A Scandalous Proposal Read Free

months after returning to England.
    Somehow they would earn enough to pay Drew’s tutorand save for his eventual tuition at school. Drew, the best and most beautiful reminder of her life with Andrew. The image of her son’s face, mischievous light glowing in green eyes so like his papa’s, warmed her troubled heart and sent the gray tide of grief and worry receding. A bittersweet backwash of longing followed.
    With resignation she quelled it. Having him here with her was impossible, she knew. An aristocrat’s son who would one day return to an aristocrat’s life could not live over a shop. Reminding herself of that fact each Sunday as she left after a too-brief visit at the genteel home of his tutor, Father Edmund, did little to ease the ache of loss.
    Best, she told herself briskly, that she cast off maudlin thoughts and concentrate on her task: ensuring their survival, stockpiling funds and keeping Drew hidden from the threat that would rip from her even those precious few hours with him.
    The tinkling of the entry bell interrupted her. Though she’d neglected to bolt the door, ’twas past regular business hours, and she wondered which tardy customer was paying her a visit. Hopefully one with pockets full of sovereigns, she thought as she summoned a welcoming smile.
    Before she could exit her office, a burly figure entered. Her smile faded.
    â€œMr. Harding,” she said in a chilly voice. “Your employer requires something? The next rent payment isn’t due for a sennight.”
    â€œâ€™Afternoon, ma’am.” Short, stocky, with hulking shoulders and a barrel chest, Josh Harding ambled toward her. She stepped away from his advance across her cramped office, until he had her backed up against her desk.
    His insolent leer as he deliberately looked her up and down made her fingers itch to slap his face. “No, it ain’t rent time, but being a business lady —” he gave the word scornful emphasis “—ya musta’ learnt there’s other expenses to keepin’ a shop healthy. Like makin’ sure ya gets protected from the raff ’n scaff what might try to rob honest folk.”
    Emily thought of the cash bag on the desk behind her. “Indeed? I was assured ’twas a fine neighborhood. The high rent certainly supports that conclusion. Did your employer dissemble when he assured me ’twas so?”
    Mr. Harding grinned, showing a gap between uneven, tobacco-stained teeth. “Even in fine neighborhoods, ya needs protection. My boss means to see ya gets it—for a small fee, a’ course. He figures annuder ten pounds a month should do the trick.”
    â€œTen pounds a—!” Emily gasped. “’Tis preposterous! Rather than pay such a price, if protection is truly needed, I shall unearth my late husband’s pistol and provide it myself! Thank your employer for his kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly afford it.”
    â€œMayhap ya can’t afford to be without.” Harding stepped to her worktable, reaching out to stroke the satin and velvet of an incomplete hat. She bit back the command that he keep his grimy hands off it.
    â€œThings…happen sometimes, to them what don’t get protection,” he was saying. “Didya hear about that dress shop over on Fiddler’s Way? Burnt to the ground last week. Lost ever’thin, poor wench what owned it. Thought protection come at too dear a price, she did. Deal of a lot cheaper than starting over, though, I ’spect.”
    Emily stiffened. “I believe what you’re suggesting is called extortion.”
    Mr. Harding shrugged. “Never much on book learnin’.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Best remember that dress shop, little lady.”
    Emily pressed her lips together. She could barely meet her expenses now—raising another ten pounds a monthwould be impossible. Besides, this was clearly illegal. How dare