Page 8 of The Proposition
Clemency blushed and froze, and he could swear the smallest smile flickered across her lips before she reined it back in. Indeed, he did not doubt the image he had just conjured for her was all that displeasing. “The nature of our courtship is none of your business, Mr. Ferrand, and before I leave you, I will politely suggest that you take less interest in the affairs of strangers.”
She began to go, the elegant train of her sapphire-blue dress whispering across the library rugs.
Audric calculated carefully, waiting until she was almost to the door, pitching his voice low, but still loud enough for her to catch as she left. “And what a sordid affair it is.”
It was almost too easy, pulling her strings. He somewhat hoped the other portions of his plan would be more satisfying to execute. She stopped midstride, then gradually spun to look at him, sending a withering glance in his direction. Continuing to warm his hands, he feigned surprise at her return. Streaking across the floor like a blue comet, she marched right up to him. At that range, her eyes were even more striking, and they were shining with violence.
“Pray, say that again.”
“I said nothing that should surprise you,” Audric told her evenly. “The man you have attached yourself to is not who you think he is.”
Clemency craned her neck back, her full lips pulling down into a grimace. “First and foremost, I did notattach myselfto him like a barnacle to the bottom of a ship. We are engaged by mutual affection….”
“Indeed. It certainly sounded mutual.”
“Second.” She forced herself to go on, though she had turned flat white with rage. “Say more about the other thing. Quickly.”
Audric tilted his head to the side, bemused. “But, madam, as you so helpfully instructed, it is better to not take interest in the affairs of strangers.”
Clemency shook her head, the reddish-gold ringlets framing her face burnished brighter by the fire behind him. “Ah, but it sounds as if you are acquainted with Lord Boyle, in which case you are not a stranger after all.”
“I see.” For a moment, he considered toying with her for a while longer. But he had not come to Round Orchard to torment her. She seemed as ignorant of her fiancé’s true nature as everyone else in the village. Audric had no wish to hurt innocents, and she had suffered enough indignation for one evening. “May I ask how long you have known the man?”
Her shoulders relaxing, her eyes losing their lustrous fury, Clemency walked a few paces to a nearby study table. She dropped down onto one of the chairs there, watching him intently. “You may. I was introduced to him last June, as the season ended. We began discussing a more permanent attachment at Christmas, though my father’s health has made him something of a recluse.”
“Then your time with him has been mercifully short,” Audric said, nodding. It was no wonder the rogue had kept her interest this long, though he questioned whether Boyle could hide his true colors from her much longer. Judging by their exchange on the terrace, his mask was already beginning to slip. “I myself have had the misfortune of knowing him nearly five years.”
“Five years!” Her eyes widened. “But he has never mentioned you!”
“No, I suspect he does not remember my name, and if he does, he never thinks of me. We are not friends, Miss Fry; I have known him for half a decade, knownofhim. Watched him deceive and dance his way around society, observed his wake from London to Paris and back again, ever one step ahead of the justice he deserves….” Audric realized his right fist was clenched so tightly that his nails had nearly drawn blood. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that she need not know everything yet. It was better, in truth, if she remained ignorant of many things.
“Heavens, is he a criminal?” she asked, a dove-like hand clutched over her heart. “But how could that be? He is a baron!”
Audric caught the full-throated laugh before it erupted. “Miss Fry, forgive me, but I very much doubt he is a true baron.”
The poor thing had flattened herself against the back of the chair. Such a revelation could not be easy to hear.
“I cannot believe that….” she murmured, tears filming her eyes.
“These are not allegations I would make lightly,” Audric continued. “I have evidence, of course.”
“Evidence!”
Audric jerked his head up and away from her at the sound of footsteps. They were hurried ones, and before he could say another word, a red-faced girl in an elaborate rose-colored dress swept into the library. She huffed and puffed as she peered inside the door, caught sight of Miss Fry, and yelped.
“Miss Fry! There you are!”
Clemency leapt to her feet and took a few unsteady steps toward the girl in pink. “I am here, Miss Pickford, is something amiss?”
“I’m afraid so.” Miss Pickford grasped her bosom, desperate for air. “Your poor sister has fainted. Your mother says it is just the heat, but your family is taking her home now as a precaution.”
“Oh…Yes. Yes, of course.” Clemency spoke as if rousing herself from a dream. Her eyes flashed in his direction, but already Miss Pickford was leading her away. “I will come to Honora at once. Mr. Ferrand…”
Clemency paused at the door, one hand on the frame as she twisted toward him. It was impossible to read what lay hidden in her stare, but he had a strong feeling it would not be the last time he saw those beguiling gray eyes.
“Mr. Ferrand, you will excuse me,” she said, making her curtsey.
He grinned and bowed to her. “Go to your sister, Miss Fry. Worry not, I will see to it that we meet again, and soon.”
