Page 51 of A Scandalous Proposal

"Did Brent come with you?" Out of the silence, Evan's question startled her.

"N-no. He...he's left London for a time. To tend his horses in Ireland, he said."

"He generally does this time of year. I expect he'll be back soon. He'll not want to be away from you long."

"We...we don't see each other very much now."

He turned slightly toward her. "Don't see—Emily, have you quarreled? I half expected to hear you were engaged."

"Engaged?"

"Yes. Brent gave me to understand he expected you would soon accept his suit."

"Brent told you we were about to become betrothed?"

"He certainly hoped so."

Could that be the reason for this cold, impersonal response? An upsurge of hope coursed through her.

"Evan, I'm not betrothed to Brent. 'Tis true he made me an offer, which to my shame I didn't refuse out of hand."

"Perhaps you should reconsider. He's a fine man and would make a superior husband. I know he loves you deeply."

As a reaction, that was hardly encouraging. "I...I had another fine man in mind."

"I must wish you well, then."

Her strained nerves frayed to breaking. “Damn and blast, Evan, I meant you!"

He seemed almost to...recoil. Was the thought that distasteful to him? Her confidence, never high, wavered further.

"Why would you wish to marry me?" he asked quietly. "You are beautiful, wealthy, and could have your pick of any unmarried gentleman in London. By the way, congratulations on your inheritance. Manners wrote me you'd paid the mortgage on our—your house in full." He lifted his chin and stared once more determinedly away from her. “I expect you didn't want even that link remaining to remind you of a past...you'd rather forget."

'"Tis not that at all! Actually, I had hoped my paying off the debt would at least generate a note from you."

He smiled, more of a grimace. "As you can doubtless see, my writing skills have deteriorated of late. Emily, I know you once held me in...affection, but I'm not the man I once was."

In body...or spirit? She had to know. "In what way?" she whispered.

"I should think that was rather obvious."

“If you are speaking of your scars, those are badges of honor of which any man should be proud. Andrea told me what you've done. You're a hero, Evan."

He made a scornful noise. "Hardly. I had some small part in bringing down a smuggling operation. Not the stuff of which legends are made."

“What, then, is a hero? Do you think soldiers in uniform do more? My husband took part in eight battles, was wounded four times and twice mentioned in the dispatches, but never could he boast a battle won by his efforts. He persevered, fought valiantly and perhaps inspired others to fight better, no more."

"Honoring his commitments and fulfilling his duty," he paraphrased quietly.

"Exactly. When you left England, you did not think of safety or convenience or self, only of doing what must be done, regardless of risk. That's a hero in my eyes. As for your wounds...I much prefer a live hero to a dead one."

His face twisted and he turned his head even further from her. His voice, when he finally spoke, was ragged and so low she could barely hear him. "I don't want your pity."

Pity? Is that what he feared? At last he'd shown some spark of emotion, said something that recalled Andrea's predictions. Emily would soon put that fear to rest.

Assuming she could bring herself to the sticking point before she lost what little nerve she still possessed.

As it had so many months before when she'd steeled herself to invite his illicit offer, her heart started to pound and she felt dizzy.

"Did you not wonder why I'd come to visit? I've something special for you."

"Indeed," he replied, falling back into that cool, maddeningly disinterested voice.

"Do you not wish to see it?" Why was he making this so hard? Exasperation pushing her to greater boldness, she leaned over and held out a paper. With her other hand she seized his injured one. "Here, read this."

For a moment she thought he might use his good hand to snatch the useless one back from her grasp. Instead, slowly, grudgingly, he took the paper, keeping his eyes averted as he flipped it open.

Then he let the paper fall and for the first time looked straight at her, astonishment on his face.

"It...it's a special license. Emily, what in the world..."

"Will you marry me, Evan Mansfield? Be my hero now and forever, for the rest of my days? And I warn you, if you refuse I'm likely to buy the house next door—I'm a wealthy woman now, you know—build a willow cottage by your gate and pine away until you relent."

The barest wisp of a smile touched his lips. "Emily, that's ridiculous."

"No more ridiculous than the two of us loving each other and remaining apart. Oh, Evan, we truly worked at cross-purposes once, both of us keeping silent when we should have spoken out. Let us commit no more sins of omission! I love you and I shall not go away unless you convince me you no longer care at all for me."

"Ah, Emily." Now that he'd turned to her, she could see the yearning in his gaze. For the first time in this interview she felt a renewal of the euphoria that had gripped her when Andrea first conveyed the news of their engagement's end. No, he was not indifferent.

"You may think you do the right thing coming here, Emily, and it's so like you—bold, brave and beautiful woman that you are. Which is precisely why you deserve better than a crippled—''

She put a finger to his lips, effectively stopping his sentence.

"Tell me you don't want this," she murmured, finally beginning to enjoy herself. She slid her arms around his neck, brought her face close to his. "Tell me you want me to go away."

He closed his eyes. "I want you to—"

She kissed him. For perhaps half a second he resisted. Then his good arm came up to pull her roughly against him. He kissed her with the desperate intensity of a man finding faith again after believing all hope was lost.

She returned the favor. After some marvelously breathless moments that set her heart pounding and excited promising reactions all over her body, she made herself pull back slightly.

"A gentleman," she whispered, kissing his ear, "would make me—" she kissed his chin "—an honest woman—" she ran her tongue down to the base of his throat''—at long last."

"Are you," he groaned, "trying to seduce me?"

"Am I succeeding?"

"Not until after we see the vicar. That is—" he tipped up her chin, his one-eyed gaze searching hers intently "—if you're sure this is what you really want?"

"Do you love me Evan?"

"I've always loved you."

"Say the words. Say them with my name."

He smiled, a world of tenderness in his gaze. "I love you, Auriana Emilie, my heart, my life."

""Then this is what I really want," she replied, and proceeded to demonstrate that conviction beyond possibility of doubt.