A Most Improper Proposal

by Gail Whitiker

  His smile broadened and turned sensual. 'As do you, my dear, for I have carried the memory of what you looked like with your clothes off close to my heart since last July.'

  The comment was meant to put her off stride— and it did. 'A gentleman would not remind a lady that he had seen her...en deshabille,' Desiree said, struggling to recover her composure.

  'And as I told you last year, Miss Nash, I am no gentleman. That has not changed.'

  Desiree was grateful that he did not repeat the other assertion he had made last year. Namely, that she was not a lady.

  'But never mind that,' Sebastian continued. 'I think it is time that we made some proper introductions. And in the absence of anyone to do it for us, I shall take the liberty of doing it myself. I am, as I think you already know, Sebastian Moore, Viscount Buckworth. And you are...?'

  Desiree took a deep breath and clasped her reticule a little tighter. 'Miss Desiree Nash.'

  She saw his eyes widen in amusement. 'Desiree. From the Latin, Desirata. She who is desired.' A devilish look came into his eyes. 'How appropriate.'

  His knowledge of Latin took her completely by surprise, and in spite of herself, Desiree smiled. 'Sebastian. From the Greek, Sebestyen. To be...revered.' Her eyes took on a decided sparkle of their own. 'How decidedly less so.'

  'Oh-ho! I think that I shall have to mind my words around you, Miss Nash. At least until I have found out, and can use to my advantage, some of your own... weaknesses.'

  There was a distinctly sensual undertone to his words, and it served to remind Desiree of the reason she was here. For all their bandying about of words, Lord Buckworth was not looking at her as a social or intellectual equal. He was looking at her as the woman who would soon warm his bed. 'Lord Buckworth, I—'

  'Sebastian.'

  Desiree stared at him in dismay. 'My lord, our acquaintance is not—'

  'Of the kind that makes it necessary for us to engage in formal language,' Sebastian interrupted smoothly. 'At least, not in the intimacy of our chambers... Desiree.'

  Her name was the softest whisper on his lips, and the words Desiree had been about to utter completely deserted her. Oh yes, he certainly had a way with women. He had likely only to speak their names in that honeyed way to have them melt into his waiting arms. Well, she did not intend to melt. In fact, as soon as she got to London, she was going to...

  Abruptly, Desiree stopped. She was not going to be doing anything for herself when she got to London. Because the moment she did, she would be occupied with duties of a different kind entirely.

  She had applied to this man for his protection. And liking what he had seen in the forest all those months ago, he had agreed to take her to London and to establish her there as his mistress.

  As soon as she got to London, that was what she was going to be doing.

  Desiree hung her head, fighting back a wave of shame and embarrassment. Dear Lord, what had she done? What had she sentenced herself to? She could not even take pleasure from the fact that Lord Buckworth had remembered her, or that his response to her query had come so swiftly. Indeed, she almost wished now that he had retained no memory of her at all and that she had been left to find some other means of employment. At least as a servant she might have aspired to some level of dignity. What had she left of any worth now?

  'Your carriage awaits, my dear,' Sebastian asked softly. 'Shall we go?'

  Desiree could not meet his eyes. She was heartsick at being unable to think of an answer to her dilemma. Truly, she was no better off here than she had been at the pool last summer. For just as he had there, Sebastian Moore had the advantage of her here as well.

  The first half hour of their journey passed in silence. Desiree kept her face turned towards the window as they drove the half mile to the tiny hamlet of Steep Ride, and then on to Abbot Giles. In her heart, she bid a silent farewell to the countryside that was as familiar to her as her own name. They passed by the church where Mr Hartwell delivered his sermons every Sunday, and then past the tiny cottage where Lucinda Beattie, the former vicar's spinster sister lived.

  Desiree knew them all. She had met them at Lady Perceval's annual summer fete, held on the grounds of Perceval Hall. It was one of the few times in the year when everyone from servant to master met to play games and enjoy the day—even teachers from Mrs Guarding's Academy. From there they passed through the southern tip of Giles Wood before connecting with the road which, three miles on, would put them on the main Northampton to London road. From there, it was on to London and her new home.

  As if sensing her need for time, Sebastian did not press her for conversation. He seemed content to let her stare through the window, letting her thoughts take her where they would. But she knew that in the closed confines of the carriage he watched her. She could feel his eyes on her, inspecting every inch of her appearance from the tip of her light brown hair to the toes of her serviceable brown boots.

  Finally, as they left the Abbey villages behind, Desiree drew a long, deep breath. Her past was precisely that now. Something she was leaving behind in the dust raised by the carriage wheels.

  'You claimed there was nothing holding you to the area,' Sebastian said quietly, 'and yet, I cannot help but remark on the regret and unhappiness I see in your face at leaving it, Desiree.'

  His comment was perceptive, and the tone in which he offered it surprisingly gentle. Desiree sighed and drew her eyes away from the window. 'When one has lived and worked in a place for so many years, my lord, one develops a certain attachment to it, even if it is only for the comfort of the routine it has provided.'

  'Are you fond of routine?'

  'I am comfortable with it,' she repeated. 'There is a difference.'

  'Yes, I suppose there is. But as a woman who would cast off her clothes and swim in the river, you do not strike me as the type who would be comfortable with routine.'

  A fierce blush suffused Desiree's cheeks. 'I hope you do not intend to keep reminding me of that occasion at every opportunity, my lord?'

  Sebastian smiled at her irritation. 'Not at every opportunity, no. But it did leave a lasting impression upon my mind.'

  Desiree studiously avoided his gaze.

  'You mentioned that you worked in the area,' he commented as the silence lengthened again. 'What manner of employment did you leave?'

  Desiree's first inclination was to remain silent. After all, what need was there for him to know anything about her past life or what she had done in it?

  'I am not trying to pry, Desiree,' he said, as if reading her thoughts. 'But the hours will pass more quickly if we endeavour to fill them with amiable conversation. Or at least with the exchange of useful information.'

  Realising that it served no useful purpose to prevaricate, Desiree took another deep breath and raised her eyes to his. 'I was...a teacher at Mrs Guarding's Academy for Girls.'

  He smiled his mercurial smile. 'A teacher?'

  'Yes. Of Latin, Greek, and philosophy.'

  This time he stared at her in astonishment. 'Good Lord, it would seem that I have indeed taken up the company of a bluestocking.'

  Desiree blushed. The term was not generally flattering, but it was hard to tell from Sebastian's tone what his true feelings on the subject were. 'Does that bother you?' she asked, almost hoping to hear him say that it would.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that she was mistaken in her assessment of him.

  'Surprised? Yes. Bothered? On the contrary, it will no doubt provide us with ample subjects upon which to converse when we are not otherwise engaged.'

  His meaning was perfectly clear, and once again, Desiree felt her cheeks grow warm. Heavens, would she never be able to stop blushing in the man's presence?

  'Mrs Guarding's Academy has a reputation for being somewhat forward-thinking, as I recall,' Sebastian said conversationally. 'Did you enjoy being a teacher there?'

  It was Desiree's turn to be surprised. She had not expected a London rake to be familiar with the reputation of a c
ountry school, no matter how illustrious some might consider it to be. 'I always enjoyed the subjects I taught,' she said carefully, 'perhaps more than I enjoyed the teaching of them.'

  'I take that to mean that not all of your students were as anxious to receive instruction in the ancient languages and philosophies as you were to provide it?' he ventured.

  Despite her feelings of awkwardness, Desiree was able to dredge up a smile. 'Most of them were. In fact, I believe that some of the girls asked to be sent to Guarding's because of the opportunity it allowed them to study subjects which most other girls' schools viewed as strictly male-oriented. The philosophies of Aristotle, for example, are not generally discussed among ladies of a certain social class.'

  'Pity,' Sebastian observed. 'It might make for more enjoyable time spent in their company if they were.'

  Desiree flicked him a look of surprise. 'You are familiar with the teachings of Aristotle?'

  'Not as familiar as you, perhaps, but I am acquainted with some of his more common precepts. But tell me, Miss Desiree Nash,' Sebastian said, 'if you enjoyed being a teacher at Mrs Guarding's excellent academy and were comfortable with the routine it provided, why did you apply to me?'

  Desiree hesitated. She had prepared herself for this question. Anticipated it, in fact. But now that she had been asked and was faced with having to tell him an outright lie, she found that the words of deception would not come so easily to her lips.

  'I felt the need for a...change in my life,' she said, stumbling a little over the words. 'I wanted to see something of the world, and I could not imagine doing that from the confines of a girls' school.'

  He regarded her in silence for a moment with those piercing blue eyes. 'So you applied to a man you had met on the bank of a river and asked him if he would take you on as his mistress.'

  His words were blunt and Desiree had no doubt he meant them to be. But it was too late to change her story now. 'I saw in your offer a chance to... broaden my horizons,' she replied softly.

  Thankfully, this time his reply came in the form of a throaty chuckle. 'Well, it's been called many things, Desiree, but I doubt it's ever been called an opportunity to broaden one's horizons.' His eyes caught and held hers. 'So there was no reason other than this sudden lust for adventure which prompted your writing a letter to me and asking me to take you to London as my mistress.'

  Again, Desiree flinched. She wished she could think of something else to say, but there was nothing. Besides, what was the point in telling him the truth? Would he think any better of her for having been told that she had been caught in a compromising position with one of the girl's fathers? More importantly, would he believe her?

  Of course he wouldn't—why should he? He had seen nothing in her behaviour thus far to lead him to believe that she was a fine upstanding young woman. He had already accused her of being less than a lady by swimming half-naked in a public place. Now she was sitting in his carriage on the way to London to become his mistress. What kind of credibility did that lend her?

  'Desiree?' he prompted.

  'I told you...I was simply looking for a change,' Desiree repeated stubbornly. 'Is it so out of the realm of possibility to think that a five-and-twenty-year-old spinster might wish to have a change at this time in her life?'

  The bitterness in her voice astonished her—as did the fact that hot tears of dismay were welling up in her eyes. What did this fine London gentleman know of humiliation? What manner of social injustice had the lofty Viscount Buckworth ever been forced to endure? Certainly nothing that would have induced him to turn his back on everything he knew to cast himself into the path of destruction.

  Desiree quickly averted her face, blinking hard to keep the hot tears from disgracing her—and then caught her breath when she felt the warmth of Sebastian's large hand on her arm.

  'No one is forcing you to do this, Desiree,' he said in his deep, quiet voice. 'You have only to say the word and I shall turn the carriage around and take you back to Steep Abbot. I have no wish to force myself upon you. But when I received your letter, I thought it was your desire to become my mistress. If that is not the case, tell me now and let that be an end to it. No wrong has been committed and I will not be offended. And I am sure Mrs Guarding will be happy to take you back. After all, how many young ladies with a background in Greek, Latin and philosophy is she likely to have encountered within the space of a few days?'

  The sentiments, which were expressly intended to offer her comfort, were the last things Desiree expected from Lord Buckworth. She had not expected compassion or understanding from a man who was well known to be a rake and womanizer. He was giving her an opportunity to turn around; to go back before her reputation was well and truly lost.

  And for a moment, just for a moment, she was tempted to do it. But what had she to gain by it? What possible good could be achieved by her returning to Mrs Guarding's Academy now?

  Sadly, the question provided its own answer.

  'My lord—'

  'Sebastian.'

  Desiree offered him a faint smile. 'Sebastian. It is...very good of you to be so...understanding of my circumstances and I thank you for your consideration. But I...do not wish to change my mind. I have made my decision and I must stand by it.'

  Besides, it was already too late, Desiree reminded herself. She could not turn back now even if she wanted to. The damage to her reputation had already been done. Lord Perry had seen to that. The gates to her past were closed and locked.

  Sebastian sat back against the squabs and studied her. 'All human actions have one or more of these seven causes,' he recited quietly. 'Chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, desire.'

  Desiree smiled. 'Aristotle knew much of men and their actions, but it was Sophocles who said, fortune is not on the side of the faint-hearted.'

  'So you go to London to seek your fortune, Miss Desiree Nash?' Sebastian enquired.

  'I go to London to seek my future.' Desiree met his gaze straight on. 'Only time will tell what manner of fortune it holds.'

  They stopped for lunch at a roadside inn. Sebastian secured a private room in which they might dine, and while it was a pleasant enough place, it was there Desiree experienced first-hand what life as Sebastian's mistress would be like— both the good and the bad of it.

  To the good, Sebastian was a perfect gentleman. He was kind and attentive to her needs, and ensured that she had everything she required. But while her clothing was respectable, the fact that she was travelling with a gentleman who was clearly a member of the aristocracy, and that she did so without benefit of a maid or chaperone, proclaimed her to be either a family member or his mistress.

  Had she been a better actress, Desiree might have been able to convince those around her that she was indeed, Sebastian's sister or niece. Unfortunately, the lack of ease with which she moved in his company soon put paid to those circumstances. And judging by the way the innkeeper and his wife kept looking at her, and then at each other, Desiree knew that they had made their own assessment of the situation.

  She was exceedingly grateful when they got on the road again.

  Thankfully, the weather was clement and they made good time. Sebastian dozed for an hour or so in the afternoon, allowing Desiree to relax a little and enjoy the passing scenery. It had been a long time since she had travelled through this part of the country, and it was exciting to see how, or if, it had changed. But in truth, Desiree did not find the countryside nearly as interesting as the man who was sitting across from her.

  For the first time, she was able to take a good look at this man with whom her immediate future was now irrevocably entwined. She observed that his hair was not black as she had first thought, but a very dark shade of brown into which a few stray streaks of grey had found their way. His eyelashes were surprisingly long and of the same dark shade as his hair and brows. In sleep, his face was as relaxed as that of a child. Desiree found herself able to admire the shape of his wide brow and the fine, aristocratic n
ose.

  His fingers were laced together across his chest and he had unbuttoned his jacket for greater comfort. Yes, his clothes would certainly proclaim him for the gentleman that he was, Desiree acknowledged. His Hessians shone with a gleam indicative of an attentive valet, and the superb manner in which his clothes fitted his large body gave evidence of a tailor worthy of his craft. But beneath all the trappings of wealth and class, what was this man called Sebastian Moore really like?

  As was his habit, Sebastian woke quickly, rising from the depths of slumber to instant consciousness. His eyes snapped open and he found the soft green eyes of his companion fixed upon him. Seconds later, he saw the colour rise to her cheeks—and watched her eyes dart quickly away. 'Too late, Aphrodite,' he murmured in a throaty voice. 'I caught you looking. Do you approve of what you see?'

  'You are...mistaken, my lord,' Desiree assured him hastily. 'I merely...chanced to look in your direction as your eyes were opening. I was actually engaged in a study of the scenery beyond.'

  Smiling, Sebastian drew himself into a sitting position and stretched. 'You know, there is something which has been niggling at me ever since I received your note. A bit of information which I would like to have clarified.'

  Desiree glanced at him warily. 'What information is that?'

  'Just before we parted last summer, I told you that my name was Sebastian Moore. At the time, you evidenced no knowledge as to who I was and I assumed that you would have no reason to. And yet, the letter I received in London was addressed to Sebastian Moore, Viscount Buckworth. How did you learn of my identity? And this time, I will have the truth, Desiree,' Sebastian warned her. 'You do not have the face to lie. Your pretty green eyes give you away.'

  A dark shadow of lashes dropped down over those enchanting eyes, but a few moments later when they lifted again, Sebastian could see that they were clear. 'Well?'