An Innocent Proposal

by Helen Dickson

  Alistair stepped inside the house, which was spotlessly clean and had a warm and welcoming aspect. It exuded the scent of beeswax and freshly hung herbs.

  “Is Mr Fraser at home?”

  “No, sir. I am afraid he is about some business on the estate.”

  “And his sister?”

  “In the garden, I believe. I shall go and fetch her this instant if you will be so good as to wait in the drawing room.”

  “No,” he said, as she was about to show him the way into a room leading off from the hall, noticing through the half-open door that it was tastefully furnished, the hangings somewhat faded. “Thank you, but do not trouble yourself. I shall find her myself.”

  Before Mrs Marsh could direct him he had stepped briskly outside and was walking along the overgrown paths, drawn towards the sound of something creaking among a group of trees way beyond the house. He moved through the shrubbery, following the winding narrow path until he eventually came to a clearing. There seemed to be a golden mist about him, heightening the hues of a beautiful copper beech, resplendent in all its autumnal glory, its branches spread out like a gigantic parasol. Hanging from one of them was a swing, and sitting on its board was Louisa, gently swooping to and fro, careful not to let her feet touch the ground, her wonderful mane of strawberry-blonde hair flowing behind her.

  Alistair paused, transfixed on seeing her like this. He had forgotten what a wonderful rich colour her hair was—like sunlight on gold—and seeing her again made every one of his senses clamour for her. There was that same fierce tug to his senses on being near her as there had been that first time he had seen her at the Spring Pleasure Gardens at Vauxhall.

  He’d forgotten what a remarkably beautiful woman she was, with her rounded limbs, the way her head moved with a swaying grace, and a soft, inviting, lilting expression to her lips. He watched as her skirts and petticoats lifted when she stretched out her legs to gather momentum on the swing, revealing her shapely stockinged calves and fancy blue garters, calves he remembered as being white and like silk to touch.

  Brusquely, he recollected himself and what it was that had brought him to Bierlow Hall, drawing himself up sharply, thinking disparagingly, as his inner turmoil turned to self-scorn, that he was a fool to think like this, a fool to be taken in by her. Inside she was every bit as deceitful and conniving as Marianne had been before her. She evidently had the ability to belong in whatever setting she happened to be in, and he found that realisation quite unsettling.

  But one thing stood out bold and clear above everything else in his mind, something that was more important to him just then than his feelings for Louisa, and that was his unborn child. After his common sense had done battle with his conscience, his feelings had become possessive—and he knew he could not, would not, disown a child of his blood.

  When he’d finally left London for Bierlow, he had decided that he had no alternative but to marry Louisa if he wanted to save his child from the taint of illegitimacy. But, because he could feel neither trust nor respect where she was concerned, she would have to agree to a marriage on his terms: it would be one of convenience, with nothing between them except the duty they each had towards the child.

  Absorbed in her thoughts, Louisa did not realise Alistair was there until he stepped in front of the swing a short distance away. Shocked out of her reverie, immediately she scraped her feet on the ground and stopped, the violence of their parting springing instantly to the fore. Lightning seemed to scorch across the space between them, burning, eliminating everything in its path. Everything was obliterated but that invisible physical force searing through her body, so that she felt her flesh throb in agony as every nerve sprang to a trembling awareness of him—and instinctively she knew it was the same for him.

  An unbidden flare of excitement rose up in the pit of her stomach, followed quickly by dread when she thought of the reason that had brought him to Bierlow Hall. Warily she watched him, looking at him nervously, wishing she could cool the waves of heat that mounted her cheeks—wishing she could run away, for she had not expected that he would come.

  Everything about Alistair Dunstan spoke of control and command and she felt unable to confront him. She didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready. When James had returned from London in an angry mood after his confrontation with Lord Dunstan, he had left her in no doubt as to what Alistair’s feelings were on being told that she was James’s sister and with child due to her own foolishness.

  She left the swing and stood utterly still, and with her translucent skin and her vast eyes, which were as wide and solemn as a baby owl’s, she had an ethereal quality. Like a free spirit she confronted him, her head poised at a questioning angle, her hair spread over her shoulders like a ray of golden light, watching him approach as if she were some forest creature. But there was a shadowed hollowness to her cheekbones and she was pale, which told Alistair that the first weeks of her pregnancy were not going well.

  But apart from this he thought she was different, somehow, and his heart took a savage and painful leap at the sight of her. She seemed like someone he had never seen before, looking more at home here than in the salons of London. She was like a child, making it hard for him to believe he had been taken in by a mere slip of a girl—and yet it was a woman who looked at him, with a woman’s eyes.

  He was aloof, his own eyes icy, metallic. His gaze swept over her, narrow and assessing, as if expecting to see her waistline already thickening with child, before snapping on her face. Trembling beneath the blast of his gaze, Louisa waited for him to move closer, her hands folded quietly in front of her, thinking how handsome he looked. He wore shiny black knee-boots, snug-fitting grey breeches and a dark green frock coat, unbuttoned to reveal a pale grey satin waistcoat.

  Her heart beat madly as she gazed on his face, having thought she would never set eyes on him again. Until that moment she had thought she remembered exactly what he looked like, his well-chiselled features stamped indelibly on her mind, but what she saw now did not resemble what she remembered of him. Everything about him exuded brute strength and his eyes bore down into hers with cynicism, his jaw set and ruthless.

  As she waited for him to speak to her, her eyes searching his granite features, she saw no sign of the passionate, sensual side to his nature, of the man who had held and kissed her with such tender passion. The expression on his face caused her an involuntary shiver, which was not one of pleasure. He moved closer, his penetrating stare relentless.

  “So—this is where you live,” he said without preliminaries, abruptly breaking the silence between them at last.

  “As you see,” Louisa replied with cool civility, prepared to be on the defensive, recognising that the stern set of his face and the thin line of his lips did not suggest much tolerance or forgiveness. “But I do not think you have come to talk about the house.”

  Alistair began pacing up and down in front of her in a slightly agitated manner, clearly angry at this unfortunate disturbance she had brought to his life.

  “I have to say this is an unfortunate turn-out,” he said sharply, with slight accusation. “Had I known this would happen I would never have got involved with you. It was bad enough finding out you are James Fraser’s sister, but to be told that you are to bear a child—my child, it would seem—is insupportable.”

  “It is a terrible thing that has happened—but it has and there it is. I—I behaved badly, I know. I was stupid, a naive fool, and I make no excuses for what I did. I was so desperate to retrieve my brother’s IOU from you to save us from ruin that it never entered my head that this would happen. I should have known there would be repercussions for my behaviour—but I expected nothing on this scale.”

  Alistair veered round, his eyes fierce, no longer able to control his anger. “You’re right. I should have sent you away the moment you arrived at my house. You came intent on deception and I cannot forgive you for that. I was deceived. You deceived me—and I was a fool to be taken in by you. I will never be able
to understand how you could stoop to lies and subterfuge to accomplish what you considered to be a worthy goal—how you could put practicality before ethics.”

  “What can I say? I’m sorry,” she said quietly, wondering how she could begin to defuse his wrath, her remembrance of the night they had spent in each other’s arms being how he’d had the ability to render her defenceless, causing her to fling caution and reason to the four winds. “I realise that you must despise me for what I’ve done, and I cannot say that I blame you.”

  “What you did no respectable woman would have dreamed of doing—which is a category from which you chose to eliminate yourself,” he said derisively.

  Louisa’s cheeks burned from the casual cruelty of the remark.

  “No matter what my feelings are regarding you, Miss Fraser,” Alistair went on coldly, fixing her with a piercing stare, “they must be cast aside for the time being. I am here to settle this unpleasant affair as quickly as possible and with the minimum of fuss. Before we go any further and I agree to a marriage taking place between us, I want to be absolutely certain that the child is mine.”

  Two high spots of indignation highlighted the flush on Louisa’s cheeks and a spark of anger flared in her eyes, while feeling astonishment at his words. Not for one moment had she thought she would receive an offer of marriage from him.

  “Of course the child is yours,” she said fiercely. “You are the only man I have ever been with. You saw the evidence with your own eyes—which you so brutally and coldly pointed out to me. I apologise for not being who and what you thought I was—a woman who had already dragged herself through the beds of half the gentlemen in the kingdom—but I cannot see why my being a virgin put you in such a state.”

  He gave her a hard look, his mouth tightening as he stared at her. “No, I don’t believe you would. Of course, you know that your brother came to see me?”

  “Yes, and if you must know I tried to prevent him—but in his outrage he wouldn’t listen. He feels responsible for my welfare, which is only natural, I suppose.”

  “He made that perfectly clear.”

  “The child need not concern you—and, indeed, I must say I am surprised that you have come here. You know very well that I never expected to see you again—especially after you condemned me in so cruel and harsh a manner.”

  “I said nothing you did not deserve,” he said, unrepentant. “But did you think I would abandon you—knowing this?”

  “Please do not feel you have a duty towards me. Whatever I want, it is not that—to hold you through some obligation that would make a mockery of what we shared that night, however brief it was.”

  There was no trace of gentleness on his handsome face, no softening when she reminded him of that night. His blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Don’t confuse physical desire with love. Just because you shared my bed—because I made love to you—does not mean you touched my heart. However, this changes things between us.”

  “It needn’t. You can go back to London and forget you ever came here—forget about me and the child. I promise you that I shall not come looking for you in the future.”

  Alistair threw her a look of angry exasperation. “You can be very stupid.”

  “Can I? I realise that the last thing you want is to marry me—and I do understand. If you will cast your mind back, it was never part of our agreement to go beyond that one night. What happened was entirely my fault. I accept that, but do not forget that it takes two to make a child, Lord Dunstan, and such a development is sometimes inevitable when a man and woman share the same bed—or so I was led to believe,” she said with heavy sarcasm.

  “I did not do it alone. I realise this complicates matters for you, and to avoid any embarrassment—either for you or for James—I intend going away until after the child is born. Contrary to what James said to you,” she said, with a proud lift to her chin, “I want nothing from you. Do not feel under any obligation.”

  He looked at her hard, distant and unresponsive. “I don’t. My obligation is towards the child. Since your brother left after imparting this information to me I have given the matter a great deal of careful thought, and I confess in the beginning nothing would have made me even contemplate marriage to you. I planned to make some money over to the child and put some in trust until a later date—but I would despise myself if I did not try to do better than that. You say the child is mine—which, because I already have a son, will not make him my heir should it be a boy—but he must be spared the stain of illegitimacy.”

  “And if it is a girl?”

  He looked at her coldly. “She will still be my daughter and Mark’s sister, and deserves better than what you intend for her.”

  “And how do you know what I intend, Lord Dunstan?”

  “I assume it is your intention to have the child adopted.”

  Louisa stared at him as if he had struck her. Alistair saw the pupils of her eyes dilate until the amber had almost disappeared, and all the blood drained from her face until even her lips were pale.

  “Then you do not know me,” she said, with so much anger in her voice that every word was clipped. “That is precisely the kind of arrogant assumption I would expect you to make. But you have never been more wrong. No matter what my circumstances are, if I were the poorest and meanest creature on God’s earth, nothing and no one will ever persuade me to part with my child. I’ve told you. I expect nothing, I want nothing from you. You are not required to marry me.”

  Alistair’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning furiously down into hers, while feeling a surge of relief and thankfulness that she had spoken as she had. “In all conscience it would appear I have no alternative, but it is certainly not to save your reputation that I do so. Get it through that pretty head of yours that I do not want to marry you—not you or anyone else. I have lived through one disastrous marriage, which taught me that it is an unpleasant experience I have no desire to repeat.”

  “I would have imagined you would have too much common sense to attribute to all women what you have experienced in one,” she said cuttingly.

  “You would say that. You, who showed me so much vulnerability, so much generous passion—a woman who in her loving was so like Marianne—putting me on the defensive. In my own fear of repetition I aim to make damned sure that I keep you at arm’s length. We will go through a ceremony—but a ceremony does not make a marriage. It will be no more than a formality. All you will get from me is my name and rank. It will be what the French call a marriage blanc. Pragmatically, it will be a marriage of convenience—in the best interests of the child—with nothing between us but the child, and what I am offering you is also a way of maintaining your honour and dignity. Of course, I would have preferred none of this to have happened, but my child is paramount to all else.”

  Louisa looked at him coldly. “Our child, Lord Dunstan,” she countered. “Still, I am glad to see you are not entirely without self-interest,” she said scathingly.

  “What else? It will hardly be a matter of love. In fact, I no longer know what the word means. Marianne burned almost every emotion out of me. Poets may write about it. Balladeers may sing about it. It exists for others—but not for me. So, despite the feelings and emotions we aroused in each other on that night we came together, the depths of passion we reached, do not fool yourself into believing ours will be a love match. I might even go so far as to say that, under the circumstances, it will be a forced marriage—and, for myself, a source of bitter regret,” he rasped, his voice low and harsh within the silence of the trees.

  Louisa glared at him, wondering what Marianne had done to cause so much hatred—or what he was guilty of as far as Marianne was concerned that had made her turn from him to someone else.

  “Spare me your sentiments on love, Lord Dunstan,” she scoffed furiously, feeling the need to give back hurt for hurt. “I comprehend perfectly how you feel. But what makes you imagine I want to be your wife when you insult and degrade me at every turn—when you make me an
offer of marriage so unwillingly? You have certainly said nothing that can tempt me into accepting to live in such a miserable state for the rest of my life with a man who despises me. How dare you assume that marriage to you is a solution to all my troubles,” she cried, “when you’re the cause of them? I am certain that marriage to you would make them a thousand times worse. I would rather live in wretchedness than submit to that.”

  Alistair’s eyes blazed suddenly, with the incredible blueness of a sapphire, as he felt the savagery of her words goad him to further anger. “You brought this on yourself. You chose your own fate,” he snarled, his voice so strong and vibrant that Louisa recoiled from it. “You offered yourself to me for the sake of your home. You wanted to retain it so badly that you were prepared to run any risk for it. I can understand that in a way, but there are some risks that nothing can justify. If you play with fire you must be able to take the consequences.”

  Rage rose up like flames licking inside Louisa. “Ever since my parents died I have never been accountable to anyone for my actions—not even to James, who, regardless of the fact that he was my guardian, was never here anyway. As far as he was concerned, Bierlow Hall was only an asset—something he could sell—to whittle away slowly to feed his gambling. And the way I see it you are no better. I cannot forget that his ruin was inflicted by you.”

  Alistair’s eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously with anger. “And in that you are mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so,” she went on recklessly, the colour heightening on her cheeks as she glared at him with bitter accusation, heedless of his mounting rage. “You knew his situation and yet you continued to raise the stakes of the game higher and higher until he had nothing left. It was clear to me that night, Lord Dunstan, that for some selfish, malicious reason of your own—which no motive in the world can excuse and which I have no wish to know about—you derive immense pleasure from riding roughshod over everyone, especially those whose situation in life is not equal to your own. Anyone in situations such as these should be treated with compassion, not derision and scorn. Where James was concerned you succeeded admirably, and I can only pity anyone else who has the misfortune to stumble into your path. All this is largely of your doing.”