A Scandalous Proposal (9 page)

“It will wait, sweeting. I've a surprise to show you that cannot. Come, Francesca will take you.”

“But the shop…the customers—”

“Can return later. Francesca has your cloak and reticule. I'll see you shortly.” He leaned over to give her a lingering kiss, then released her wrists. “You know the place, Francesca?” He turned to the maid.

“Aye, my lord. Half an hour, we come.”

“Good.” Grinning like a small boy inordinately pleased with himself, he strode out.

Totally at sea, Emily followed the maid outside and into the waiting hackney. During the drive, she tried to question
Francesca, but the maid would only shake her head and smile, her dark eyes dancing with excitement.

Wherever could he be sending her? Panic flared briefly and died. No, if he were thoughtful enough to honor her unspoken preferences and provide a hackney to convey her separately, rather than taking her up in his crested carriage, surely he was not going to meet her in some public place. And she'd detailed in quite plain, emphatic terms that she neither wanted nor would accept gowns, jewels or other frippery gifts. What could it be, then?

The jarvey left the mercantile district near St. James and headed south. At last the conveyance pulled to a stop on a quiet street before a handsome brick town house.

A liveried footman escorted her up the broad front stairs. Francesca trailing close behind, she followed him through the graceful Adam doorway into a marble entry hall. A smiling Evan awaited her.

“Hush, don't say anything yet.” He put a finger to her lips. “Let me show you around.”

“But I have work and—”

He silenced her with a kiss. “Indulge me for just a little while. Francesca, there's tea in the kitchen.”

With a curtsey, the maid left. Clamping her hand on his arm, Evan proceeded to conduct her through the dwelling, from the reception rooms on the first floor to the spacious parlor and dining room and several bedchambers above.

It was indeed a lovely house. A lovely little love nest in which a rich man could install his mistress. As they went from room to room, her distress and anger grew until, as he grandly opened a door to lead her into a bedchamber so truly lovely she wanted to weep, she could stand it no more.

Jerking free of his arm, she paced to the window, staring sightlessly at the street outside to keep her voice steady. “I do not want it. I will not have it! Did I not tell you so before?”

“But my dear, I thought you were very satisfied with the growth of your millinery business.”

“I will not be—” His words finally penetrated her fury, and she stopped short. “My business? What has the shop to do with this?”

“Everything, of course. What did you think I had in mind? Come, sit.”

Before she could think to resist, he took her arm and led her to an elegant Georgian settee upholstered in pale jade satin, tugging the bellpull as they passed. His face guileless as an altar boy's, he turned back to her. “Francesca will bring us tea.”

Irritation returned in a rush. “I've no need of tea. I have that business you mentioned to run.”

“Which is precisely what we need to discuss. Sit, sit!” Placing both hands on her shoulders, he urged her onto the sofa and took a place beside her.

“Have you not several times said how it pained you to design a bonnet, only to see the effect spoiled by having the silly client pair it with a disaster of a dress? That you would like to create the entire ensemble, from bonnet to gown to half-boots?”

“Well, yes, but I don't see—”

“And haven't you believed—and I share that belief emphatically—that such a business would be even more successful than your bonnet shop, for once a lady was seen abroad in an entirely attractive ensemble, other ladies would flock to have their own toilettes redesigned so as not to be outdone?”

“True, but—”

“And haven't you commented that establishing such an enterprise would require more space—fitting rooms, a workroom for seamstresses and their assistants, a storeroom for fabrics and materials, and a larger design office?”

She began to follow his reasoning. “Yes, I've dreamed
of such an establishment, and yes, the shop would offer sufficient space were I to convert the rooms I now occupy. But to make such changes requires a great deal more capital than I possess, or hope to possess anytime soon.”

There came a knock and a beaming Francesca entered with the tea tray. Torn between excitement, exasperation and a strong urge to weep, Emily fell silent.

He had not brought her to a love nest. He wanted her to move so she might expand her business.

She dared not admit how strongly the elegant room called out to her, surrounded as she was by the plainness of the shop and its workaday neighborhood. How desperately at that moment she wished she could, in truth, afford to rent this beautiful dwelling.

Her eyes making an awed inspection of the room, Francesca handed her a cup. “Ah, mistress, is it not
belo!
And perfect for you, yes?”

“Yes. No—oh, I suppose.” After the maid bustled out, Emily turned to Evan. “I'm flattered you think such an enterprise could succeed. But not by any stretch of my most hopeful imagination could I come up with the funds to make such a move now.”

“Emily, how do you think enterprises expand? And don't give me that ‘idle aristocrat' look. I know a thing or two about business, and few who hope to be truly successful wait upon a venture until they have all the funds necessary. With a vision, talent and courage, they convince investors to advance the cash.” He paused to take a sip. “Well, my dear, it just so happens that
I
am such an investor. In several different enterprises. And my business sense tells me that investing in the expansion of ‘Madame Emilie' would be a wise financial move indeed.”

She stared at him, the teacup halfway to her lips. “You? An investor?”

“We aristocrats must make our filthy lucre somehow,
since we can't dirty our own idle hands at the business. I've contacts with the City that might astonish you.” He chuckled. “You
do
look a bit astonished.”

He had to prompt her to sip her tea, so furiously was her mind working. It would be a challenge to design an entire ensemble, all of it conceived with taste and discretion. And it truly did offend her eye when she spotted a client wearing one of her creations with some hideous gown or spencer that nullified the pleasing effects of her hard work.

But to have Evan provide the capital? Would that not just obligate her even further to him? And would he truly have thought to invest in the business, were he not only too transparently interested in getting her out of her quarters above the shop?

His finger under her chin startled her and she nearly spilled her half-cold tea. “Well? Despite that forbidding frown, I defy you to find logical fault in the proposal.”

She didn't know how to word her objections without offending him. He bristled at any reference to her indebtedness, and she could read in his hopeful, expectant look that he thought he'd finally found a gift she would be delighted to accept.

“For one, I haven't any idea how much capital I would need, nor how I would go about repaying my—investor. And even should I expand the business, I don't see how I could afford a dwelling as lovely as this.”

“Let me show you.” Swiftly he crossed to a small writing desk and pulled a document from the drawer. “I've had papers drawn up detailing the amount of the investment, the security involved and the way profit will be paid out. The rental on this town house is figured in with the whole. You can have my lawyer verify it.”

Uncertain, she rose and paced the chamber, stopping before the window. Without conscious thought her fingers reached to stroke the soft velvet of the deep blue drapes. “It
doesn't seem right, somehow, that you—invest in my business. Not when we are—when I…” Her words trailed off and she flushed.

“As a prudent investor, I choose projects that appear most likely to turn a profit. Why should I refrain from funding you just because we happen to share a more personal relationship? I assure you, both your rights as owner and mine as investor are fully protected in the covenants.”

While mulling that over, she suddenly grew conscious of the softness of the drapery under her stroking fingers. A disconcerting suspicion took form.

She leveled a penetrating look. “Do rented London dwellings always come so tastefully furnished?”

He shrugged. “Generally, houses can be let with or without furnishings.”

His air of innocence didn't convince her. “Velvet drapes, inlaid chairs, satin-striped sofas in the latest mode—I doubt many owners leave such possessions in a house to let.
Did
they come with the house?”

He studied the sleeve of his jacket, picking at some invisible speck of lint. “I may have given the agent some direction as to what sorts of furnishings would be required.”

“‘Some' direction?” She scanned the room again, this time noting in greater detail the arrangement of the furnishings: the wing chair by the hearth with a small portable desk on the table adjacent to the window, just where she used to place hers in various quarters throughout Spain. And the colors—Mediterranean blue, jade, ivory, sunset rose—all her favorites. Her suspicions hardening, she turned back to him. “Did Francesca perchance play a part in those ‘directions?”'

“Well, yes, I did consult her. After confiding a bit of my scheme to her, I had her view several houses that were coming available, asking her to choose the one she felt you
would like the best, and advise me on the furnishing of it. It does please you?”

She refused to be distracted. “You were so sure you could induce me to agree that you drew my servant into collusion, all without ever consulting
my
wishes?”

“You make it sound as if I were hatching some evil plot,” he protested with a smile.

“And if I do not wish to proceed? What will you do about this fine house and its pretty furnishings?” she demanded, growing angrier by the minute. First, to set off on this grand design without even a pretense of consulting her—then to go behind her back and involve Francesca in it! Of all the dictatorial, managing—

His smile faded as he studied her stormy face. “Do you not like it?”

“Like?” she sputtered. “Of course I like it. 'Tis beautiful, as you well know. It's just—”

He strode over to grasp her hand. “I know, Emily! You'll say I was hasty, and presumptuous to arrange all this, even borrow Francesca, without asking you. But 'tis so financially sound and logical a move, one you yourself have several times indicated you wished to make, I did feel confident in proceeding. You work so hard already, I wished to spare you time and trouble. And give you a surprise I hoped would be pleasing. I never meant to—dictate—your actions. If I have offended, I'm sorry.”

Her rampaging anger halted. She
had
expressed the desire to expand her business in just such a fashion. And were she to act on that vision, having this already set up would save her untold hours with estate agents and warehousemen.

She studied his face, which did indeed look sincerely apologetic. If she could not help resenting his highhandedness in executing it all without her consent, she must also acknowledge the loving care he'd expended in trying to as
sist and please her. A gift perhaps more valuable even than the house itself.

“Once again, you are too kind,” she said at last.

“Then you will accept the challenge? Begin your business expansion immediately?”

He could not have chosen better words to persuade her. Phrased solely in practical investment terms, she could not, as he had predicted, logically refuse what made such perfect business sense.

“I shall have to consult your lawyer, as you invited. But if the numbers seem in order and I feel certain I can afford to proceed now, then I suppose I must go forward.”

He squeezed her hand. “You told me once you were pleased to be valued for what you've accomplished. That's all I was trying to do. In addition to earning myself a profit, of course,” he added with a grin. “By all means visit the lawyer, ask your questions, then decide.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “More than anything, I want you to be happy.”

The deep emotion in his voice was unmistakable, and again, in spite of the caution she tried to impose over her feelings, she was moved. Unable to frame an answer, she allowed him to pull her into his arms.

“I would give you the moon, you know, if you'd only allow it,” he said against her hair. “But this is no gift—you've earned it through your own efforts. Don't turn it down solely because 'tis my impetus that makes it happen.”

A part of her gratefully accepted his assistance—but another part still resisted. Too often had she been the pawn of controlling men. But he was acting as an investor only, he said. The expansion would be based on a legal document that would protect them both. And the final decision remained hers.