A Scandalous Proposal by Julia Justiss

in a searing fireball of sensation.
    He must have passed out, or dozed, for when he came back to himself Evan lay sprawled against the pillows—alone. Sitting up with a start, he saw Emily at the doorway to a small balcony that overlooked the back garden.
    Strong emotion washed over him, followed by guilt. So much for courting, for flowers, gifts, sweet words. He’d said nothing at all, then taken her too fast, like a callow youth with his first woman. He recalled the ladies who had sighed with satisfaction after his bedding, swearing him to be the most skillful of lovers, and almost laughed. There’d been no trace tonight of that vaunted technique.
    â€™Twill be better next time, he promised her silently. Next time he would go slowly, slowly. Everything, each touch and taste and stroke, would be for her. Not until she writhed under him, clutching his shoulders and begging for release, would he sheath himself in her, and even then he would hold back until her cries of pleasure freed him to find nirvana again. He recalled the brain-melting, heart-stopping intensity of his response, and had to grin. Well, at least he would try to hold back.
    Naked, he slipped out of bed and approached her. She must not have heard him, for she stood silent, still facing out to the garden. He halted a step away, savoring her incredible beauty and marveling at its powerful effect.
    She’d put the night rail back on. Light from the streetlamp beyond shone in lozenged patterns on its shiny surface. Her lush hair, only a shadowy outline in the gloom, hung forward over her breasts. He bent to kiss her bared nape and suddenly realized what he’d taken to be patterns on the silken gown were, in fact, fold lines.
    Peering more closely, he examined the evenly spaced repetition of the rectangular shapes. So sharply creased were the lines, so spicy and deep the clinging odor of lavender, that he was forced to conclude the night rail must have lain folded in tissue wrap for a very long time.
    Had she welcomed her soldier back from battle wearing this? When he returned to her wounded, had she tenderly set it away, waiting for the day when he had recovered enough that she might wear it for him once more?
    An unexpected and shockingly intense feeling of outrage engulfed Evan at the thought of her with another man. As if laying claim, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
    She’d been trembling, even before his touch startled her. She turned her head toward him, and he saw star-spangled droplets clinging to the ends of her long lashes. She was, he realized with horror, weeping.
    Remorse swamped him. He pulled her into his arms, grateful that instead of resisting, she rested her head against his chest.
    After a moment, she moved away, swiping at her eyes. He stayed her hand and kissed the moist lashes. “Ah, sweetheart, you truly are a virtuous matron.”
    She managed a glimmer of a smile. “I used to be.”
    â€œYou are. ”
    Some fleeting emotion crossed her face. Gently she pushed him back and walked to the bedside table, took a sip of wine from a glass left there.
    Keeping her gaze averted from his unclothed body, she turned toward him. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very good. It’s been a long time.”
    â€œYou’ve had the gown since…” He couldn’t complete the thought.
    â€œYes. Be assured, I’ve never worn it. After A—After he was wounded, I kept it as a sort of talisman for the time when he would be well. But you cannot wish to hear of it.”
    She was right; he didn’t want to hear about it. At the same time, he was morbidly curious, and absolutely sick with jealousy.
    She poured another glass of wine, spilling a little, andhanded it to him. Then she lit a lamp, retrieved his shirt and breeches, and brought them over.
    After he’d drained the wine, she held out the shirt. “Shall I help?” Her glance grazed his naked form, and she flushed. “I