The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,14
here.”
“Generous as well as beautiful.” His hand settled on the mantel. The proprietary gesture made him seem even larger than he was. And he still hadn’t answered the question.
She frowned. “What do you want?”
He tilted his head to one side as though she were an unfamiliar specimen. “I assumed a woman as renowned for entertaining as you are would have mastered the art of small talk. Is there no room for pleasantries in your world?”
At any moment, Oliver would wake from his nap. She was being harassed by two men, each with enough power to destroy her. Now Lord Constantine was playing games. Of course she had no time for idle conversation. “I see no reason to waste words. I’m not exactly flush with time to be misusing it.”
Approval lit his eyes. “Touché.” He rested one elbow on the mantel and leaned his cheek into his hand. He regarded her from beneath heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. Oh, no. She didn’t need him to desire her. Or was this part of his game?
What could he possibly he want?
“Miss Spencer.”
She winced. That was a name that had never belonged to her.
His voice lowered an octave. “May I call you Miss Spencer?”
“No.” She didn’t flinch this time.
He watched her a moment. She prayed he wouldn’t try the other name. The one she’d all but put from her memory.
“Elizabeth, then,” he said, his frown inescapable. “Elizabeth, I believe we have a few things to talk about.”
He hadn’t provoked feelings she’d assured herself were long-dead by using her other name. Good. Nevertheless, his tone riled her. She glared at him angrily. “I have nothing to say to you, my lord.”
“Please, call me Con. All of my family does.”
Her body froze in horror. “We are not related.”
He shrugged. “Families come in all forms. And I think I got ahead of myself.” Suddenly, he left the mantel and approached her. He dropped to one knee. She took a step back, but he grabbed her hand. “Elizabeth Spencer, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“What? No!” She yanked her hand back and nearly tripped over herself trying to put distance between them. What had he—had she heard him correctly? She couldn’t have.
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes in momentary relief while he sucked in great breaths of air. Then he thumped his fist to his chest as if trying to restart his heart, opened his eyes and shook his head. “I am so very relieved one of us is sensible.”
She didn’t expect him to act so…relieved. “Have you gone daft?”
“Oh, no. I think so. Maybe.” He shook his head again as if to clear it, then looked at her with a grin. “I had a feeling you’d reject me, but asking is the gentlemanly thing to do. At least, that’s what my brothers said.”
She was not disappointed. He was clearly babbling and she’d never once considered marriage to him. She barely even knew him. Nonetheless, she’d never received a proposal of marriage before. It must be natural to expect to hear words of undying devotion or at least a persuasive argument when a man finally came up to scratch. This mangled request for her hand mortified her. He couldn’t be more obvious about his aversion to the idea of saddling himself with her.
Even with all of her experience, she would never understand men.
He drew up and patted the rich velvet of his coat. “Well, then, that wasn’t as bad as I expected. I knew you were a right sort. If Lord Antony asks, you will tell him I did it, won’t you? Not that I expect my brother to come here, but I can never predict where his sense of righteousness will take him.”
“Why on earth would he have wanted you to propose to me?” she blurted before she could feign ennui and act instead as though men regularly arrived on her step with nonsensical ideas of matrimony. She did deserve some sort of explanation, didn’t she?
Con looked about the room, then strode to an overfilled wingback. “Shall we sit?”
She wanted to know why he’d made such a patently absurd proposal, but a glance at the clock reminded her that Oliver would be waking any moment now. And surely it wasn’t in her best interest to bother with Con’s reasons. Maybe she was curious to know what peculiar ideas banged around in his head, but what did it matter to her if he was as mad as a hatter? “I think you should be leaving.”