He saw only her
A slender figure in lilac, her pale oval face framed by dusky curls above full, petal-pink lips. When she raised inquiring violet eyes to meet his mesmerized gaze, a frisson of pure energy flashed between them, rocking him to his toes and riveting him, speechless, to the spot.
A faint scent of lavender teased his nose. His heartbeat stopped, then stampeded. Aftershocks darted to every nerve. “Perfection!” he whispered, his voice unsteady.
As if compelled, Evan walked toward her, only dimly aware of shouldering aside a heavyset matron who appeared to be conversing with the Vision. “Lord Cheverley, Madame Emilie.” Seizing her hand, he brought it to his lips.
He felt it again, that…current, passing between them. By the faint pinking of her porcelain cheeks, Evan knew she must have felt it as well….
Praise for Julia Justiss’s debut historical romance title
THE WEDDING GAMBLE
“The setting and dialogue of Julia Justiss’s novel of manners are top of the type…scintillating, thoroughly engaging…”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“I truly enjoyed this new author’s debut novel.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
A SCANDALOUS PROPOSAL
Harlequin Historical
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A Scandalous Proposal
Julia Justiss
Available from Harlequin Historicals and JULIA JUSTISS
The Wedding Gamble #464
A Scandalous Proposal #532
To critique partners
Theresa Scardina, Louise Harper and Kathy Cowan, for their exceptional advice and even more exceptional friendship.
To the published authors of RWA-ETC, who have
given unstinting assistance and support, particularly RWA Lifetime Achievement Award winner Roz Alsobrook, Sheli Nelson (Rachelle Morgan), Eve Gaddy and the best conference roomie ever, Lenora Nazworth (Lenora Worth).
With deepest thanks and gratitude.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Prologue
Emily Spenser crept along the shrub-shadowed edge of the garden at the center of St. James Square. After years of fierce Portuguese sun, the damp morning chill seeped into her bones, and she shivered despite her woolen shawl. Halting at the corner, she pressed herself deeper into the overhang of branches and scrutinized the town house opposite.
Was the knocker off the door? Given the distance and the swirling mist, she couldn’t be sure. The windows overlooking the square were certainly shuttered, but as it was barely past dawn, that didn’t necessarily indicate the owner was out of town.
Cautiously she retraced her steps, crossed the square behind the shelter of garden, and slipped to the mews beyond. Heart hammering at her ribs, she made herself enter the back gate. Surely at a great house like this, where vendors and suppliers came and went constantly, in her shop girl’s apron and mobcap she would attract no special notice.
A soft lull of voices emanated from behind the half-open door of the kitchen wing. Gathering her courage, she hurried across the deserted stable yard, knocked once and entered.
A knot of workers gathered around the glowing hearth, mugs of steaming brew in hand. Picking out an older woman with keys hanging at her waist, Emily dipped a curtsey.
“I’ve a parcel for his lordship,” she announced, mimicking the broad accent of the Hampshire peasantry among whom she’d grown up. “Mistress says as how I was to deliver it personal.”
“Lawks, missy, you’ve a far piece to walk, then,” the woman replied with a laugh. “He ain’t in Lunnon now.”
Damping down a rush of relief, Emily made herself utter instead a dismayed squeak. “But Mistress’ll box my ears iff’n I don’t get this to ’im. He be back today, ma’am?”
“Not likely. Seein’s how he sent half the staff on holiday, tellin’ ’em he’d fetch ’em back later, we don’t expect ’im anytime soon.”
Emily couldn’t believe her luck. “He be gone that long?” she asked faintly.
“Aye. Last week, you mighta caught ’im, but he left out suddenlike, and Mr. Daryrumple—that’s the butler, lass—told us he’d not be returnin’ afore Easter, ’n likely not afore summer.”
Emily hid her excitement behind a woebegone look. “Mistress’ll be that unhappy.”
“Nay, don’t fret yourself. She canna expect you to make here what’s gone by wishin’ it. A reg’lar dragon, is she?” The woman clucked. “Have a mug o’tea and rest your bones, then, afore you go back to face ’er.”
“Thank ’ee kindly, ma’am, but I daren’t. Mistress’ll rap my knuckles iff’n I’m not back by seven.”
Amid sympathetic murmurs from the staff and a general grumble about the unreasonableness of employers, Emily bobbed another curtsey and made her way out.
Once outside the back gate, she tore off her servant’s mobcap, threw it in the air and hugged herself fiercely.
He was not in London. She could begin.
Chapter One
“Fetch a bonnet for your mother? My, what a dutiful son!”
Evan Mansfield, Earl of Cheverley, widened the swinging arc of his walking stick just enough to whack the