An Infamous Proposal by Joan Smith Page A

He recaptured her fingers and squeezed them in a paralyzing grip, while his sapphire orbs gleamed into hers. “You know what I mean. Naturally I’ll repay you every sou.”
    “No, really, Mr. Hunter, I am not at all interested.” She managed to free her fingers. They ached from his grip.
    “Dash it, where’s your imagination, Emma? It’s the chance of a lifetime.”
    “The chance of your lifetime, perhaps. Not mine. I must tell you, Mr. Hunter, I have no intention of marrying a man I met only three days ago, nor of turning a very profitable dairy farm into a place to lose money breeding horses. I hope I have not misled you into thinking I am interested in anything of the sort.”
    “But Aunt Miriam said—”
    “Your aunt reads a good deal of romantic fiction,” Emma said firmly, and rose to brush off her skirts.
    He drew himself slowly to his feet, gazed once more over the estate, and uttered a deep, heartfelt sigh.
    Emma felt Mr. Hunter would be leaving that same day. It meant losing out on the trip to London, but after his proposal, the trip could not be anything but embarrassing. He would either be in a huff or take advantage of the enforced proximity to press his offer forward again. She hardly knew which would be worse.
    Mr. Hunter took a more optimistic view of matters. He knew he had lost out on Emma’s fortune and his dream of a stud farm, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pass a few weeks in the lap of luxury at Whitehern without expense. He mentally abandoned the trip to London. It was bound to cost him money—have to entertain the ladies a little. And besides, there were people there who would be dunning him for unpaid bills.
    “You have spoken. We’ll say no more about it. Still, no reason we can’t be friends,” he said, his good humor unimpaired. “Aunt Miriam mentioned Hansard is having a little do. He would be offended if I darted off before it takes place.”
    Emma had told Miss Foxworth of the party. Miss Foxworth had apparently told her nephew, but why he should think Nick would be offended if he didn’t come was a mystery.
    “Suit yourself,” Emma replied. “I’m sure Miss Foxworth’s nephew is always welcome at Whitehern.”
    His pearly teeth flashed in the sunlight. “That’s dashed decent of you, Emma.”
    It was another proposal that seemed to bring Emma closer to the other participant. Hunter and Emma were soon on a first-name basis. Now that he didn’t have to keep up a facade, he relaxed and enjoyed himself. When he wasn’t riding John’s horse—the tale of the Arabian gelding was heard no more—he was flying about the countryside in his curricle. In the evenings he usually went into the village to spend a few hours drinking and playing cards with new friends at the local tavern. He always made friends quickly. He even visited Lord Hansard a few times, storing up anecdotes to impress his acquaintances when he returned to London.
    Nick called on Emma the evening after Mr. Hunter’s proposal to give her the invitations to his rout party. Hunter was out, but Emma was glad to see there was an invitation for him as well. She felt sorry for Hunter’s hand-to-mouth existence, but as he enjoyed himself so much, she didn’t have to feel too sorry. Miss Foxworth was in the saloon. If she had heard of her nephew’s setback, she kept it to herself. She sat with her nose in a book as usual, paying no attention to the caller after greeting him.
    “I’ll bring young James over to meet you the afternoon before the rout, to give you the inside track,” Nick said, as he handed Emma the invitations.
    “You feel I have to be handicapped, do you?”
    “Spoken like a racetrack tout, Lady Capehart. I see Hunter has been at you with his schemes. Have you succumbed to the blandishment of Ascot?”
    “Certainly not. I refused his offer.”
    “He’s already offered!”
    “Well, I think marriage was included in his offer to run my stud farm for me,” she replied.
    “No grass