Page 12 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Not for me,” she replied hollowly.

He nodded. “You have suffered a nasty shock,” he said. “Two shocks, in fact. But life goes on all the same.”

She sat up straighter in her seat. He knew! But how? She cast a quick look at the door and found it open, considerably more than a crack. “You heard all that?” she croaked.

“I did,” he agreed conversationally. “The maid Florence allowed me to sit just outside to await you but alas, the door to this room does not shut all the way. The catch must be broken.”

She regarded him for a moment quite speechless. How long had he sat there looking at her hunched over with her eyes squeezed shut? She almost shuddered at the spectacle she must have made of herself. Besides this debacle even her ignominious time as a debutante paled into insignificance. “A man with nice manners would not have sat there listening!” she pointed out at last with dignity.

His smile grew. “Ah, but I am not a nice man, as well you know.”

Hot color crept into her cheeks. “You must have turned up unforgivably early for our walk!”

He nodded. “Oh, I did. I did not feel sure of you, you see. I do now though.”

She did not quite care for the glint in his eye. “What do you mean, you did not feel sure of me?”

“I could not feel easy in my mind. That you would corroborate my blamelessness in our past dealings, I mean. So, I came early to persuade you that I had turned over a new leaf.”

“Oh.” She eyed him curiously. “And why is it you now feel sure I will cooperate?”

“Because, my dear Ballentine, I now have the means to bargain with you.”

Emmie watched him with some horrified fascination. It was like ten years had not even passed since she had last seen him. She felt like a mouse frozen in front of a snake. It had all the qualities of a bad dream.

Seeing he was still closely watching her, she roused herself. “Means?” she repeated with a frown. She could not even pretend to understand him.

“Yes, for you are in a pretty pickle and so am I. Let us consider for a moment if we cannot come to one another’s aid.”

She really was lost by this point. Lifting a hand to her brow, she asked helplessly, “How is it you are in a pickle, my lord?”

“I am recently divorced,” he reminded her. “My respectability is tarnished. My social standing, on shaky ground. Even my nine-year-old son suspects my past is not as honorable as it should have been.” He sighed, and for some reason this made her narrow her eyes.

“I hardly think your pickle, I mean, predicament, compares to mine.”

“Well, it is all a matter of perspective, is it not? You did not actually make it down the aisle.”

“No, and if I had, it would have been a criminal offence!” she said with spirit.

“Let us be grateful, then, that dear Clara prevented it.”

Emmie stiffened. He really had heard everything. “At least you have not been saddled with horrendous debt,” she said bitterly.

“Actually, Amanda frequently incurred considerable gambling debts, which I settled in a quiet and discreet fashion. I could do the same with yours, given the right enticement.”

Emmie gasped. “What on earth?” She stared at him. His blue gaze was steady. “We—we do not even know the sums involved!” she pointed out. “In any case, you are not in earnest.”

“I assure you that I am.”

“Why on earth would you?” she spluttered.

“A man does, for his wife.”

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “Then the enticement you speak of…?”

“Marriage, my dear Emmeline,” he said urbanely. “You and me. How about it?”

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