The Notorious Proposal

by Terry Long

  There was nothing more he wanted than to see Ally at the moment, but he knew she wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Send him on the way.”

  “Milord?”

  “I said send him on the way!”

  “Very well, sir,” Matthews said in a haughty tone of voice. He turned on his heels so quick his uniformed coattails flapped elegantly behind him- a trait he must have tried a hundred times to perfect.

  Michael sauntered down the great hall in search of some peace.

  He had no choice but to let her go. He was very sure, as sure as the sun will rise, that Ally loathed him. And there was no one to blame, but himself. Wasn’t he the one who imperiously carted her from home to be bought as his temporary wife for the sole intention of keeping his brother from defying him? Wasn’t he the one who’d mistakenly taken her for a trollop, even when his own brother-who was but a boy-said that she wasn’t? Wasn’t he the high-handed chap who’d said things to her he could never take back?

  Michael muttered a trail of blasphemy when he remembered the question she put to him before he practically ordered her concurrence. Ally had asked if the reason he didn’t want Victor to marry her was because she was no good for his brother. Michael had answered, yes.

  He couldn’t forgive himself. Why would she? It was obvious she was miserable with him. Although he knew he could demand her presence at Somerset Hall since she was his wife, Michael couldn’t bring himself to command she stay against her will. He’d gladly die a thousand times over than see Ally’s spirit broken to tatters.

  Those twinkling eyes and that warm smile that did odd things to his chest, he wanted to see them. Even if they were no longer directed at him.

  ***

  The primary design the following morning was to carry on as he’d always done. So Michael rose, rode up to the edge of his property line that overlooked London, watched the rising sun, and buried his nose in heaps of ledgers and documents until his back screamed for reprieve.

  Being that it would be officially the first night without Ally in his home was grounds enough for him to consume the first glass of brandy. Michael swallowed the amber liquid, waiting for its descent down to the pit of his stomach. The thought of his wife being loved, touched-worshipped-by another man made his heart throb in agony. How soon would it be until another man snatched her for his own?

  Tossing back the contents of his newly replenished glass and welcoming the trail of burning sting down his chest, he thought cynically, not long. Any man would be stupid if he didn’t want Ally.

  I’ve lost her forever.

  This thought compelled him to drain the entire decanter.

  After the third night with the bottomless brandy carafe sitting atop a salver by his elbow, Michael made his decision.

  He’d fetch Ally back to Somerset Hall.

  He’d beg if he had to.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Michael drew up a few phrases in his head to say to Ally, hoping at least one of them would get her to concede. Some were fancy, flowery ones—which he didn’t think he’d use—and some were nice, gentlemanly ones. Ally would like the latter. He didn’t think she was one who liked over-sentimentality from a man. No, he thought with a smile, Ally would probably tell him to quit his ramblings. After she called him a goat.

  He crossed his feet and wove his hands behind his head, resting against the plush cushion. He’d taken the coach so Ally would be comfortable on the way back to London. Michael looked out into the distance with a grin. In his entire existence, he’d never taken it upon himself to quarrel with a lady. Ally had a way to bring out the absolute worst in him. Michael shook his head, smiling. He wouldn’t have her any other way.

  His practiced words and phrases—flowery or what not—all came to naught.

  Michael stood before Ally’s tall maid and sighed. Her disclosure of the bit of unconstructive news obviously distressed her. The reed-thin woman wouldn’t meet his gaze. She stared at the floor, shifting from foot to foot.

  “She is indisposed,” he repeated after her, impatiently.

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.”

  “And what is your mistress doing that she is indisposed?”

  “Miss Overton says she is napping, sir.”

  Because she’d just contradicted her mistress, Michael gritted his teeth to keep from retorting to her ridiculous absurdity. “All right. I shall wait until she,” he said regarding her with narrowed eyes, “wakes.”

  The maid lifted her head then. “Sir, Miss Overton really does not wish…that is…she is most distraught.” Her eyes pleaded.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, deliberating what he’d do next. Apparently, Ally was not ready to come home with him yet, and he wasn’t about to force his way in, as much as he’d like to. “Tell my wife I will return on the morrow.” He paused for a second, and then added thoughtfully, “At noon. Tell her not to nap then.”

  She dropped a quick curtsy. “Yes, sir.” She blew out a breath as if thankful he was leaving. Michael raised his brows. Her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets, and her face likened to that of a ripe tomato when she realized her insolence. She quickly lowered her gaze.

  He looked over the maid’s shoulder, wondering what Ally was truly doing. He sighed, long and hard. “Make sure she partakes all of her meals, even if she refuses them. Tell Cook that-”

  “We don’t have a cook, milord. I prepare all the meals.”

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course there wasn’t a cook. He’d slept here one night and had been served something that looked a lot like pheasant, but tasted like oranges. “Tell your mistress that I’ll be seeing her on the morrow, do you understand?” He had to take Ally home.

  The maid nodded enthusiastically, giving him the impression she just wanted him to take his leave.

  Michael left, muttering and cursing under his breath.

  And it was thus for a fortnight. Ally refused to see him, speak to him. Even when he bellowed for her to get out of the blasted room.

  And it was all Michael would take. Today, when the maid answered to his banging, Michael thundered inside and threatened to break down his wife’s bedchamber door. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to shake her.

  Ally opened her door, and Michael wanted to kiss her.

  Her lashes shielded her eyes as if protecting the dazzling blue jewels behind them. Her hair tumbled around shoulders he knew to be supple and warm. Though her black dress, outdated and drab, hung loose over her body, she still looked like a divinity from heaven.

  “I do appreciate your coming here,” Ally said, though she didn’t bother to glance his way. Her soft murmur made his knees weak.

  “Appreciate,” he bit out in a harsh tone, because hell, he ought to shove this ridiculous flaw aside and gather his wits for whatever game his wife was apparently setting into play. “Really.”

  “Miss Overton,” the maid called behind him. “I tried, but—”

  “It is fine, Margaret.” Ally offered a passing half-smile, and the lanky maid concluded to leave her alone with him.

  Ally brushed past him and set off to the sitting room, her posture as regal as a queen’s. Michael followed close behind.

  “Do sit down, Mr. Langdon.” She took a settee and motioned for him to take the chair.

  As he walked over, he fell into the seat next to her.

  Ally tugged on the folds of her skirt that he’d plopped on. “There is plenty of space. Why must you crowd me?”

  Michael didn’t move to let her gather them. Better something to anchor her down. He threw an arm over the back of the settee and crossed his legs at the ankles. “You appreciate my coming here. So you say,” he drawled.

  “Yes. I should like to speak with you.” She sounded somewhat breathless.

  He noted the color that tinted her flesh. With all his strength, he fought against the urge to trail his fingers along her cheeks. He could get lost in those eyes, so clear, and sharp, and so damn beautiful. His eye
s roved lower. Those luscious lips.

  A flare of longing sparked within his stomach and shot a jolt of life straight down to his loins, where it tightened. God, he wanted to touch her, taste her, devour her. He checked himself, altering between the clearing of his throat and swallowing, an absurd practice, that. He need not startle her with his impulsiveness to claim her. For once, he must act like a gentleman. The Devil take him, it was difficult to be this close, inhale such wondrous, intoxicating fragrances of her, and not be able to have his way with her- his wife.

  Ally shifted beside him, looking rather uncomfortable in her seat, but defiantly held his gaze. He wondered what she reflected upon while returning his silent, intent stare.

  “I am faring very well,” she said, breaking the soundless moment. “You needn’t drive your team of four to Dartford any longer.”

  Michael gnashed his teeth, challenging her in a staring match. During his past business endeavors, not many men held his gaze this long. And women, by God, women had never had the audacity to test him this way. But this was no ordinary woman. This was a stubborn one. Did she believe he only came here to see how she fared?

  “It is good to hear you’re faring well. However, I did not come for this reason.” He clasped a hand over both of hers that were folded on her lap.

  Ally recoiled as if that slight contact burned her. She bounded from the settee, nearly ripping her coarse, stiff dress and toppling over. Michael righted her by clutching a fistful of her skirts. Once she regained her footing as well as the ability to look dignified again, she walked over to the mantle at the far side of the room and crossed her arms over her chest as if warding off a chill.

  “Don’t bother yourself with me, Mr. Langdon,” she said, her voice unsteady. Michael took one step toward her when she told him to stop. “Please. I do not wish to see you anymore.”

  Michael stared at her for a long, quiet moment. He watched her bent head, the handful of skirts she’d balled in her hands and the slumped shoulders. One thing was clear and plain as spring water: misery. It struck him like no pain he’d ever experienced.

  “I know you believe I’ve deceived you, but Ally, I give you my word that what happened wasn’t intentional. I had sent for your grandmother, believing she would make it to London.” Ally made no comment, only breathing deeply as if calming her nerves. “For God’s sake, I didn’t mean to keep you from seeing her all that time. If I had known you had a grandmother...”

  Ally looked so wretched, he ached to hold her. He needed to make those glistening eyes shine for different reasons.

  “I do not wish for you to be miserable, sweetheart. I only want to make it better for you.”

  If only she would believe just a degree of what he’d said. But he knew she didn’t, because her chin lifted a notch and she pulled her shoulders back.

  “Then don’t come here again,” she whispered.

  “What?” Truly, his chest felt ablaze with fire. He’d never suffered such pain.

  “If you don’t wish for me to be miserable, then don’t ever come here again,” she repeated for him on a trembling voice. This time around, she did not return his gaze.

  He did all he could to remain standing. “Ally.”

  “When I see you, Mr. Langdon…When I see you, I’m miserable.”

  Michael had to strain his ears to hear that. Then, he blinked at her declaration, struggling to digest the depth of her words. Like a man slapped across the face in front of all to see, he stood there, hoping he showed no outward emotion, and simply…nodded.

  Then he strode out.

  ***

  No, Ally didn’t want to see him, because she didn’t want his pity. How it hurt to see him watching her with guilt written all over his handsome features. She didn’t want that from him. His eyes had regarded her with nothing but regret, it practically dripped out and threatened to saturate the air around her. She could scarcely breathe as it was.

  The mere sight of him made her suffer a sense of wretchedness and sorrow.

  He’d kept her from seeing the one person she loved, yes. But she had forgiven him for that. He’d told her he’d misunderstood. That wasn’t what made her miserable, though she wasn’t about to tell him the real reason. Why should she open her heart to more affliction?

  Ally burrowed deeper into the cushions of the settee and hugged her knees tighter.

  Michael didn’t want her. He had never wanted her. He just wanted to appease his conscience, that’s why he’d come. That wounded her a great deal, even though she kept reminding herself that she had no right to ask anything of him. What they had was nothing more than a simple business transaction.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Blue. Michael thought there ought to be every shade of the color everywhere. Like the ones he found in her eyes, they were beautiful. He decided blue would be his favorite now. And flowers, definitely bluebells.

  Michael allowed himself a small smile as he recalled that afternoon long ago. He had gently laid her amidst a sea of bluebells and had kissed her…everywhere, before making love to her. She had felt exquisite in his arms. God, how he missed her. He wanted to hold her to his heart so she could feel the rapid beat of it.

  Staring unblinkingly at the newest canvas that graced his hall, Michael’s memories of his Ally flooded through him like sunshine, basking him with blissful warmth. That was the only thing he had left of her- sweet reminiscences.

  He’d purchased this piece of art from the gallery several long months ago when she surprised him by tugging on his arm, requesting they set out somewhere. Ally had been so happy on the carriage ride there, he’d wanted to kiss her. Dense as he was, however, he didn’t even try. Even when they explored the gallery together, she had been content. But when she caught sight of this canvas, she looked unreservedly delighted.

  Michael ran his fingers along the canvas. “Idiot.”

  As he wandered down the long corridor, Michael stopped in front of Ally’s old bedchamber and decided he’d pay it another visit. Yes, he was a glutton for punishment. Every time he stepped foot inside, he always said it would be the last time.

  He stood in the center of her chamber, inhaling the scent of lilac and other heavenly fragrances that lingered. Ally always smelled good. She always smelled damn good. Michael lowered himself on the edge of her bed and propped his elbows on his thighs, sighing in defeat. Since when do I ever think of such insignificant things?

  Michael’s eyes fell to a thick, black book, ample in pages, sitting atop the night table. He lifted it. The Mysteries of Udolpho. The page flipped to a designated spot, and Michael held his breath when his gaze fell to the product of his attention.

  She’d kept it, the sprig of bluebells he’d given her. It was dried, and pressed, and reserved for her future possession…until she read the letter that turned both their lives upside down.

  Michael wondered what their lives would have been like if things had happened differently. His stomach tightened. Would she tenderly smile up at him and blush, the way she always did when he looked at her too long? Michael smiled. She often turned an alluring shade of pink whenever he ogled her. Would she return his kisses before they fell asleep, after their lovemaking each night? Would Ally fall in love with him one day, as he’d fallen for her?

  He would never know.

  ***

  The wintry weather was fast approaching, welding the air with a heady scent of sharp spice, being picked up and blown by the gusts of wind. Gooseflesh rose through the length of Ally’s body, causing her to tighten her cape and pull its hood lower to further shield her face from the biting current.

  Although her maid had pleaded with her not to leave the warmth of their home, Ally needed to wander outside. She loathed being confined if it wasn’t absolutely required. As no rain fell yet, she believed it a grand idea to enjoy the outdoors before any started.

  Plopping onto a wooden bench, she lifted her face heavenward.

  She liked the cold breeze to rush over her face
each time the gusts blew past. She liked seeing the trees, brushes, and her grandmother’s vegetation move with life right along with it. She liked the music their wind chime made.

  Most importantly, she liked how soothing it made her, as if caressing her very spirit, silently telling her that Nana was safe in heaven. For months, Ally had cried over the loss of her grandmother, but it wasn’t only from the vacant feeling, it was from never having the chance to say goodbye.

  Since then, she’d convinced herself that Nana was no longer in pain, nor despair, nor torment. That was enough for Ally to get on with the rest of her life without weeping every time her grandmother came to mind.

  “Two-pence for your thoughts.”

  Ally lifted her face to the sound of the voice. “Mr. Langdon!” His presence never failed to bring a smile to her face. He always grinned like a child with sweets.

  Victor took his place in front of her, propping a footed boot onto the small, intricate leg of the bench she occupied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, placing it in the palm of his hand. Presenting it to her, his grin grew wider. “Your thoughts?”

  Ally laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t want to know my thoughts, I assure you.”

  “Try me.”

  Ally regarded him with feigned deliberation, tilting her head to one side while she thrummed a forefinger on her chin.

  “Go on,” Victor said, nodding. He clasped his arms behind him.

  “I was merely thinking of my grandmother.”

  “I see.”

  Ally admitted that she enjoyed his calls. He’d visit at least once a week, to offer her company, he’d said. At first, she didn’t like seeing him, because every time her eyes fell on him, her thoughts immediately flew to his brother. After a few weeks, though, she decided it wasn’t fair to Victor. He was a man of his own, with his own characters, thoughts and actions.