Page 21 of Desperate Proposals
A position made all the more insecure by her father, who was unhappy to content himself with calm, familial pursuits like cards or lawn bowls. No, Baron Methering was forever seeking the next dangerous thrill, whether it be climbing or equestrianism. When she was a child, and even in her younger adulthood, Evelyn had believed her father would always keep her safe. But he’d barely spoken more than a handful of sentences to her since Edmund’s death. No contingencies were arranged, nothing was discussed. The only one to save Evelyn would be herself.
“So, Miss Wolfenden. Three months on and still unwed.” Mr. Hartley spoke as if he could read her thoughts.
Evelyn did not want to meet his eye. But she did.
“Is this what you consider haste, then?” He slid forward—just one step, but a step closer than before.
That annoying buzzing of her heart started again.
His voice slowed, dragging out his words. “Or is it that you’ve been unable to find a suitable groom?”
“It is hardly any of your concern.”
“Oh?”
He moved again, and now loomed over her, as close as any respectable lady would allow. But she did not back away, nor cry him off. Up so close, she could see him quite well. He’d those blue eyes under straight brows, and she watched as they studiedher, traveling from her face down to her hands, which were now folded primly before her. And though she loathed to admit it, he actually smelled quite nice—a warm, peppery scent that complemented him and his rich voice quite well. She suddenly felt quite hot, and also expectant. Of what exactly, she could not say, so she remained still, waiting.
“What if I were to make it my concern?”
Evelyn turned away, hiding her confusion. For a moment, the muffled sound of Italian warbling from inside the guildhall seemed deafening. She sensed, very intensely, that Mr. Hartley sought to lead her down a treacherous path.Such an odd feeling, she thought, but it brought her no closer to understanding. Once more she held her tongue.
“Miss Wolfenden,” he murmured.
A shiver cascaded down her back. She ought to have worn a thicker outer layer, if only to protect herself from ungracious politicians.
“I’ve done little to deserve the confidences disclosed to me this past summer.”
That was certainly true. Evelyn turned her head slightly. Mr. Hartley stood very near her shoulder. She held steady.
“Trust that I mean no harm by…” He paused as another round of applause emanated from the guildhall. He looked sidelong down the green.
Evelyn now turned completely, squinting into the distance in the direction of his glance. There was nothing there of note. But something about standing alongside him, both of them watching the horizon, relaxed the tension between her shoulders. Without his eyes on her, she felt more at ease.
“I’ve been ungentlemanly toward you,” he started again, this time with more force behind his words. “And to your family. Since my election, I mean. I ought to have… well. At any rate, it’snot just that night, when you came to me in need of assistance and I behaved—”
“Deplorably,” Evelyn supplied.
He blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t venture to say—”
“Really?” Evelyn tilted her head, considering him. “I would.”
“Alright then. I behaved deplorably.” He sighed.
“My father says you’re mad,” Evelyn continued. “A liberal zealot.”
“Speak of me often, does he?”
“No,” she said breezily. “What is there to speak of, really? I only recall his ire when no one stood against you.”
“I would very much enjoy speaking with Baron Methering.”
She turned to meet his gaze; his expression was somewhere between enraged and enraptured. Such a strange man.
“I doubt the feeling would be mutual.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“No?” He chuckled softly, shaking his head at some private jest. “Perhaps not.”
It suggested once more his annoying forwardness, his grating nerve.
