A Scandalous Proposal by Julia Justiss

laughing, too. She rotated to face him. He looked down into those wide pansy eyes and caught his breath yet again.
    Slowly her smile faded. When, helpless, compelled, he lowered her mouth, she raised on tiptoes to meet his kiss.
    He kissed her long and longingly, battling the immediate urge to slide his hands to the tempting, tilt-tipped breasts brushing his chest. At last he reluctantly released her. “I’ve been waiting a century for that.”
    Her charming bubble of a laugh sounded again. “Indeed? ’Twas nearly six when you left this morning.”
    â€œCouldn’t have been. It seems an eternity.”
    She lifted her gaze to his, her velvet eyes holding the slightly startled look of a wild thing disturbed. Then, to his surprise and utter delight, she closed them again and leaned back into his embrace.
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    â€œAnother glass of wine, my lord?”
    Emily had poured half the glass when the hot dish Francesca was carrying in caught her attention. Her eyes narrowing, she gave the maid a sharp look.
    â€œPaella? How delightful,” Evan said.
    â€œâ€™Tis Madame’s favorite,” Francesca confirmed, ignoring Emily’s pointed stare. “Also the beef with rosemary, potatoes and minted peas, and the fine rioja.”
    â€œFrancesca, I’ll want a word with you later.”
    â€œAye, mistress.” With a curtsey and a saucy wink at Evan, the maid withdrew.
    â€œYou mustn’t scold her,” Evan said. “I asked her to fix your favorites this evening.”
    â€œYou gave her money,” Emily said flatly.
    â€œOf course. I would rather dine with you than anywhere else in London, but I can hardly expect you to regularly feed one large, overgrown male.”
    â€œIf you are my guest, I can provide for you. Perhaps not paella, rare beef and the finest of riojas.”
    â€œPlease, Emily, don’t pull caps with me. You do a wonderful job providing for your household. Your company gives me such—” he caught himself before uttering the word joy “—enjoyment, I wanted to do a little something to express it.”
    â€œA little something?” she echoed, exasperation in her tone. “My lord, you’ve already chased away an abusive villain and saved me from being blackmailed a tidy sum monthly for the indefinite future. I think that’s quite enough.”
    â€œDo you place limits on the gifts you give a friend?”
    Lips open as if to pursue her argument, she paused. “No, I suppose not,” she admitted after a moment. “Unless necessity compels it.”
    â€œThen will you not permit me the same luxury? Please. You have worked diligently for so long. How can it be wrong for a friend to indulge you?”
    Seeing that wary look coming back in her eyes, he changed tack. “As for work, I’m impressed by the exceptional quality of your sketches. Did you not say you’d painted portraits while in Spain? Why did you choose not to continue painting here?”
    She took a sip of wine. For a moment, he thought she’d ignore the question. Finally, looking away from him, she said softly, “’Twas different in Spain, among strangers. My father was a—a wealthy man. He sent me to an exclusive school. Some of those who would commission portraits here might be his colleagues or acquaintances. Or former classmates of my own.”
    She didn’t need to say more. All at once he had a searing vision of what her life must have been. Cast out of the privileged world of bourgeois wealth because of her runaway marriage, unacknowledged by her husband’s apparently aristocratic family, upon that soldier’s death far from friendly lines, she’d found herself utterly alone in a foreign land with nothing but her talent and wits between herself and starvation.
    For an individual who had vanquished the dangers she must have faced to return and work as a servant for those who were once her equals