The Notorious Proposal

by Terry Long

  Victor appeared ready to dissolve into a pile of dust what with the way his eyes pleaded. “How could you possibly hurt my Ally?”

  “For God’s sake, Victor.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Tell me what you’ve done. Please.”

  Michael shot his brother an askew glance. His brother’s hands were pressed together as in prayer. Michael sighed. “All right. I’ve compensated her with riches.” Victor had gone entirely too quiet. Michael regretted bringing the woman’s true colors to light. “Listen, there are plenty—”

  “She needed money? She needed help? Now, I am positively certain I must aid her.” Victor’s brows were drawn so close, he could have had only one atop his searching eyes, which scanned the room as if looking for answers. Just then, a smile stretched across his face, lighting his demeanor.

  Michael could tell whatever his brother planned to say would be complete foolishness.

  “Yes, yes.” Victor brightened as if he’d found a cure for scarlet fever. “I must marry her.”

  “The hell you will! Do you know how much I had to pay this one?”

  “She needs the money. I am certain her troubles are profound.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” His brother was a dimwit. “Don’t bother. She gave me her word to stay away from you. She will keep her word.”

  “Oh, of that, I’m sure. Ally would never break her promise.”

  The wild look in Victor’s eyes made Michael narrow his. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I know she will be distressed, not to mention feel dreadful, for accepting your outlandish barter, so she won’t go readily. I’ll just have to take her against her will, seize her, if you will.” Victor grinned now as he pushed himself from the chair. “I’ll take her to Gretna Green. I think she’ll find that romantic, don’t you think?”

  Michael stood, pinning his brother down with a disbelieving gaze. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  “My mind is set.” Victor strode to the door. “I will make her my wife, my responsibility.” He began whistling when he disappeared into the hall.

  “Bloody, bloody hell!”

  “Sir?” his butler asked, poking his head into the study.

  “Suggest to Victor that he ought to travel in the coach. Mention comfort. After he’s departed, quickly tell Thomason to saddle my horse. Now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Blast it all! Victor was showing his stubborn streak again, the same streak that had left their father enraged countless times when he was alive. His responsibility, my arse! Victor could hardly mind his own behind.

  As Michael rode at a neck-breaking speed to get to Miss Overton before his brother, he cursed the whole way.

  Some hours later, he bounded off Caspian and pounded on the cottage door with his fist. He didn’t stop until it opened.

  The maid jumped back, her eyes wide when she saw his face. “Milord!”

  He charged past her into the foyer.

  Miss Overton appeared underneath the doorframe of a narrow corridor. “What is all this uproar, Marg—?”

  He strode toward her.

  “What do you think you’re doing, sir?”

  Michael reached out and gripped her wrist. She gasped and drew back with what he believed to be great exertion. He tightened his grasp, ignoring the confusion that flashed in her beautiful eyes.

  Miss Overton tried to pry his fingers from her arm, her muscles straining under his hold. It was a futile attempt, pitted against his strength, not to mention his drive. At the moment, one thousand horses could not have restrained him. “You’re coming with me.”

  She lifted her chin, even while fear swathed her features. “I don’t think so!”

  Clasping his hand firmer around her wrist, he dragged her to the front door. They neared the threshold when he was jolted to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder with a frown. He didn’t have much time to squander.

  The tall maid clung onto Miss Overton’s free hand, all the while wailing like a woman who’d be a good candidate for Bedlam. Michael winced at the shrill cries, but proceeded to take one step in her direction, giving his best glower. The woman’s cries diminished to a whimper, and she reluctantly released her mistress.

  Miss Overton kicked his shin, taking full advantage of the distraction. “Damn it!” he said through gritted teeth. That hurt like the devil. But, the country tart did not seem satisfied, for she stomped hard on one of his boots before scampering away. Michael growled and lifted his gaze just in time to see a flying vase aimed straight for his head. He dodged it, and the pot clashed against the wall behind him.

  “You’re going to be sorry you did that,” he muttered as he closed their distance with his long strides. Once he came within arm’s reach of her, he grabbed the back of her gown and yanked her toward him like a puppet. Without giving her a moment to think, he spun her to face him and then tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re a nuisance, do you know that, Miss Overton?”

  “I’m a nuisance?” She pounded on his back. “Put me down! You must be mad!” She flung her legs wildly back and forth, and each time a foot came in contact with his nether regions, he groaned in pain. That seemed to feed her desire to repeat the vicious act.

  “Damn it, woman!” Was she trying to destroy his family jewels? He grabbed what he could—one active ankle—and marched out the door. Her free ankle jammed his manhood twice more and he growled, throwing her atop his stallion. Miss Overton clamored into a sitting position instead of having her backside brandishing in the air.

  “Easy, Caspian,” he ordered when his horse reared and swished his tail. Michael swung up behind her before she could slide down the other side. Draping her legs over one of his thighs, he reached for the reins and locked her between the brute strength of his forearms.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing? You must stop this absurdity at once!” she shouted when the horse took off at a dizzying pace. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Scotland, m’dear. Hold on, or you’ll break your little neck.”

  “Scotland? Whatever for?”

  “Gretna Green is there.”

  “Gretna…Oh, no! Stop it right this instant, you oaf!” Miss Overton reached forward and pulled the reins, nearly toppling over when Caspian changed pace.

  Michael snatched a fistful of her gown, setting her arse back down. “Are you keen on dying, Miss Overton?” He slowed Caspian, and his horse pinned its ears back, obviously angry it couldn’t keep their usual momentum.

  “You must stop at once! Are you mad?”

  He inwardly groaned, trying his damnest to ignore her. The task proved difficult as she shouted every word.

  “Why are you doing this? Is this about Mr. Langdon? I haven’t seen him. You must believe me! Would you be reasonable? Are you listening, you- Oh!”

  They jumped over a thick brush. He rearranged her none-too-gently to keep to both the saddle and his thigh, instead of the hard earth scattered with thistle below.

  She turned her face up to glare at him, eager to show her discontent, despite almost having eaten a mouthful of dirt.

  He didn’t bother to return her scornful look.

  “Sir!”

  Michael sighed. He lowered his gaze to her. Her eyes confused and her brows knotted, she looked ready to cry. He fervently hoped she wouldn’t, for he’d never been one to deal well with tears. The curve of her cheeks stained pink. Swallowing hard, he looked over her head. He meant to do this, and he wasn’t turning back.

  “You said you’re taking—” She muttered something under her breath that sounded like a curse, but it didn’t make any sense. It contained the words “socks” and “boots.” Perhaps, he’d heard incorrectly. “You’ve said Gretna Green. People go there to wed.” At her pause, Michael glanced at her. A ripple went down her throat before she demanded with a frown, “Are we to wed?” She regarded him closely.

  He averted his gaze and gave her a terse nod, feeling her take a quick indrawn breath against
him.

  “But why? I’ve avoided Mr. Langdon, just as we’ve discussed.” For the first time today, Miss Overton didn’t shout at him. She’d even sounded polite.

  Still avoiding those violet eyes, he said, “It seemed Victor is inclined to…”

  “To what?” When he refused to finish, she added, “I’ll have you know that I wouldn’t marry you, even if you were the last man in England.”

  Michael snorted. “If it’s any consolation,” he drawled, “I’d also have to be hell-bounded to you for the time being.” Lowering his gaze, he gave her a mocking smile.

  She glared at him. Her eyes turned a shade darker. Lord, she was pretty when she was angry.

  “Why are you doing this?” she bit out, her voice returning to a shout.

  He disregarded her, looking at the road that stretched out before him. She continued to ramble on and on, mostly muttering under her breath. He’d heard her call him an ogre, an oaf, and even a goat, up to this point.

  Michael concentrated on his pace, riding hard for short bursts then slow walks. He wanted to get this over with, above anything else, but it would be two full days ride at the very least, before they reached the border of Scotland.

  With each hour that passed, Miss Overton’s slanders grew more creative. She’d named all the farm animals England possessed, including a few from abroad. It didn’t take an intellect to know that these creatures she’d listed were mentioned solely for passing the time.

  Through the day, she’d even collected enough courage to run off when he stopped to water Caspian. Michael had caught up to her and embarrassed her in front of the townsfolk. Miss Overton took exception to being referred to as a premature being that hallucinated and had the mind of a child. Michael grinned at the memory. She had been so angry when the men had spoken to her as if she were a seven-year-old girl, telling her to do as her “brother” said. Michael couldn’t be bothered that she would try to escape again.

  During late afternoon, Miss Overton’s head fell forward like a broken, stuffed doll. He’d hauled her to him several times, but the woman desperately tried not to make any more physical contact with him than she had to. At sunset, she gave in to her weariness and used his chest as her pillow, after all, tucking the side of her face under his chin.

  At dusk, Michael’s body ached and fatigue threatened to overwhelm him. Since he’d only stopped four more times to water Caspian, he knew with much compassion that his horse was just as tired.

  When Michael reached the outskirts of Rutland, he slowed to a trot and guided the poor animal into the yard of The Golden Belle Inn. It looked decent enough with its gray brick structure. He eased off the horse and gained his footing, keeping a heavy hand on the sleeping woman so she wouldn’t tumble down after him. Once he’d felt blood in his legs again, he drew her into his arms.

  Miss Overton stirred at the disruption and opened her eyes to stare up at him with a hazy, unfocused gaze. “My,” she said almost dreamlike before her eyes fluttered closed again.

  Michael stared down at her face. He didn’t know what to make of that.

  Carrying her into the tavern, he glanced around, spotting only two men slouching over jugs of ale in the corner, boisterous with laughter and unaware of his arrival. One of them slammed his hand on the table, enthused with his companion’s tale. Michael glanced down at the sleeping woman in his arms, but she looked as good as dead.

  He strode toward the bar where the innkeeper stood with his back turned, wiping the counters. As he approached, a bitter odor of sweat and old sodden cloths filled his nostrils.

  “Good evening,” Michael said, drawing a surprise gasp from the man who turned with haste. “My wife and I will require a chamber for tonight.”

  “Of course, milord.” He tucked the sopping wet cloth in a corner and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Let me show you to the room so you can put her down before—” When his gaze fell on Miss Overton, he smiled.

  After a few brief seconds, Michael raised his brows and cleared his throat, exasperated.

  The innkeeper quickly lowered his eyes. “This way, please.”

  As he climbed the narrow staircase, Michael glanced down at her. Even while slumbering, the woman still had the ability to beckon and incite desire in men. It had to be her sultry mouth. So captivating- no, distracting. He scoffed. Or it could be the rosy curve of her cheeks…or the light, even way she breathed…as an angel would. He grimaced at his own thoughts as he continued up the creaky flight of stairs.

  ***

  Ally saw a man, an extraordinarily handsome man with dark, mysterious eyes and a perfectly chiseled face. His wide-set mouth, held a sensual curve, hinted at a smile that surely melted her heart.

  At first, he looked at her hesitantly, as if unsure why she was here in his presence. Cocking his head slightly, his face turned hard, threatening. His eyes darkened, their gaze direct and menacing. Then he sneered at her, tugged at her.

  With all her might, Ally thrashed about, shielding herself with her arms and hands, as he continued leering at her with pure malice across his face. She shut her eyes tightly, hoping he’d disappear once she opened them again. But he didn’t. He remained there, hovering over her, laughing at her, his voice a deep rumble that shook to her very core. Ally wanted to scream out, “Stop. Don’t hurt me,” but she couldn’t get the words out. Her throat closed up, making it impossible to voice a single utterance. It pained to gasp. She could scarcely breathe.

  As if recognizing her distress, the man laughed louder, the booming sound echoing from all directions. He screamed out her name in an ear-shattering voice, shaking her, frightening her. He was merciless.

  “Miss Overton, wake up.”

  She started awake, her body trembling. It had thankfully all been a dream. As her eyes focused on his face, however, her relief dissolved. Heart hammering against her chest, Ally pushed him away and scooted to the far end of the bed. Gathering her skirts around her, careful not to give him a glimpse of anything he shouldn’t be seeing, she hugged her knees to her chest in an attempt to ward off the chill that ran through her. Sweat trickled down her back. “What are you doing?” Her voice came out in a gasp.

  With his lips compressed into a straight line, he sighed and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. The man wore no cravat and didn’t even bother to button his shirt all the way up. “You were having a bad dream,” he told her impatiently.

  “It was probably because you were in it!” She blurted that before she thought any better of it.

  His too-thick brows rose in a maddening manner. “You dreamt of me?”

  Ally snapped her mouth shut and glared at him. He looked so amused; she wanted to shove him off the side of the bed.

  He merely chuckled. “Famous! The only time a woman has dreams of me, I’m the fiend.”

  “Ogre.”

  He grinned. “Ogre it is.”

  Ally couldn’t take her eyes off him. His mouth turned sensual, and his eyes danced with mirth; it made him look like a rascal. Heavens, he was beautiful when he smiled, this wicked man. It was unfair.

  “You may stop frowning at me and go back to sleep. I have no interest in bedding the likes of you, I assure you.”

  She couldn’t believe he’d said that! No gentleman spoke without such discretion. But then again, he was no gentleman. Ally believed he truly disliked her, and that thought reassured her. She relaxed her shoulders and expelled a long breath. He didn’t look to be the type of man who’d force himself on a woman he detested.

  ***

  How a woman like Miss Overton could perform so exceptionally well in playing the innocent astonished him. He could almost believe it. Almost.

  That further added to his disgust. Avarice and guile tainted the fallen woman. If he hadn’t seen the man striding from her home, Michael would have believed her to be undefiled, just as his brother believed. Hell, any other man in England would have believed it.

  It was her eyes, those sinfully, guiltless, violet ey
es. Had he been a lesser man, she would have had him twisted around her little finger by now.

  Miss Overton hadn’t moved from her rigid position. The look on her face suggested suspicion of the typical male nature. He sighed in repulsion and grabbed a thin pillow, tossing it onto the floor to sleep.

  He closed his eyes. Victor would cause so much havoc once he discovered what Michael had in store for Miss Overton. Remorse managed to creep up amidst the scores of unpleasant encounters he’d had to put up with all day. But he was doing this for Victor’s benefit. His brother would thank him later. After accepting the fact that Miss Overton would be his sister-in-law and not his wife, that is. Dear God, just the thought of what is to come made him exhausted.

  As he lay on the cold ground, Michael wondered if she’d already fallen asleep. It didn’t seem likely, for he didn’t hear the even sound of her breathing. If she tried anything…

  The edge of the bed creaked. The noise halted almost instantly, but when he made no move, the squeaking began once more.

  The woman was unbelievable! Where did she think she would go, and how far did she think she would get?

  “If you plan on leaving, please be sure I’ll catch you before the sun rises,” he advised, eyes closed. He heard a distinct intake of breath, and continued, “I’d not be as obliging as I’ve been thus far. You see, sunrise is my favorite time of day, and if you spoil it, I shall not forgive you. You don’t want that, love, believe me. If I were you, I’d get back to sleeping.”

  “Fiend!” The bed creaked as she presumably scampered back to the center of it.

  When the sound of the shuffling bedclothes ceased, he had to have the last word. “It’s ogre,” he corrected with a faint smile.

  Chapter Four

  A clatter rang out, making her groan in protest.

  “Good to know that you’re an early riser.”