Page 7 of The Proposition
His voice made her shudder. Clemency forced herself to remember the promise she had just made to herself, that she would be stone. No man, however handsome or intriguing, would infiltrate her defenses again. She continued advancing toward him, her anger rising with each step.
“You were spying on me.”
The man inclined his head slightly. He took up almost the entire doorframe, tall and commanding as an oak. A careless mane of black curls fell over one equally dark brow. Somemight have considered his face too severe, sculpted by a hand that had no patience for excess, but that sparseness only enhanced his best feature, his vivid green eyes.
Lock. Sphinx. Stone.
Just green,Clemency assured herself.Not verdant or leaping or paralyzing, just green.
“Forgive me for doing so.” The man bowed slightly once more. When he looked at her again, he smirked. “You two were making rather a noticeable commotion.”
Clemency sighed and glanced down at her feet. “We were, weren’t we? My passion moved me to impropriety, sir. If you have come all this way to scold me, then fear not, I am now contrite.”
His smile deepened, dimples carving themselves around his lips. “You mistake me, I have not come to scold. I have come to lift your spirits.”
Clemency almost snorted. Instead, she rolled her eyes and wiped at her tearstained face again. “Then you have come in vain. My spirits are quite unliftable, sir.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” There was something curious about his voice, an accent of sorts, almost too subtle to detect. He moved deeper into the room, the shadows lifting from his face. Clemency admitted to herself, in an academic sort of way, that this stranger was cuttingly handsome, not soft and boyishly attractive like Boyle, but with a hollow-cheeked, hungry look about him. Dangerous.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Fry.”
Clemency glanced at the hearth behind her. She wasn’t sure she could dash around him quickly enough to make an escape, and the only other route was back, and straight into a fire. “We have not been introduced, sir.”
“Now we have,” he insisted, opening his right hand and then sweeping it toward his chest. “My name is Audric Ferrand, and I have traveled from Marseille to Round Orchard with one aim and one aim only….”
“And what is that?” Clemency saw a muscle twitch along his jaw, and felt the fire roar hotter behind her, as if stirred to higher flames by the sheer intensity she saw, then, in his gaze.
“To ruin the reputation, name, and livelihood of Turner Boyle. To that end, Miss Fry, I think you will find collaboration would benefit us both.”
4
To her credit, Clemency Fry waited at least a moment before balking at his suggestion.
“You are a stranger to me, sir,” she reminded him. In trying to avoid him, she had gotten so close to the fire that he was afraid she might singe her skirts. “And an impertinent one at that. I am meant to marry Lord Boyle, why on earth should I wish to damage his reputation? Any disgrace he suffered would be mine to suffer too.”
Audric had expected resistance; in fact, had she agreed to help him without inquiry, then he would have immediately questioned her sanity. But he had not expected to be granted such a shocking boon; having overheard their argument on the terrace, he came equipped with plenty of sharp edges to chip away at her defenses.
“Not if you were to cut off any understanding.”
“Oh?” She raised one pretty little brow. “And why would I do that? Simply because you, a stranger, asked?”
“No, of course not, though I should think the way he spoke to you just now outside should be justification enough.” Audric made a wide circle around her, planting himself near the hearth. This allowed her to escape, if she sochose, and he wanted her to have that option. None of his plans would work if she felt forced into the arrangement. She had to decide for herself.
She had towantto see the cur destroyed.
In an ideal world, Clemency Fry would desire it as much as he did, might even be one of his clients, but that was probably impossible. She retreated to the middle of the library, drawing half away from him, as if shielding herself from an oncoming blast.
“So youwerespying.”
Audric shrugged and swiveled toward the fire, holding out his hands to warm them idly. “Gathering information, more like.”
“Right. Spying.” Clemency rolled her bright gray eyes.
He could confess to himself that her beauty was something of a relief. If—when—she agreed to his plan, they might eventually marry, or at least mimic a courtship, and a sudden infatuation with a lovely young girl was easy enough to explain away. To the inevitable nosy gossips, it would not look at all suspicious. And her forthright manner, generally an unattractive quality in a woman, also made her uniquely suited to this challenge. The role she had been cast in required tenacity and wit, and a softer, duller girl would notdo.
No, Clemency Fry had been perfectly cast. She simply did not know it yet.
“I do hope he was a degree or two more civil during your courtship,” Audric said. She was already shuffling toward the door, evidently intrigued by his bizarre proposal, but also smart enough to be wary of it. As stated, perfectly cast.Audric couldn’t help but pat himself on the back—it was all going to align just so. “If a man spoke to my sister the way Boyle spoke to you, I should hide him raw.”
