The Debutante’s Daring Proposal
Annie Burrows
“I want you to marry me.”
Miss Georgiana Wickford has a plan to avoid the marriage mart—she’ll propose a marriage of convenience! She hasn’t spoken to the Earl of Ashenden since their childhood friendship was torn apart, but now Edmund is her only hope.
Edmund refuses to take any bride, especially the unsuitable country miss who abandoned him years ago. But when he sees beautiful Georgie at the mercy of society’s rakes, it arouses his protective instincts. And soon the earl is tempted to claim the daring debutante for himself!
“If you have no interest in becoming a countess, why have you asked me to consider marrying you?”
He was standing closer to her now than he’d done since they’d both been children. Close enough for her to see those blue flecks in his eyes which prevented them from looking as though they were chiselled from ice. This close, she’d swear she could see a spark of interest, rather than cold indifference. This close, she could even almost imagine she could feel warmth emanating from his body
Some of you will already have met the Earl of Ashenden in my earlier booksin the library of his club, where he was having a delightful conversation with Mr Morgan about the insect life found in India. And you might recall how that conversation was so rudely interrupted by Lord Havelock, bursting in and demanding help with finding a bride in a hurry.
The Earl of Ashenden, being a man of science, suggested they draw up a list of what qualities said bride needed to have, and was very firm about his own intention one day to select a wife primarily for her intelligence.
‘I would hate to think,’ he said, giving Havelock a particularly penetrating look, ‘that I had curtailed my own freedom only to produce a brood of idiots.’
Naturally I could not allow him to settle for such a wife. Instead I decided to give him a heroine who would turn his ordered existence upside down!
If, after reading his story as told within these pages, you would like to know why Lord Chepstow was trying to brush off an imaginary stain when recounting his proposal to Honeysuckle, you can read about it in ‘Governess to Christmas Bride’, which appears in the anthology Gift-Wrapped Governesses.
And if you want to discover what measures Lord Havelock took to ensure Mary married him you can read about their courtship and the early days of their marriage in Lord Havelock’s List.
ANNIE BURROWS has been writing Regency romances for Mills & Boon since 2007. Her books have charmed readers worldwide, having been translated into nineteen different languages, and some have gone on to win the coveted Reviewers’ Choice award from CataRomance. For more information, or to contact the author, please visit annie-burrows.co.uk, or you can find her on Facebook at Facebook.com/annieburrowsUK.
‘...to the one I love...’
Meet me at our place.
G.
The Earl of Ashenden crumpled the note in his long slender fingers, his nostrils flaring with distaste.
Meet me at our place, indeed.
No signature. No polite salutation. After all these years of silence, just five words and her initial.
She hadn’t even bothered to state a time. Not that there was any need. If they were to meet, it would be when they’d always met, at first light, before anyone else was about.
If they were to meet? Good God, the woman had only to crook her finger and he was actually contemplating trotting along to see what it was she wanted.
He flung the note into the fire, braced his arm on the mantel and watched with satisfaction as the flames devoured her summons.
Did she really think he’d respond to a missive like that? After she’d turned her back on him when he’d needed her the most? Tossed aside their friendship without a second thought? And then greeted his return to England with an indifference that hadn’t wavered in all the years since?
And yet...
He braced one booted foot on the fender stool. If he didn’t go, he’d always wonder what could have made her break through that wall of silence and reach out to him.
Which was probably why her note had been so brief. He ground his teeth. She knew him too well. Knew that its cryptic nature would rouse his curiosity to such a pitch that he’d find it hard to rest until he’d discovered exactly what lay behind it.
He wouldn’t put it past her to presume that he’d feel guilty, too, if he ignored her note. Because she’d remember the promise he’d made: if ever she needed help, he would give it. Not that she’d actually stated she was in need of help. No, she’d been too cunning for that. She’d merely teased him with five words that could imply anything.
Edmund bent to take the poker from the stand and slashed it through the charred sheet of paper, scattering its ashes across the hot coals until there were no visible remnants.
But it didn’t make him feel any better. On the contrary, it only reminded him that ash was all that was left of a friendship that had burned so brightly for him, he’d believed he’d be able to warm himself at it his whole life.
He stared into the flames, remembering. How she used to pull faces at him over the top of the pew, from her side of church, once the dullness of the sermon had put most of the adults in the congregation to sleep. How she’d walked three paces behind his mother, mimicking the way she stalked down the aisle with her nose in the air.
How she’d rubbed her ear the day Blundell had clouted her for trespassing on to the Ashenden estate, but refused to leave until she’d found her dog, which had wriggled through a boundary hedge in pursuit of a rabbit. How she’d then charmed the gruff gamekeeper into letting her join in his fishing lesson. And subsequently returned the next day. And the one after. How she’d dared him to climb every tree on the estate. Demanded