An Infamous Proposal Read Online Free PDF Page B

of whom she had heard so much. So far as appearance went, she was not disappointed.
    He was tall and well built, with a glistening head of hair so blond it was nearly white. A pair of sapphire blue eyes of startling clarity peeped out from his tanned, healthy face. His jacket, while not the work of Weston—it was by Stutz—showed his shoulders off to perfect advantage.
    He was accoutered with all the trinkets of the dandy. A quizzing glass hung on a black, corded ribbon. A gold watch fob, attached to a thick gold chain, dangled from his pocket. The watch that went with it was on the shelf in London, but the fob and chain looked well. His pockets held an assortment of items: snuffbox, dice, cards (both playing and calling), and a spent bullet that had been prized out of his shinbone after he was shot by a highwayman with exceedingly poor aim.
    He lifted the quizzing glass when Miss Foxworth presented him to Lady Capehart and studied her for a moment through it, before speaking in a practiced drawl.
    “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “How does it come London hasn’t heard of you, Lady Capehart?”
    “I cannot imagine,” she replied, “for I have certainly heard of London.”
    “A wit!” he exclaimed. “It is unusual to find beauty and intelligence in one lady.” And wealth into the bargain, he added to himself. He opened his lips to reveal a set of perfect pearls, marred by having the corners filed down to allow him to whistle like a mail-coach driver during a dry spell in which he had thoroughly enjoyed that occupation.
    “You make your home in London, I believe, Mr. Hunter?” Emma said.
    “I keep a set of rooms there—a pied-à-terre for the Season, you know. One must do the pretty with the debs, or the mamas fly into the boughs, but I spend most of my time in the country.”
    “Emma is very eager to spend some time in London, Derek,” Miss Foxworth prompted.
    “I should say so! There’s nowhere like it. As old Johnson was saying t’other day, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.”
    Emma frowned. She recognized the quotation and knew perfectly well Dr. Johnson had been buried in the last century. But perhaps Mr. Hunter meant some other Johnson who had quoted the doctor. It was a common name after all.
    Mr. Hunter continued to outline the delights of London. “Drury Lane, Covent Garden, the balls, routs, ridottos—and Vauxhall, of course! You really must allow me to take you ladies up to London for a few days.”
    Emma listened, enthralled. Those were exactly the things she longed to see and do. Now that she was out of mourning, she also had shopping to do to update her wardrobe. And it would be lovely to have an escort for the evening. “What a charming idea!” she exclaimed.
    “Pity I didn’t bring my traveling carriage,” he said. “I decided to drive my curricle as the weather was so fine.”
    “Emma has a carriage,” Miss Foxworth said.
    “I’m sorry I sold my London house, or I could put you up there,” was Mr. Hunter’s next misleading statement. “It was too large for a bachelor. A great barn of a place on Grosvenor Square, next door to Lord Harrington. I took a set of rooms instead.”
    These artful speeches made Emma think he was very well to grass. Miss Foxworth had been vague on that point, but his style of life certainly indicated wealth.
    “I rather enjoy staying at hotels,” she said. Before long Soames announced dinner.
    “And here I sit in my buckskins!” Mr. Hunter exclaimed. “You will think me no better than I should be, Lady Capehart, but I shan’t make you sit down to cold mutton on my account. Just close your eyes, and pretend I am properly outfitted. I ought to have brought my valet with me, but he dislikes the open carriage. I am too soft by half with my servants.” Of course he had no valet.
    “That’s quite all right, Mr. Hunter,” Emma said. “It is only ourselves. Sir John’s valet is still with us. He will look after you for the