An Infamous Proposal Read Free

Foxworth and followed Emma into John’s study.
    Emma had set the stage for the proposal. The fire was lit, with two chairs drawn before it, but Hansard hardly glanced at all this. His eyes moved to the desk, where the estate ledger was open. Earlier Emma had been working on the accounts. Emma, surprisingly, had a head for numbers. He glanced at the neat rows of figures that filed down the page in enviable order. She even used John’s abacus, a tool Nicholas found confusing himself. One could not fault Emma on her management. Perhaps he had been a little hard on her. All pretty ladies were interested in their gowns.
    “Have you encountered some problem, Emma?” he asked, with a note of genuine concern.
    Emma moved toward the grate. She sat in one of the pair of rose bergère chairs drawn up before the fire. A decanter of wine and two glasses sat on a side table nearby.
    She caught his note of concern and adopted a worried little frown that John could never resist. “A widow has many problems,” she said on a weary sigh.
    “Especially a young, charming widow,” he said, in his usual chivalrous manner. That earned him a smile. “You can always rely on me, Emma,” he said. “I am at your disposal. What is it that troubles you?”
    She indicated the empty chair, and he sat down. Her dainty white hand, hovering close to his, seemed to ask for reassurance. He seized her fingers and squeezed gently. He was relieved to notice she still wore the wedding band John had given her.
    “It is being alone, trying to run this estate. Now that my mourning period is over, I—” She looked helplessly at him from below a fan of long lashes.
    It is to be London! he thought, stiffening. “You are thinking of making a match?” he asked, his voice thinning in disapproval at her haste.
    Emma construed his stiffening manner as jealousy and was convinced he loved her. “It would make my life easier, Nicholas,” she said softly.
    “And mine,” he replied, thinking of the many estate matters he had been handling for her since John’s death. As John’s closest friend and neighbor, he had felt some responsibility for his widow, and she had never hesitated to seek his help.
    Her eyelashes moved flirtatiously. So the idea didn’t come as a surprise to him! She wished that he would speak first. Now that the moment had come, she was strangely loath to put her proposition to him.
    “Have you anything to suggest?” she asked, tightening her hold on his fingers.
    He gazed into her eyes, trying to read her mood, then said, “A good marriage is the obvious solution.”
    She breathed a sigh of relief and directed a coquettish smile at him. “I am happy to see we think alike, Nick,” she said. Odd that he chose this promising moment to withdraw his fingers. Was it her wedding band that had put him off? Or was he going to rise and take her in his arms? A warmth invaded her, then faded to disappointment as she realized he was just reaching to pour them a glass of wine.
    “A toast?” she suggested, when he handed her a glass.
    His jaw stiffened. Really the chit had no finesse, to be toasting her freedom, as if it were a triumph to have buried a husband. He lifted his glass and said coldly, “This would be to the termination of your mourning period, I collect?”
    She made a moue with her full lips, then laughed forgivingly. “That is not very romantic, sir!”
    “I fear I am not at all romantical, Emma. Do you expect me to rejoice that you plan to run off to London and set the ton on its ear with your husband hunting?”
    “London! Oh, but you misunderstand me. I want to marry you!”
     

Chapter Three
     
    The words came out without thinking. Nick had misunderstood, and she was just setting him right, in her usual frank manner. She watched as his hand moved convulsively. Wine sloshed over the glass’s rim and onto his cream satin waistcoat. Three small red dots spread to form larger pink circles. “Is—is that not what you meant?”