Convenient Proposal To The Lady

‘Would you meet me here, about this same time tomorrow? If those gentlemen’s behaviour does seem suspiciously beguiling, you’ll know I was telling the truth. I can return to London, then, reassured that you believe me and are forewarned. Could you do that?’

He watched her as she weighed his request, almost visibly ticking off the pros and cons in her head. ‘I suppose,’ she agreed.

‘Good. But when we meet tomorrow, bring your maid, even if Molly can’t abide accompanying you on your sketching excursions, since you either walk too fast, or dawdle for ever. Don’t go wandering by yourself in the gardens, either.’ He grinned at her. ‘You never know what sort of ruffian you might encounter.’

Relieved, and far more eager to see Lady Alyssa again than he should be, Ben handed her back the box of pastels she’d set on the ground, and strode to the lane to reclaim his horse.

He felt her speculative gaze on him as he rode away.

* * *

Lady Alyssa Lambornne certainly wasn’t what he’d expected when conscience had compelled him into this mission, he mused as he directed his horse towards the village. From Denbry’s description, he’d thought she’d be meek and mousy, the sort of shy, self-effacing creature who would never make a good impression on the Marriage Mart. As each year ticked by and she remained unwed, failing to achieve the only respectable occupation most women could hope for, she’d have become ever more anxious, apt to embrace even an unequal match to attain the respectability of marriage.

Instead, he’d found her uncommonly intelligent, self-possessed and confident, with a truly exceptional talent for drawing. As he’d not told her, far from being a mousy, he’d found her alluringly attractive. With a fat dowry and that physical magnetism, how had she managed to remain unmarried?

Perhaps because most men wanted a conventional and biddable wife, and were put off by the untamed aura she radiated?

It certainly appealed to him. He let the image of her play across his mind...soft lips, full breasts and deliciously rounded hips. The alertness in her body and the feral intensity of her gaze hinted of a passionate nature, barely covered by a thin veneer of civility...

Desire fired up again and he fought it. Despite her age and that illusion of restrained passion, Lady Alyssa was undoubtedly an innocent. The voice of self-preservation nattered in his ear, warning that he’d never engaged in the dangerous pastime of beguiling innocents and it was no time to start. That way led to the altar and he was neither interested, yet, in confining his interactions with females to a single specimen, nor had he attained the position he felt a woman he’d admire enough to marry would deserve in a husband.

And if he were truly honest, having witnessed the misery and deprivation a blighted love had caused his mother, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to care that much about anyone.

He should therefore be extremely circumspect in his dealings with Lady Alyssa. Though she herself appeared to have little interest in entangling a suitor, that unusual attitude was almost certainly not shared by her family, who would probably much prefer her to put down her sketch pad and embrace the role of wife and mother. At her age, even the natural son of a viscount, a man who’d not yet achieved a superior position in the world, might be acceptable to them.

He had to laugh. Her family would have to be desperate indeed to consider a bastard son good enough for the daughter of an earl.

But he could risk seeing her one more time, before prudence dictated he distance himself. To make sure she was taking proper steps to protect herself. And, he admitted, for the simple pleasure of talking with this most unusual lady.

Anticipation filling him, he rode back towards the inn on the outskirts of the village where he’d engaged a room. He’d enjoy the fine fare at the Rose and Crown, while away the evening playing cards in the taproom and look forward tomorrow to meeting again the unexpectedly compelling Lady Alyssa Lambornne.

Chapter Two (#uccf27540-6928-52ce-81ee-e602b51f1bb8)

For a long time after Mr Tawny rode out of sight, Alyssa stared off in his direction, her mind turning over his almost unbelievable story—and marvelling at his potent masculine appeal. The whole episode still seemed incredible, but the evidence he presented was so convincing, she was almost forced to believe him, even if it was dismaying to admit she’d been made the means to exact an unprincipled revenge.

Unless she were to awake and find all of this had been only an incredible dream, there seemed no other explanation but that Mr Tawny was exactly who he said he was and what he’d told her was true. If so, by coming to warn her, he’d committed a selfless act.

Too bad he wasn’t one of the ‘beguiling suitors’. Since she didn’t intend to marry anyway, it might be worth being ‘ruined’ to be seduced by him.

Desire stirred within her at the thought. She hadn’t been so attracted by a man in a very long time. Though she was still a maid, her experience of passion limited, she had no difficulty identifying—and appreciating—the reason for the heat that had flamed through her body when she’d first looked into his eyes.

A reaction that distracted her from observing him with her normal artist’s dispassion while he stood looming over her, his countenance so arresting she couldn’t make herself look away.

She recalled the startled moment when she’d first seen him, his broad shoulders blocking the ray of sunshine piercing the forest canopy, haloing his tall, well-muscled form and gilding the edges of his dark brown hair. Handsome, with a look of command about it, his lean face had a sharp nose, prominent cheekbones and the faint trace of a scar running from the left temple down almost to his jaw. Keen eyes the colour of an emerald illumined by sunlight held her gaze captive; his firm mouth looked made for kissing, that impression reinforced by a voice that was deeply pitched, almost—bedchamber intimate. When he’d held her gaze without flinching—his unexpected appearance and powerful attraction making her forget to drop her eyes modestly, as Mama kept instructing her—she’d felt so strongly drawn to him, she’d almost gone into his arms.

With his handsome face, virile body and shiver-inducing voice, she had no difficulty at all believing he was ‘a man of great address with the ladies’.

Though his sudden appearance had certainly startled her, she’d not felt threatened. Which was a curious response, given the venal character and violent tendencies of the men of her family. She should have felt an immediate wariness; instead, there’d been something about him that drew her. Continued to draw her, even after the shock of her first, intensely physical response faded.

Her usual reaction to the arrival of a visitor was to escape before Mama could call for her, or, if caught, get away as quickly as possible. Ben Tawny had evoked the opposite response; she’d wanted him to linger.

As they talked, that strong initial attraction still humming between them, his appeal expanded to include admiration for a man who would take so much trouble to safeguard a woman he didn’t even know. A man of intelligence and strong principles, who exuded a sense of purpose and a quiet competence.

A self-confidence, too, as if he felt easy in his own skin. He possessed the same sort of calm self-assurance that Will had, she realised, that conclusion followed with the inevitable pang of grief.

No wonder she’d felt so drawn to him.

It occurred to her that, not only had he learned about her, he knew her maid’s name, the fact that Molly didn’t like to accompany her on sketching excursions and why. What a clever intelligence-gatherer he was, indeed!

He ought to appear competent. Only look what he’d discovered about her and the other members of the house party, and in such an unusual manner! She couldn’t think of anyone else who could have managed such a chameleon-like performance.

She could easily believe he’d been an intelligence-gatherer for the army. She knew for certain he’d been to Oxford, joined a group of like-minded reformers who aspired to Parliament and achieved that ambition. What had he done, since joining the Commons? Her family having little interest in politics, she didn’t know much about what went on in government, though even she had heard vague rumblings about a new Reform Act. Were he and his group moving that forward?

Was the man who’d accosted her, in fact, Benedict Tawny? With no acquaintance present to introduce them, she had only his word for it. Though she couldn’t think of a good reason why someone else would pose as the man and come to warn her of a pernicious plot.

Was there any way she could make sure he was who he said he was? Asking Mama if she knew anything about a Mr Benedict Tawny would only result in a grilling about why she’d suddenly developed a most unusual interest in a gentleman to whom she’d never been presented. Besides, Mama knew few politicians, and by his own admission, Mr Tawny didn’t appear at society functions, which would be the only place her mama would encounter him.

Perhaps she could talk to Lord Fulton. Though he was not, to her knowledge, involved in politics, he’d certainly know more about Parliament and the Reform movement than any of the females present.

At the prospect, she felt a rise of eagerness and anticipation.

Mr Tawny was not only the most attractive gentleman she’d met in a very long time, he was the only one who’d aroused her interest and excited her curiosity. Although she was unlikely to ever see him again after tomorrow, she was suddenly very glad she’d agreed to meet him.

In the interim, she’d attempt a little intelligence-gathering of her own.

Anger stirred out of the ashes of humiliation. While she plumbed Lord Fulton about Mr Tawny, she’d also encourage the attentions of Rossiter and Quinlen and try to work out the dimensions of their plot.

Those dissipated, idle men might think to make her the target of their ploy, but she no intention of playing into their hands. In fact, she thought, their intended manipulation calling up her ever-simmering fury and resentment at her father’s strong-armed control over her life, perhaps she could try to turn their stratagems against them. If they counted on her being naïve, persuadable and desperate to capture their interest, she could count on them to be arrogant, sure of their superior cleverness and too unobservant to see anything but what they expected to see.

Despite their ill intentions, she wouldn’t attempt to ruin their lives, even if she could. But she’d have no regrets about exploiting their scheme so they, rather than she, ended up surprised and embarrassed.

The steady burn of anger reinforcing that intent, she gathered up her art supplies and headed back to Dornton.

* * *

Alyssa had hoped to return to the manor and change into more presentable clothing while her mother was at breakfast. Unluckily, as she tiptoed back into their bedchamber, she found Lady Aldermont still at her dressing table.

‘Sorry I slept so late, darling,’ her mother said—before catching a glimpse of her in the dressing table’s mirror. ‘Merciful Heavens, child!’ she said with a gasp. ‘Wherever have you been, wearing that hideous old gown?’

‘Just sketching, Mama. It was still very wet after yesterday’s rain and I didn’t wish to soil any of the lovely dresses you brought for me. None of the guests were up, so I got out and back without being seen.’

‘Sketching, always sketching,’ Lady Aldermont said fretfully. ‘If only you’d paid a fraction as much attention to the things that really matter during your London Seasons, we wouldn’t be reduced to attending this dreary series of house parties in dismally remote locations!’

‘I know you hate being out of London,’ Alyssa said, suppressing a guilty pang at the knowledge that it was the chance to sketch in different areas of England that prompted her to press for attending the ‘dreary series of house parties’.

‘At least in town, there’s visiting and shopping and a variety of company. Here, we are condemned to see the same faces day after day.’

Putting down her supplies, Alyssa walked over to pat her mother’s hand. ‘Has Lady Sutherland been plaguing you?’