The Bedding Proposal Read online

  After inspecting the jar and the sculpture, he moved on, surveying the other items being displayed. He found a Sevres vase with crimson roses painted on a cobalt blue ground that he thought his older sister, Mallory, would enjoy. It was a mid-eighteenth-century estate piece, so not yet an antique, but he decided it would make a fine present nonetheless.

  He also came across a porcelain trinket box with cats upon its top that immediately put him in mind of his other sister, eighteen-year-old Esme. She was a devoted animal lover, so the small box, with its sweet little black-and-white kittens, was certain to charm her. A mere trifle—he doubted the bidding would be anything but lukewarm at best, making it an easy purchase.

  He was heading toward the adjoining room where the auctioneer’s lectern and rows of chairs had been arranged for the sale when a white feather from a woman’s bonnet caught his eye. He looked more closely and felt a thrill warm his blood.

  It was Lady Thalia Lennox in the flesh.

  And what fine flesh it was, although he couldn’t see nearly enough of it, clothed as she was in a rather ordinary day dress of blue worsted. The dress didn’t become her half so well as the emerald green evening gown she’d worn the night they’d first met. Even so, there was no concealing her beauty, her skin creamy white, her lips like petals, her hair as dark and lustrous as an ermine’s pelt.

  He imagined what that hair might look like spread in loose waves over a plump white pillow, her caramel eyes sparkling while her rose-colored mouth curved in sensual anticipation as he lowered himself to join her between the sheets.

  He’d thought of her frequently over the past few days, wondering when he might have another chance to see her. Providence, it seemed, had decided to smile upon him. And luckily, there was no champagne anywhere in sight, so he didn’t need to worry about another dousing—a first even for him.

  Smiling to himself, he started toward her, aware she hadn’t seen him yet. She appeared lost in her own inspection of the goods up for auction, perusing the items as he had already done himself.

  She also appeared to be alone. Or had she come with a lover and the man was off finding them seats while she amused herself here for a final few minutes before the sale began?

  Either way, he didn’t plan to squander the chance to speak with her. After all, who knew where it might lead?

  * * *

  Thalia walked slowly along, studying the auction items. She’d already located the kitten trinket box and had known immediately that it was the one that used to be hers. She hugged the knowledge to herself, hoping that when she left the auction today, the box would once more be safely in her possession. She had just the right spot for it too, inside her grandmother’s glass-fronted rosewood cabinet that she kept in her upstairs sitting room.

  Of course there were other antiques and collectibles that she would have loved to bid on as well, including a splendid landscape painting of the Dover cliffs with a seascape so realistic she could almost smell salt in the air. But the opening price was far too dear and she stalwartly refused to give in to the temptation to spend more than she could afford. A painting here, a bejeweled pin, a vase or a silk fan there, and she soon wouldn’t have the money to pay the tea seller for her favorite Ceylon black or for a new supply of paper and ink from the stationer. The little keepsake was more than indulgence enough.

  She was admiring a set of ornate silver chargers that she would once have thought nothing of buying when she sensed someone watching her. She turned her head and looked straight into a pair of vivid green eyes rimmed in gold.

  Beautiful, unforgettable eyes.

  Lord Leopold Byron sauntered toward her, a faint smile on his attractive mouth.

  She cursed inwardly. It was too late to pretend that she hadn’t seen him and walk away. Drawing a breath, she prepared herself for the encounter.

  “Lady Thalia.” He stopped and made her an elegant bow. “How do you do?”

  “Lord Leopold,” she said, her words calm and cool.

  His smile didn’t waver in the slightest over her lack of enthusiasm. “What happy luck to find you here.”

  “Really?” She arched a brow. “I was thinking just the opposite.”

  Rather than take exception, he casually ran the catalogue through his free hand as his smile widened. “The auction looks to be a fine one. Mr. Christie should be pleased by the turnout.”

  Lord Leopold was right. The salesroom was filled with patrons with more wandering in all the time. It threatened to be what was known in the vernacular as a sad crush.

  “A great number of bidders generally makes for a lively time,” she observed, “although I might wish for fewer folk so the prices don’t go impossibly high.”

  “Yes, big crowds tend to be bad for a bidder’s pocketbook. And on what have you come to bid today, Lady Thalia?”

  The question was innocuous enough, but the warm cadence of his voice moved through her with a strange power, as if they were sharing a secret. Something private, even intimate. And as she had already told him, there was never going to be anything intimate between the two of them.

  “That is for me to know, Lord Leopold, and me alone. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She turned to move away.

  “Are you headed in the direction of the main salesroom?” he asked. “If so, allow me to escort you.”

  Her brows creased. “Thank you, but no. There are still a few minutes left before the bidding begins and I have not yet looked at all the goods up for sale. Please do go on without me.”

  But he made no effort to move.

  “As a gentleman,” he said, “it would be remiss of me to leave you on your own. Unless you are here with a friend? Is someone joining you?”

  He gave her an expectant look, clearly interested in her answer.

  Her frown deepened and she wondered whether she should lie. But as soon as she took a seat, he would know the truth, so what was the point?

  “No, I am attending the sale unaccompanied, except for my maid, of course,” she said. “But I am quite familiar with the interior of this auction house and have no need of escort. Pray absolve yourself of any sense of obligation.”

  She turned then and walked on, hoping he would take the none-too-subtle hint and be on his way.

  But of course he did not, strolling along a few steps behind her.

  She stopped and pretended an interest in a black-lacquered Chinese vase that had to be one of the most hideous pieces she’d ever seen.

  He stopped too.

  Steadfastly, she refused to look at him, an exasperated breath escaping her lips.

  “Ugly, isn’t it?”

  She nearly looked around, but caught herself at the last second.

  “That vase is absolutely monstrous,” he continued, when she didn’t respond. “Makes you wonder what Christie was thinking not just chucking it straight into the nearest rubbish bin.”

  Her lips twitched, but she forced herself not to smile.

  “Maybe he’s hoping some of the bidders will be blind. That way the winner won’t mind purchasing something so repellent it would give a sewer rat the shudders.”

  “It’s dreadful but not that dreadful,” she said, unable to silence the remark.

  Lord Leopold met her gaze and raised a single golden brow.

  A laugh escaped her mouth. “You’re right, it is atrocious. But useful. A bouquet of roses would brighten it considerably.”

  “It would probably make the petals wilt.”

  Before she could stop herself, she laughed again.

  He smiled, his teeth white and straight, his eyes twinkling in a way that made him even handsomer than he already was. “I presume it’s safe to say neither of us will be bidding on that particular piece?”

  She nodded. “Yes, quite safe.”

  “The auction will be starting soon. Again, may I escort you to the salesroom so we can find seats?” He offered his arm.

  “My maid is saving one for me.”

  “Then sha
ll I escort you to your maid?”

  She hesitated, wondering how she had found herself in the position where refusing him would seem churlish. But letting him show her to her seat didn’t mean she had to continue their association. Quite the contrary, since they would part soon enough.

  “If you wish, Lord Leopold.”

  “I do.”

  She laid her hand on his coat sleeve, the walnut brown superfine wool smooth and soft beneath her fingertips, his arm firm with muscle.

  Slowly, they began to walk.

  “Lady Thalia, I hope you will allow me to apologize for my behavior on the occasion of our last meeting.”

  “Our first meeting, you mean.”

  “Exactly.” He gave her another one of his winning smiles. “My only excuse, if there is one, is that I was bewitched by your beauty and quite lost my head. There was also the goodly amount of spirits I’d consumed prior to our conversation. It may have loosened my tongue a bit more than it ought.”

  She sent him a wry glance from under her bonnet. “Alcohol is often a convenient excuse for untoward behavior.”

  He winced visibly. “Ouch. I deserve that, I suppose. Although you also have room to make an apology, as I recollect.”

  “Me?” Her gait slowed, her gaze meeting his. “For what do I have to apologize?”

  “A certain glass of champagne perhaps.”

  “Oh. That.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. That.”

  They strolled on.

  “I’ve quite forgiven you,” he continued in an even tone, “even if you did ruin a perfectly good cravat. My valet had to discard the one that you doused. Apparently wine stains don’t come out.”

  A faint smile played across her lips. “A great loss, I am sure. Pray send me a reckoning and I shall have a replacement cravat sent round to your address.”

  “I would much rather you agree that we may start over. Act as if we had met only today.” He stopped and turned toward her, taking her hand inside his own. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Leopold Byron at your service, ma’am. And you are?”

  “Someone who didn’t wish to be introduced the first time.”

  His beguiling smile widened. “Your name, fair lady?”

  “You know who I am.”

  He waited, clearly expectant.

  “Lady Thalia Lennox. There, are you satisfied?”

  “Not yet, but I hope to be in the very near future.”

  She sent him a warning look. “Careful, Lord Leopold, or I may find myself in need of another glass of champagne.”

  He laughed, then made her an elegant bow. “May I say what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance, Lady Thalia.”

  She shook her head. “You, Lord Leopold, are absurd.”

  “Ah good, your barbs aren’t quite as sharp. We’re making progress.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Now that you’ve agreed to forgive me and begin again—”

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” she said, trying to conceal the fact that she did find him rather charming in spite of her better judgment. But she wasn’t interested in men. They were nothing but a great deal of trouble.

  “Of course you did,” he insisted.

  “No, I did not. And you presume a very great deal on so short an acquaintance.”

  “Which is exactly why we need to take the time to get to know each other better. I suggest now.”

  “I suggest never. The auction is about to start. We should be finding our seats.”

  He held out his arm again for her to take.

  Instead, she nodded toward the main salesroom and the rows of occupied chairs. “I see my maid waiting just there. Thank you, but I can manage to walk the last few yards on my own.”

  “If I accompany you, we can sit together. I am sure another chair can be located for your maid.”

  “Good-bye, Lord Leopold,” she called in an amused singsong before she set off into the fray of eager bidders.

  Leo wanted to go after her, but he realized he’d pushed her enough for one day. Any more and she might bolt completely. It was curious, but for a woman of her experience and reputation, she was strangely reserved. It was as if she lived behind a carefully constructed wall, letting others see no more than glimpses of the real woman beyond.

  He’d assumed she would be more openly flirtatious, more coyly inviting despite their inauspicious introduction at Elmore’s party last week. Rumor had it that she was wild and wanton, and that she had a string of lovers whose identities were the stuff of whisper and conjecture.

  But there was no lover here today, he realized as he took a seat in one of the last unoccupied chairs. She really was here with her maid, doing nothing more than attending an auction, rather than engaging in some clandestine liaison.

  Then again it wasn’t her days that concerned him but rather her nights. Nights he planned to be spending with her in bed in the very near future. For now, he would have to content himself by watching her from afar—or at least from a few rows behind and to her left.

  She sat in profile, her long, sable eyelashes brushing lightly over her cheeks when she blinked, her straight nose, refined cheekbones and delicately rounded chin cast in lovely angles beneath the brim of her chip-straw bonnet.

  On what was she planning to bid? he wondered. Some pretty little objet d’art, he supposed.

  Then one of Mr. Christie’s senior auctioneers stepped up to the podium and, with the forthright echo of his gavel, began the sale.

  * * *

  Thalia sat in her chair, resisting the temptation to bid as item after item was offered up to the eager crowd. There were dishes, vases, candlesticks and oil lamps; desks and dressers, paintings and portmanteaus, boxes and baubles and far too much more to contemplate. There were even some ancient antiquities from a small but impressive grouping that drove the bidding to eye-popping heights.

  Lord Leopold was among those select few gentlemen with the means to bid on even the priciest of items. And he was crafty, hanging back until it seemed the sale was all but concluded, then swooping in with a couple of last-minute bids that decisively squashed the hopes of the final competitors.

  She’d recognized the rich, brandied cadence of his voice the instant he spoke, and looked over her shoulder to discover Lord Leopold seated a few rows behind. Until then, she’d refused to look, not wanting to encourage him by seeking him out in the crowd—even if she had been aware that he was seated somewhere nearby.

  When he made his first surprise bid, everyone in the room looked, so she was only one of a multitude. Yet his eyes found hers immediately as if he had been waiting all this time for her to turn her gaze upon him.

  And he didn’t look away, his eyes locked with her own in spite of the fact that he was still engaged in the bidding. He smiled with open pleasure when the gavel descended and the auctioneer announced him the winner. It was an expression of victory, satisfaction and command, and it shot straight through to her marrow.

  She faced forward again, her fingers knotted in her lap.

  Luckily, her maid didn’t notice her reaction, her own head bent over her sewing, since she had absolutely no interest in the auction proceedings themselves.

  Lord Leopold bid again—on a marble sculpture this time—but she refused to look. Instead she listened to the action, his voice the only one she really heard as he won once again.

  The auction moved on, more items coming and going as she waited for the kitten trinket box to make an appearance. Then finally, there it was. She sat up straighter in her chair, her attention riveted.

  “Next we have item number one hundred and eight, Meissen, hand-painted porcelain box with cats,” the auctioneer said in his clear voice. “The bidding will open at twenty pounds. Who will give me twenty? Twenty? Anyone twenty?”

  No one spoke, Thalia among them, since she knew better than to take the auctioneer’s opening bait.

  “Five pounds, then, for this exceptional Meissen box with its sweet pair o
f moggies? Do I have five pounds?” the auctioneer said, quartering the bid.

  A man in the second row raised the numbered card with his bidder number.

  “And I have five, thank you, fine sir. Who will give me five and a half? Five and a half . . . Do I have five and a half?”

  A man on the opposite side raised his hand.

  And on it went at a frenzied pace. Still, Thalia held back, pulse hurrying beneath her breasts as she waited for the right moment to jump in.

  “I have ten . . . and a ten . . . and ten—”

  Thalia lifted her card. “Fifteen,” she said in a carrying voice.

  The auctioneer smiled. “Fifteen! Excellent, madam. Fifteen it is. Do we have fifteen and a half? Fifteen and a half . . .”

  She held her breath, leaning forward onto the edge of her seat as she waited to see if the leap in price would be enough to scare off the other bidders. She hoped so, since she’d planned on bidding no more than twenty and would feel quite pleased if she could come away with it for less.

  Two of the bidders had dropped out already. The last—another woman—sat with a frustrated expression, her round florid face turning even ruddier, red eyebrows scrunched together like a pair of badly knotted ribbons. She hesitated, clearly warring with herself over the price.

  “Fifteen going once, going twice—”

  “Sixteen.”

  The voice that rang out was new and distinctly male. To her shock, Thalia realized the man’s identity without even having to look. And yet she couldn’t stop herself from turning her head.

  Lord Leopold looked straight at her.

  “Sixteen from the gentleman in the back,” the auctioneer cried. “Ladies, do we have seventeen?”

  The redhead with the bad eyebrows frowned so hard it was a wonder her face didn’t crack; then she shook her head.

  She was out.

  It was up to Thalia. She hesitated only a fraction of a second, then raised her bidder’s number. “Seventeen.”