An Imperfect Proposal Read Online Free PDF Page B

she thought, was the very least she could do.
    Thus decided, Amaryllis invited her dresser back and determined to choose the prettiest gown possible. The diamonds she waved away, but a necklet of roses she kept, and a circlet of amethysts for her soft, golden hair. She looked the closest thing to a princess that she had ever done before and viewing her image in the glass, she felt, for once, almost satisfied.

    The interview with his lordship was arranged for two o’clock precisely. At that moment—and not a second before—the Earl of Davenport was announced in ringing tones by Carthews, the resident butler. Amaryllis stood up to greet him, as did Lady Hastings, and Lord Hastings, too, who had taken time out from Boodles to accord the earl this civility.
    The earl, Amaryllis noted with a sinking heart, was immaculate beyond compare. He was not a dandy, but his elegance was tangible, and his ease with that elegance seemed enviable. He did not stare uncomfortably out of his shirt points as Lord Hastings did, nor did he seem too starched to move, though his doeskins fit every muscle like a glove, and Amaryllis felt the heat pouring into her cheeks as her eyes lingered too long upon this interesting fact.
    Lady Hastings smiled indulgently, and after pointedly removing Lord Hastings from his Heppelwhite mahogany shield-back chair, of which he was very fond (and into which he had just thankfully sunk), she announced that under the circumstances it would be perfectly proper for the couple to engage in some moments of private conversation.
    As the door closed behind them, Amaryllis felt more nervous than ever, and that marvelous feeling of looking almost princesslike had evaporated. Her circlet of amethysts now sat heavily upon her brow and she found she could hardly dare look up.
    Lord Devonport removed the awkwardness of the moment by taking Amaryllis’s hand in his and looking deeply into her eyes. They were a lovely color, her truest asset, especially as they were surrounded by those dark, lustrous lashes that seemed to frame her face.
    Stephen was not merry, or flirtatious, or even for a moment unsure of himself. He merely took her hand, ungloved it, and slipped upon her finger a gold band sparkling with gems of a deep, and rather unusual hue.
    â€œAmaryllis, will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”
    Amaryllis did not know what had happened to her tongue. It simply wouldn’t speak, and as the moments ticked by they seemed more like hours than a few hesitant seconds. The ring felt heavy on her finger, but sparkled with an intensity Amaryllis could not help but find intriguing. Or perhaps that was because Stephen had still not let go of her hand, and she had never felt such an impropriety before, or not for so very long, and her skin tingled with pleasure and apprehension and a million other sensations she could hardly analyze or understand.
    After a moment, the sound of the ormolu clock on the mantel became embarrassing, and Stephen found his interest arrested. So! Miss Hastings was not the type of maiden he had latterly encountered. The type who would do anything—anything—to get his ring on her grasping little finger. This lady was the only one who had ever had the honor, yet she seemed to be battling against some inner demon. He admired her for it, though he felt slight exasperation on his own account.
    â€œYou hesitate?”
    Amaryllis flushed. “You must think me so ill-mannered! I am sorry, my lord, there can naturally be no question that the answer is yes.”
    â€œAnd yet, I think, there is such a question. Your eyes speak volumes and you tremble, my dear.”
    â€œIt is just so . . . so . . . sudden.”
    â€œIt must seem so to you. For me it is not sudden at all. I have been thinking of matrimony for a long while.”
    â€œWith me?”
    Stephen smiled gently. “No, not necessarily with you, for I have long known that my succession must be secured.