An Immodest Proposal

By Kathryn Anthony

It was supposed to have been a celebration of her upcoming nuptials–a ball to which all the lights of the ton had been invited. Instead, Sophia Lamott must smile, curtsey and pretend she hasn’t just been jilted by her long-standing fiancé. When the relentless sympathy becomes unbearable, Sophie takes refuge in the privacy of the library and resolves to get good and drunk.

But things get out of hand. Before she knows it, she’s being kissed by the most exciting man she has ever met. She must then face up to “the Summer Wildfires”–malicious gossips who would delight in dragging Sophie’s name through the muck–and convince them they only imagined the dark, mysterious stranger they saw disappearing into the shadows.

And then, there is the morning after to contend with...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathryn Anthony
• Release date: Aug 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9780987775702

Kathryn Anthony

Born in India to bi-racial parents, Kat Anthony grew up in Canada, and later lived in Japan, where she attended an all-girls' school and studied such arcane subjects as the tea ceremony and Japanese calligraphy. Kat has worked on a film in Germany, been a contestant in a French-language gameshow, and had close encounters with snakes and crocodiles in Australia. These days, she enjoys her day job and writes whenever she can fit it in--early mornings are best. Kat lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two cats.

Book preview

AN IMMODEST PROPOSAL

Kathryn Anthony

Smashwords Edition

© 2009 Susan Deefholts

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For TCN, my love.

Visit my blog: http://katanthony.wordpress.com.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINTEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER ONE

London, 1819

Miss Sophia Lamott was most certainly not intoxicated. Ladies didn’t get foxed. They didn’t drink, in fact—aside, perhaps, from a glass of wine or two with dinner. So, that clearly could not be brandy in the tumbler Sophie was holding.

She took another sip and grimaced.

Vile stuff. But it does the job.

Ignoring the restless gurgle in her stomach—apparently, the combination of a rich dinner and brandy was not altogether to its liking—she plugged her nose and downed the rest of the amber-coloured liquid, then shuddered as it burned its way along her throat.

Ugh! But, as the horrid taste subsided a little, she felt the spreading warmth of a happy glow. What matter that Simon didn’t love her? That he had all but jilted her—though he hadn’t been so much of a cad as to break off the attachment himself. He had allowed her that dignity, at least.

Meagre consolation. Sophie squinted at her glass and decided she obviously hadn’t had enough if she was still thinking about the rapscallion whom she had until recently called her betrothed.

Humph! Bracing herself for the difficult task ahead, she set down her tumbler and frowned at the cut crystal decanter, weighing it up with all the focus of a relic hunter assessing her prize.

Two hands, she decided.

Sophie lifted the container and poured herself a third glass of brandy. Without splashing a single drop. She straightened, immeasurably proud of herself, then lifted her glass and defiantly toasted her absent nemesis.

Take that, Simon Merrithew!

Unfortunately, the abrupt gesture undermined her previous efforts, sending a quantity of the brandy sloshing onto the rug. Letting out a far from delicate exclamation—amazing the kinds of things a proper young lady learns when she has older brothers—she glared at the tumbler as if it were somehow wholly responsible for the mess.

Then, she shrugged. She had better things to do than worry about a bit of spilled brandy.

First and foremost, she had to sit somewhere. Preferably out of sight. Someone could come in at any moment, in search of a respite from the celebrations. After all, there was a full-fledged ball going on, elsewhere in the fashionable London townhouse her family had taken for the Season. So, she had put in her obligatory appearance and had endured being gawked at by all the gossipmongers of the ton, some of whom had undoubtedly only attended in order to get a look the subject of the latest on dit.

Sophie frowned as she examined the room, trying to assess where would be the best place to spend the remainder of the evening.

Perhaps a back corner, hidden amongst the shelves. She’d have gone to her room if she dared, but now that she was safely ensconced in the library, she saw no reason to risk being spotted on the dangerous journey up to her chambers.

She tottered over to the dim corner and set her glass carefully down, before lowering herself onto the floor beside it with an unceremonious plop. She snickered.

The sound of the door opening had her looking up in alarm.

Then, she made herself relax. She couldn’t be seen from where she sat. She’d curl up and be quiet, but if she was discovered, so be it. She no longer cared.

—really not my sort of thing, old man. But begad, it’s good to see you again. How long has it been?

Too long. That was her eldest brother, Hugh. She didn’t recognise the other voice, though. No doubt an old school chum of his or somesuch. Sophie shrugged, unconcerned, as she took another sip from her drink.

And as to this whole event, Hugh was saying, I do sympathise. It’s a dashed dull sort of affair. But, the mater and pater felt it important that we show a united front, what with all the talk that’s been going about lately. Brandy?

Of course. Sophie heard the clink of glass against glass and the splash of liquid being poured. Talk? You know I don’t follow that sort of thing.

And bless you for it, whoever you are. Sophie raised her glass in a silent toast to the mystery man.

How odd… Hugh’s tone was puzzled.

What’s wrong? the unknown speaker asked, when Hugh didn’t respond immediately.

There’s a glass missing. A pause. But no matter. Two days ago, my sister Sophie ended a long-standing betrothal. Never much cared for the chap myself—I’ve always thought him a bit of a fribble. Still, it was all rather sudden. No explanation—or at least, nothing convincing. Just some bosh about discovering they don’t suit.

Sophie rolled her eyes. She was hardly likely to share the humiliating truth: that Simon preferred some other woman. After years of waiting, of giving him the space he had requested. The time to live, before I get leg-shackled as he so delicately put it.

But Hugh was still speaking, To be honest, I find it remarkable that you haven’t heard the talk—they’ve been absolute sharks about the whole story. I suppose we’ve got an otherwise slow Season to thank for that.

A slow Season indeed! The Summer sisters was more like it. Or the Three Witches, as Sophie had taken to calling them of late.

A pause. Then, Hugh spoke, So when did you get back?

This morning. I thought I’d sneak over for a visit and catch up on all the news—and when I saw the scope of the ball your family seems to be hosting, I thought you might want an out.

Ordinarily, I’d be tempted, but I’ll have to pass. There was no mistaking the regret in Hugh’s voice. Still, it’s good to see you. Call back tomorrow and we can talk.

By the way, I’m not officially here yet. I’ll probably be rattling into town sometime in the next few days—haven’t decided when yet, exactly.

Yes, I saw the card you gave Fowles. Hugh snorted. ’Man of affairs’ indeed!

In this getup, particularly when I wear the spectacles, no-one looks at me twice. Not that I mix in the same circles anyway.

It’s a tad shoddy all the same, old man.

I’ve been cut off, or didn’t you know? The other man sounded amused. But in truth, hiding in plain sight is all in the superficialities.

Yes, yes. But why the bother?

From time to time, I look behind me, only to discover I’ve acquired an extra shadow.

So he’s still having you followed?

When he can find me, yes. But I do believe I left the last fellow waiting outside a rather dubious establishment in Paris.

Hugh laughed appreciatively, but any reply he might have made was averted by the sound of the door opening.

Ah, Mr. Hugh, sir—your mother dispatched me to find you. She is in need of your assistance. One of the footmen.

Of course. Tell her I’ll be along. Sophie heard the sound of a glass being set down. Duty calls—no, no, take your time. No reason for us both to brave the pit. Sit, read, relax. There are cigars in the box on the mantelpiece. Make yourself at home.

I’ll likely slip out the back and be in touch.

Once her brother had left, Sophie heard the other take a swallow of his drink. Then, the quiet creak of his chair as he stood. His footsteps, coming towards the rows of shelves where she had hidden herself.

Her heart began to pound.

The footsteps stopped. Ah, excellent. Horace, he murmured.

She let out a slow breath. False alarm.

To shore up her bravado, she took a generous swig from her drink.

She could hear the quiet rustle of pages being turned and she sighed. This hiding away in a corner business was starting to get tiresome. She wondered how much longer the wretched man was going to be.

More pages turning.

Good God. This ranked up there with watching grass grow. Or paint dry. Or her younger sister select ribbons to sew onto her bonnets.

Sophie snorted. Kassie really had become a veritable pea goose about her appearance, now that she’d made her come out. Most of the eager suitors that flocked after her would never imagine that she could probably have out swum, out run and out climbed them short months ago. Probably still could, for that matter.

Little hoyden, Sophie reflected with a blend of fondness, exasperation, and a touch of envy. There was such an air of effortlessness about her sister—Kassie was effortlessly athletic, effortlessly pretty, effortlessly charming. And sweet. And golden. And beloved.

Effortlessly everything that Sophie was not. No mistake—Sophie adored her too. But it gave her little pleasure to be Katharine to Kassie’s Bianca.

Except, of course, that Sophie was no Shakespearean shrew to be tamed. If anything, she was at the other end of the spectrum. Effortlessly and unambiguously boring.

She sniffed. No bloody wonder Simon’s interest had strayed. She lifted her glass for another sip, only to find it was empty. Everlasting hell and damnation! she muttered.

Julian really had thought, at first, that he was hearing things. A sigh, almost quiet enough to be lost in the sound of the pages he was flipping.

But then had come the snort.

As he strained his ears, listening hard for more sounds, the last thing he expected was to hear a slightly slurred, feminine voice. Despite rounded tones that bespoke gentility, the mystery woman was swearing with a fluency that would have done credit to a fishwife.

After quietly setting the book beside his glass on an empty portion of shelf, he made his way in the direction from whence the voice originated, all the while taking care to move silently.

As he approached, the speaker cut herself off with a gasp, before uttering a heartfelt Cleopatra’s knees! He choked back a snort of laughter.

She was sitting on the floor in the shadowed back corner of the library, propped against the shelves, her skirts spread about her like a crumpled fan. Though he couldn’t make out her face clearly, he had the impression of features just a little too strong to be pretty, large, dark eyes, and a rather mussed coiffure.

She was frowning at what appeared to be the missing tumbler Hugh had mentioned. She looked adorably disgruntled, like a child who has just lost her favourite toy. He let out a low chuckle.

She glanced up at the sound, blinking vaguely at him with a complete lack of surprise.

Oh, hullo. She gave him a smile that for all its bleariness, was actually quite dazzling. Julian blinked. How remarkable. It completely transformed her features.

I expect you heard me just now, she continued. "Sorry about that. I was trying to be quiet, but then I forgot. The explanation evidently struck her funny bone, for she snickered loudly. Ah. Sorry." She cleared her throat and made a visibly ineffective attempt to be serious.

Perfectly all right, Miss—

Lamott, actually. Sophia Lamott. Not very proper of us to be talking like this without an introduction, but still. Under the circumstances, I imagine we would be pardoned.

Unlikely. They had not been introduced. She was unchaperoned—and completely foxed.

Their situation could hardly be more incriminating.

Still, they were unlikely to be discovered. And Julian was intrigued. He crouched down on his haunches opposite her. His eyes had adjusted to the lower light, and now he could see that she was handsome, rather than pretty. More striking than beautiful, in any conventional sense. Except when she smiled.

So you’re Hugh’s sister, then—

Indeed. She nodded earnestly. The very subject of your recent discussion. The one who was jilted. Thrrrrown ovah in favour of frrresher meat.

Then, she sighed, casting a wistful look at her glass. I don’t suppose you’d be gentleman enough to—?

Julian had to laugh again as he shook his head. And you’ll thank me for it tomorrow. I suspect you’ll have a sore enough head even without further replenishments.

Really? Is that what usually happens?

He nodded. To my own frequent regret, I’m afraid.

Yes, it’s funny, the way men can drink to excess all they want. It’s encouraged, even. But women—oh no. We aren’t allowed to swear, either, she told him seriously, with the air of someone imparting an obscure bit of arcana.

And yet, you seem to have a rather impressive range of epithets at your fingertips.

It’s true, she admitted with an air of grave regret. Don’t tell Hugh and Theo, though. They’d be mortified if they knew how much I’ve picked up from them.

Your secret is safe with me, Miss Lamott.

She gave him another radiant smile. I knew it would be. She blinked at him. So who are you, then? Aside from the keeper of my deepest, darkest secrets, I mean.

Julian Randall, man of affairs, at your service.

Her eyes widened. Are you really? How sweet. Her tone grew regretful. Though I should tell you now that I am not, nor have ever been, one to indulge in affairs, so your services shan’t be required, Mr. Randall.

The deep, full belly laugh startled even himself. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Too long, perhaps.

You would be wise to keep it that way, Miss Lamott, he told her, surprised by the regret he felt in saying as much. It would do your reputation no favours to be seen with the likes of me.

She brightened. It really wouldn’t, would it? She held out her glass to him. Would you hold this a moment?

When he took it, she set about trying to stand, her attempts as graceless as they were inefficient. And refreshingly unselfconscious.

He watched her struggles for a few moments, enjoying her complete lack of inhibition. Then, admonishing himself for living up to his own reputation, he offered her a steadying hand.

Sophie felt a thrill at the touch of Mr. Randall’s hand against her own and she started with surprise, her gaze flying to meet his.

Such beautiful, blue eyes. Bluer than the pinnacle of the sky in midsummer. Bluer than the indigo fabric they had bought for the gown she had planned to wear tonight, for the official ball celebrating her and Simon’s upcoming nuptials. Bluer than heartbreak.

And who knew heartbreak could be so beautiful? The skin around his eyes crinkled, and Sophie realised he was smiling at her, clearly very amused about something. She returned the smile. You’re very handsome, aren’t you?

She saw the startled humour in his expression and wondered at it. Surely he must know he was handsome? It was difficult to miss, really.

Handsome in an interesting, intelligent sort of way. Like he was the sort who observed, and knew things, but said little.

And you, Miss Lamott, are perfectly delightful.

She shook her head. Pity to disillusion him, but better he learned the truth about her now, rather than further down the line. No, no. That’s not me at all. My sister—she’s the one who’s delightful. So that’s probably who you were thinking of.

Another inexplicable chuckle. I’ll not contradict you. But allow me to assist you, at least.

She smiled at him. What a lovely man—being so kind to a jilted spinster. You’re also very polite. A refreshing change, if I may say so.

In what way? he asked as he set the glass on a nearby shelf.

Oh you know—there are far too many horrid, arrogant men out there who don’t give two ticks for anyone but themselves. Like Simo—certain other people who shall remain nameless.

As she spoke, she allowed him to take her hands, vaguely noting the frayed cuffs of his outdated riding jacket, which, now that she thought about it, was not the sort of thing one ordinarily wore to a ball.

But still, there was a reassuring solidity to his presence that she liked, combined with something else—something that set her senses on edge with an undercurrent of inexplicable excitement. Though that might just be a consequence of his ungloved hands clasping her own.

Wonder where I put my gloves, she muttered, only just realising that she had discarded them somewhere along the way.

That I could not tell you, Miss Lamott.

He helped her to her feet, whereupon the world suddenly began to turn and tilt at a most alarming velocity, while her stomach bucked uncomfortably. She frowned, swaying as she tried to get her bearings.

All right there?

She closed her eyes a moment, but it didn’t help. I’m—not sure.

If you’ll permit—?

He was holding out his arm as if to put it around her waist. Sophie couldn’t deny that the idea had some appeal—beyond that of providing her with some bastion of stability in a world suddenly gone askew.

She nodded and he draped her arm up around his neck—though it was a bit of a reach for her, she discovered—and slipped his hand around her waist. She couldn’t resist snuggling in. He just felt so strong and solid, when everything else was swirling and turning in such an objectionable manner.

As they approached the chairs and the hearth, Sophie began to feel unpleasantly flushed. I—I think I might need some fresh air, she murmured.

He glanced at her, then nodded grimly. Indeed, my dear. I think you do. They changed direction, moving towards the French doors that opened onto the side terrace. Most of the revelers are along the back of the house, so we should be safe slipping out here.

The cool air against her cheeks provided a fresh balm of relief. Ah, much better.

Though she would have liked to pause for a moment as they stepped outside, he continued towards the broad staircase.

I’m sorry my dear, but there’s still too good a chance we’ll be spotted out here. Being found alone with me would compromise you beyond all redemption, I’m afraid.

Pity.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him glance at her. When she looked up at him, he gave her another one of those smiles that seemed to warm her far more effectively than the brandy had. Indeed, my dear. It would be that.

No, no. ‘S not what I meant. I meant, you’ve been a perfect gentleman. So it wouldn’t even be a good compromise.

He gave another full laugh that heated her even further. She liked the sound of his laugh, she decided. Maybe more than anything. It was something she could hear again and again, without ever tiring of it.

And how would you define a ‘good compromise’?

Well, you know, one that was worth all the fuss and the disgrace. Not just you being kind enough to help me because I’m too foxed to manage on my own.

He stopped and turned to face her. Her arm remained curled around his neck, and his hands moved to rest lightly on her waist, holding her steady. She felt her face beginning to flush again—despite the delicious coolness of the evening air.

Well then, he murmured, moving close. Let’s make it a good compromise, shall we?

And then, his lips were against hers, in the softest, sweetest kiss she had ever experienced. The sensuous heat that had been curling through her suddenly flared, and she leaned into him, wanting something more—though she couldn’t have said what.

He groaned and his lips parted, his tongue licking against her closed mouth until she opened it for him. And the shivery, exciting heat rose higher… blending with a sudden, less pleasant, burning sensation.

She pulled away as the acridity churned through her stomach and continued to rise, climbing up into the back of her throat.

Lucifer’s teeth! I think I’m going to be sick, she managed, just before her throat constricted with a gag, even as she heard him give a bark of laughter.

So perhaps she didn’t like his laugh all that much after all.

She covered her mouth, just barely able to hold back the vomit as she felt herself being led somewhere and pushed onto the ground.

It’s better out than in. Let it go.

As the nausea got the better of her, she felt her cheeks burning—whether from the brandy, the sickness, or the mortifying sound of his hearty amusement ringing in her ears, she couldn’t be certain. But even though he continued to laugh, he also held her forehead, stroking it gently as she retched and then retched some more.

That’s right, Sophie. Just let it all out. The more you get rid of the better you’ll feel.

Remarkable that he managed to find time between spates of laughter for such encouraging blandishments. He obviously had a bit of a cruel streak, given that he could find her own mortal demise so amusing.

It may feel like you’re dying, but you aren’t. I promise.

The convulsive nausea seemed to have subsided for the moment. So now you can read minds, too. She sat back on her haunches and glared at him.

He shrugged. I’ve been in your position more times than I’d like to admit. I know what it can feel like.

Really. Impossible to imagine that anyone else could feel as wretched as she did—let alone that anyone would voluntarily touch another drop of spirits in the wake of such a hellish ordeal. It was as if her insides had been yanked out, dragged over an expanse of gravel until they were raw and bleeding, then shoved back into her without any particular regard for what belonged where.

He used his handkerchief to dab at the patina of sweat along her brow, then folded it and passed it to her, so she could wipe her mouth. It did little to alleviate the smell, which lingered in her nostrils and made her grimace.

I think that bush has had about all it can handle for the moment, he said, his expression still amused as he glanced over at the horrible mess she had made, before helping her to her feet. As he led her from the scene of the crime towards a stone bench in a shadowed corner of the gardens, she burned with humiliation.

Was it possible to feel any more chagrined than she did at this precise moment?

Ah yes, indeed it was, as his next words amply demonstrated:

Well, I think I can safely say that I have never before elicited that particular response to my amorous advances.

The kiss. Probably the single most exciting moment of her life. More exciting, certainly, than the dry little pecks Simon used to steal when he was feeling mischievous, and which she had thought so terribly improper at the time.

She groaned as she sat down, hard, on the bench. I should count it a very great favour if the ground were to open up and swallow me right now. She spoke to the world at large, hoping against hope that the being in charge of such things might be listening.

Alas.

Julian did chuckle, though. And upon still further reflection, Sophie decided it was not so unpleasant a sound after all.

Pray don’t be embarrassed, Miss Lamott.

Oh, do call me Sophie. To do otherwise, after you have just watched me re-examine the entire contents of my stomach, would be silly.

Well then, Sophie. You have no reason to be embarrassed. To someone unaccustomed to strong spirits, a tumbler of brandy can be quite a challenge.

Three, actually.

Three? He seemed puzzled.

Three tumblers.

Good God. He shook his head as he placed his foot beside Sophie on the bench and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thigh. That’s beyond respectable, Sophie. I know men who would be under the table after three tumblers of brandy. Those aren’t small glasses.

I didn’t fill them. And I think I ended up spilling most of the third one.

All the same—the next time I am drinking brandy, I shall raise a toast to you, my dear. He smiled down at her. Then, his expression grew serious as his sharp gaze roamed over her face. Sophie felt her cheeks grow hot once again. Though I would question whether he’s worth it.

She was starting to wonder the same thing herself. But she wasn’t about to let him see that. Her chin rose. And what would you know about it?

He reached out, his finger leaving a heated trail along her jawline, before he let his hand drop. He smiled a little sadly. They’re never worth it, Sophie. Never worth a single one of your tears. And certainly not worth the pounding headache you’re going to have tomorrow.

Then, his manner shifted, becoming brisker and more distant. He let his foot drop, straightening, as he began searching about in his pockets. And as to that, I would suggest that when you go back inside, drink plenty of fluids that do not contain any alcohol. I’ve found that sometimes helps alleviate my symptoms—Ah! Here it is! He extracted an enamelled box from one of his pockets and held it out to her. Sophie saw that it contained a small quantity of hard sugar candies. Take one of these to suck on.

He watched as Sophie obeyed, before continuing, It will at least help with the taste in your—

…me that shawl, you ungrateful wretch! A woman’s voice, originating somewhere beyond a tall hedge.

But—

After all I’ve done for you! Do you really imagine that either of you would be envied or admired—or even liked—if it weren’t for me?

It’s only a small rip, Ari— But again, the girl’s protest was cut off.

It’s only a small rip, Ari, the first voice mimicked. And what about this? This stain? You think they won’t guess what I’ve been up to when they see that?

They might just think you fell.

A disgusted sound. That’s why I’m the one in charge. Because you two are too stupid to survive without me. Then, with exaggerated patience. They will recognise the signs of an assignation when they see them. That much should be obvious.

Sophia groaned. Satan’s balls! she muttered.

Julian glanced at her with raised eyebrows. Much more time in your company and I’ll lose what little’s left of my innocence.

Sophie shushed him.

It’s the Summer sisters. She spoke in a rushed undertone. They’ve hated me ever since they found out I was the one who first started calling them ‘the Summer wildfires.’

Wha—?

Gossip. They’re quick, lethal and leave a wide swathe of destruction in their wake. And now, the name seems to have caught on. Sophie swallowed. "In fact, I suspect I’ve got them to thank for at least half of the terrible on dits that are being circulated about me right now."

They sound delightful. At least he had lowered his voice.

But Sophie’s attention was occupied with trying to determine the direction of the sisters’ approach: were they likelier to come around the left or the right side of the hedge? You’d best be gone Mr. Randall, before you do end up being compromised.

She rose to her feet as she spoke, straining to hear any further conversation between the sisters, in the hopes that it might help her