn that led up to her first floor rooms.

  “The best in Marsh’s End,” the inn keeper had proclaimed when he had shown her to her suite in the late afternoon. Her bedroom wasn’t the most luxurious, but for an overnight stay on her way back home to London—she’d spent the last month at the north Lincolnshire estate of her good friend Lady Jameson—it would do. It was better than the communal taproom or the stables where Blake would spend the night at any rate. Sympathy for him tugged at her heart. Her champion deserved better than that. But what could she do? The inn was full to bursting and he couldn’t very well share her rooms.

  Or could he?

  The aberrant thought jolted her so much, her hand shook wildly as she attempted to insert her room key in the lock.

  Disconcertingly, Blake seemed to notice her difficulty also. He leaned over her shoulder, perhaps to see, his breath warm against her ear. “Can I help, my lady?

  Bianca expelled a shaky breath and slipped the key home. “No, it’s in,” she said breathlessly, then tumbled the lock and pushed the heavy oak door open.

  The sooner she dismissed Blake for the evening, the better. For a servant who’d only been in her employ for six months, he read her too well. And she had come to rely on him far too much. This growing familiarity between them was a problem, but one she wasn’t fit to deal with right now.

  She turned back to address him and her breath hitched. He really was too handsome to be her footman. Even with his black hair hidden beneath his periwig again, his chiseled jaw, wide mouth and sparkling emerald green eyes set him apart from most other men of his station. Indeed he was as handsome as any young buck of the ton. Or so her close friends repeatedly told her. Those same friends—including Lady Jameson—who also whispered to her that she was mad not to have a fuck or two with him.

  Stop gawping at him like a foolish adolescent girl, Bianca. Dismiss him, before you do something you regret.

  With a trembling hand, she pushed a strand of her blonde hair away from her mouth and found her voice. “Well, thank you again for your timely intervention, Blake. That will be—”

  “Do you have any brandy, my lady?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

  Blake held her gaze. It was one of the things she liked about him so much. He was respectful yet not easily intimidated by her when she played the haughty dowager countess.

  “Please forgive my impertinence,” he at last responded, his forehead dipping into a frown, “but you’ve had a shock and it might help. Would you like me to fetch you some from the taproom?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.” Now was the time to bid him good night but for some reason, she couldn’t do it. She supposed it was because she found his strong male presence reassuring after what had happened only minutes before. She stepped back from the door, opening it wider to admit him. “However, perhaps you could re-sto
ke the fire for me…Tilly has retired early with a megrim.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Bianca shut the door after him and leant against the smooth wood panels, watching him as he removed his white gloves before he bent low to toss several logs into the grate. His wide shoulders strained against the navy blue superfine of his liveried jacket as he moved. Such power and grace for such a tall man. She suspected he’d developed his athletic physique when he’d served as a corporal in Wellington’s army. Not for the first time, she wondered how he would look without his livery. She bit her lip.

  Stop behaving like a vixen on heat, Bianca. Tell him to go. Now.

  But she didn’t. She crossed to her travelling trunk at the foot of the four-poster bed and after rummaging around for a moment, pulled out a bottle of sherry. Her medicinal sherry she liked to tell herself. In truth, a nip or two before bed was her one and only vice. Aside from lusting after Blake.

  “Would you like some?” she asked, brandishing the bottle. Her cheeks grew unbearably hot. She was crossing into wild, unchartered taboo territory, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Think of it as a thank you…for your chivalry.”

  Blake replaced the poker in its stand and frowned, clearly torn. Would he follow her across the line? Bianca’s heart slammed against her ribs as she waited for his answer.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, then met her gaze. “I won’t say no, my lady.”

  He didn’t say no. Bianca released a shaky breath and walked to the small sideboard where there was a tray with a water set, aware that Blake’s gaze followed her. Her hands shook as she uncorked the bottle and sloshed some of the amber-hued liquor into a glass.

  “Here, let me.” Blake took the bottle from her and their bare fingers brushed. Bianca gasped at the contact, heat shooting from where he’d touched her all the way to her quim. Dear God, she was almost panting with unfulfilled lust.

  And Blake knew it.

  He passed her a cleanly poured glass of sherry before taking the other for himself. His green eyes, dark with knowing, held hers as a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps we should sit, my lady.”

  Bianca cleared her throat. “Yes…Yes, that would be a good idea.”

  There was a low settee and a wingchair arranged before the fire. Blake paused at the edge of the hearth rug and let her choose her seat first. Bianca sank onto the brocade covered settee and took a sizeable gulp of her sherry. God, she needed this, almost as much as she needed sex. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste and feel of the honey sweet liquor as it slid smoothly down her throat, warming her insides.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to find Blake studying her. He was confident, she’d give him that much. Unlike myself.

  Her blood pounded in her temples and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably with uncharacteristic nervousness. She tore her gaze away from him and stared into the fire instead. Could she actually go through with this? Could she take Blake as a lover, even for a night? If she was truly honest with herself, she’d toyed with the idea for weeks now—had tossed and turned at night with wanting him—had fantasized about him as she’d touched herself.

  The question was, would he even want to bed her? She wasn’t sure if she could handle a rejection from him.

  And he might very well reject her. She would be placing him in a highly awkward position. She tried to ignore the fact that she was also worried he might reject her for other reasons—reasons that would bruise her feminine pride. At thirty, she was only seven years older than Blake, but what if he thought her too old and unattractive to be a bed partner? She did not think he had a sweetheart—according to Tilly’s below stairs intelligence at any rate. But he might do. There were so many reasons why she shouldn’t do this.

  But heaven help her, she was going to anyway. Perhaps all her sense had been knocked out of her when she’d fallen earlier. Either that or she was going mad. Could one go mad through lack of sex? It had been three years since she’d had intercourse. In the time since her dear husband Algernon had passed, she had not thought to take a lover. Or perhaps, to be more exact, she’d never met anyone whom she’d wanted to take as a lover.

  Until now.

  Bianca took another fortifying sip of sherry and returned her gaze to her footman. “Blake...” As he paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips, her attention was suddenly caught by the purple bruising flowering across his knuckles. “Oh heavens, Blake. Your hand. You should have said something.” She placed her glass on a nearby side table and rushed to the washstand to soak a cloth in cold water. She prayed he hadn’t broken a knuckle or two on her account.

  She returned to the fireside and stopped a pace away from him, offering him the dripping washcloth.

  He smiled up at her. “It’s nothing, Lady Wells. Truly.” But he took the cloth from her anyway and wrapped it around his bare hand—his large, masculine hand, with its long, surprisingly elegant fingers, despite the swollen knuckles. She swallowed, transfixed by the sudden unbidden image of those strong hands on her naked body.

  “Lady Wells?” Blake was looking up at her, curiosity and concern, and perhaps even speculation in his eyes.

  She licked her dry lips and his gaze was immediately drawn to her mouth. Oh, there was definitely speculation. She tucked a lock of her tumbledown hair behind her ear and sucked in a breath, preparing to cross the Rubicon. “Blake…”

  * * *

  Blake stared up at his employer—his gorgeous as sin employer—and his breath jammed in his throat. He knew what Lady Wells was going to ask him, even before she uttered the words. Indeed, he’d known something was afoot as soon as she’d invited him in.

  “Blake…I have a proposition for you…A wholly improper proposition…And I can’t believe I’m actually saying this…” She bit her lip, twisting her hands together before she spun away in a swish of russet silk and paced toward the fire. Her slender back was ramrod straight with tension, her knuckles white as she clutched the mantelpiece.

  Blake drew a shuddering breath. An improper proposition. So that’s how she was going to dress up the fact that she wanted him to fuck her. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Indeed, he’d thought of little else himself since he’d first laid eyes on her six months ago when he’d started working at her Curzon Street house in London.

  But tonight? After she’d been attacked by that scum of a man downstairs? He clenched his fists, hot anger twisting his gut as he recalled the moment when he’d come upon Lady Wells being pawed by that foul oaf of a farmer. Then again, perhaps she just yearned for comfort—male comfort—from someone she knew and trusted. He should be flattered that she clearly thought he fit the bill.

  But at what cost?

  He sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. There was no question that he wanted her with every fiber of his being. His cock was already thickening at the idea of taking her. But it would be insane to take her up on her offer. She was so far above him, and despite the fact he was the bastard son of a duke and a governess, he was still only a lowly footman. A nobody. And he didn’t want to jeopardize his job.

  He didn’t like to think so, but refusing Lady Wells could very well result in his dismissal anyway. He should be damning the woman to hell and back for putting him in this precarious position.

  But God knows why, he couldn’t. Because when it boiled down to it, his desire for her was stronger than his scruples or his common sense.

  Oh, Harry Blake, you are the biggest fool in Christendom.

  He rose from his seat, praying that his burgeoning erection wasn’t showing beneath his ivory silk breeches, and approached the countess. He swore he could smell the musk of her lust beneath the heady scent of her decadently floral perfume. She turned slowly to face him, her deep brown, doe-like eyes wide and wanting and fearful all at once. Christ, she was beautiful. If he’d had any intention of refusing her, that intention immediately fled.

  She raised a fluttering hand to her neckline wh
ere her pulse beat wildly.

  “What exactly do you want from me, my lady?” he asked, his voice husky with arousal. Although he could see this was difficult for her, he needed her to say it plainly.

  “I want…I want you…to spend the night with me.” She swallowed and raised her chin a fraction higher, her gaze locking with his. “I want you to be my lover.”

  His heart kicked into a wild gallop and hot blood began to pound straight to his already half-aroused cock. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yes. But just for tonight…And I assure you, there will be no risk to your position. Those are the conditions, if you accept.”

  Just for tonight? Did she know what she was asking of him? And of herself? He strongly suspected that forbidden fruit once tasted, could be awfully addictive. But he was also relieved that she was aware of the tenuous position he was being placed in.

  He raked his gaze over her, noting the high color in her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her full breasts against the low neckline of her gown. So beautiful. And as edgy as a hind, waiting for him to say yes. Because what else could he possibly say?

  He inclined his head. “I accept, my lady.”

  Her breath huffed out in a large rush. “Good…And I don’t want you to worry that anyone will find out. I made Tilly take a decent dose of laudanum for her headache—I’ll probably be rousing her in the morning. And Yates…Well, I know what he’s like. I’m sure he’s well into his cups by now.”

  Or the randy coachman was attempting to swive one of the barmaids. Blake nodded and gave her a slow smile. “It’s reassuring to know we won’t be disturbed then.”

  “Yes…” She swallowed and fiddled with the cream lace along her décolletage, clearly still nervous, even though he’d accepted her terms.

  “Would you like me to check on Yates, my lady?”