Page 11 of The Blighter and the Bluestocking

Let him send the flowers if he wanted to waste time and money. A house could always use more flowers.

Chapter 7

TRUETOHISWORD,Arthur had sent flowers in increasing volume throughout the week. And true to her nature, she knew they would not sway her. Although they may have softened her a touch. For on the eighth day, when no flowers arrived, she couldn’t in all honesty say she wasn’t disappointed.

So it was, that at midnight, as she lay in her bed, wrestling with her sheets, her mild irascibility turned up a notch to waspishness when she heard a pattern rapping against her window. It could not be a deuced bird at this time of night, could it?

She threw open her coverlet and marched over to the window, intent on waving away her source of annoyance.

Much to her chagrin, who should be there, but not a bird of course, it was the flower-giving-flower-stopping duke himself.

She pushed the window open.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, hands akimbo.

“Hello, Blue. I should think it obvious what a man is doing when he presents himself at a lady’s window at midnight. Or really, any time.”

The boyish smirk on his face unarmed her. Drat, he was devilishly handsome. And he had left his cravat at home. She would have to find another reaction to attempt. If any experimentation was going to happen. Which it wasn’t. Or it might.

He rose to his full stature, dwarfing her with his wide shoulders and thick, muscular torso. She had felt the same way when he stood behind her at his desk. And she gloried in it.

“Did you like the flowers?”

“I’m sure they have made the house quite the botanical sight.”

He smiled. It was contagious. Really, she couldn’t help herself. The curl of her lips dragged itself upward on both sides.

“That’s lovely to hear.” He reached into his jacket, for the inside pocket, and withdrew a small wrapped object. “I have something for you.”

Giddiness, yes giddiness, churned inside of her.

“Open it.”

“I believe I shall. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve opened it.”

“Regardless of what it is, it’s always nice to receive a gift.”

“Unless it’s something foul.”

“Is it something foul?”

“Just open it.” He prompted her to sit down on the edge of her bed. Dangerous, that.

Is what she would have thought if she had been paying attention to the location where she sat, which she hadn’t been.

Slowly, she pulled back the paper and exposed a small bell.

She held it up and was about to shake it when Arthur grabbed it, smuggling the sound.

“Have you lost your mind? If you ring that, someone will hear and waltz right in on us. You know what that would lead to.” He eyed her.

Unwilling to admit her folly, she retorted, “You’d think you’d be happy about an arranged marriage considering the events of the past week.”

His eyes were coal black, “I would not be happy about that. I would never want to rob you of your choice.”

Her heart melted. That was more like what she needed to hear in a proposal.

---