Helen Dickson - An Innocent Proposal

“I never forget a beautiful face, Miss Divine, especially not when it happens to be as lovely as yours,” he complimented, enjoying the slight unease this seemed to cause her. “The second time I saw you was the morning after at St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden,” he went on. “I remember how intent you were on your devotions, how concentrated.”

Louisa also recalled seeing him in St Paul’s Church, which was close to Henrietta Street. Feeling the need of prayer that day, after a bitter and heated exchange with James the previous evening on their return from Vauxhall Gardens, when he had stormed out of the house to visit his club, she had attended the service, finding the small church an oasis of peace.

“Isn’t everyone when they go to church, Lord Dunstan?” she answered, thinking how quickly she had forgotten him because of what had followed with James. “Otherwise what is the point in going at all? Although it is clear to me you were not as intent on your own devotions if you allowed your attention to stray to me.

“However, I am flattered to learn that I made such a distinct impression on you, causing you to remember me after two whole months—which is more than can be said of myself. I confess that when I saw you yesterday your face did seem a trifle familiar, but I could not recall where I might have seen you.”

“Which tells me you were not as impressed by me as I was by you.” He chuckled, unoffended.

“Most of the ladies I meet are more than eager to be amiable to me because of who I am, but you have the unique distinction of being the only woman I have ever met who is honest enough to tell me to my face that, having met me, she does not remember me.”

“Really? And you are not put out?” Louisa asked drily, thinking that what he said must be true; that if he was as wealthy as Timothy had said he was—and with his kind of looks—he must have women falling at his feet like dominoes in a row, all rendered quite helpless when confronted by his charm and allure.

“Not in the slightest. In fact I find it a refreshing change. Tell me, do you often worship at St Paul’s Church?”

“No. Only on the odd occasion when I happen to be in London—when I find the need to atone for my sins,” she said softly, her eyes teasing, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Which was, perhaps, your own reason for being there, Lord Dunstan?”

He smiled mischievously. “What else? And are you a frequent visitor to Brewster’s bookshop?”

“No,” she answered, suddenly beginning to feel slightly uneasy. She did not like the way he had followed her inside Mr Brewster’s bookshop, nor did she like his easy manner and the steady, unsettling gaze of his penetrating blue eyes. He was the most lethally attractive man she had ever met, and she would have to take care not to be drawn in by him. Swiftly she raised her defences. “I do not pretend to be knowledgeable about books, but I do enjoy reading. You seem surprised, Lord Dunstan?”

His handsome mouth curved into a slight smile. “I can imagine you in many places, but a bookshop is not one of them—unless, of course, you are on the stage and looking for some material to do with a play,” he said, sounding casual, his eyes filled with idle speculation as he studied her closely.

“No,” Louisa answered calmly, knowing he was fishing for information about her, but preferring to keep him guessing. The less he knew about her, the better she would feel.

He frowned. “You are a complete contradiction in terms of appearance.”

“A contradiction?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Let me see the book that has caught your attention.” Reaching out, he took the book she had been flicking through from her hands. Reading the title on the spine, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Clarissa! It would not be my choice of good reading, but I can quite see why it appeals to the ladies.”

“No matter what your opinion, Lord Dunstan, the book has met with considerable success and is a fine work,” said Louisa quickly, in defence of her favourite book. “I cannot understand why you should pour scorn on it.”

He smiled. “Clarissa is a nervous young woman of excessive sentiment and sensibility. I confess to having read the book but she did not endear herself to me in the slightest.”

“And how do you define sentiment and sensibility, Lord Dunstan?”

“As expressions of intense human feelings—of which the heroine in question is in possession to excess. The two words are often confused. Sentiment is ruled by the human heart—which is the centre of all emotion—whereas sensibility is the key to bodily sensations—touch and such things,” he said softly, his eyes filling with amusement when she flushed and lowered her gaze at his definition and the hidden connotation of the words. He smiled, knowing exactly the effect he was having on her. “Clearly you enjoyed the book?”

“Yes,” she replied, wishing she had not asked him to define the two words because she knew she was blushing at the intimacy of his tone. There was altogether something too explicit and intense in his eyes. However, she refused to be deflected. “So much so that I have read it several times. I confess I was much moved and felt a great deal of sympathy for Clarissa—being pursued and persecuted so cruelly by the abominable Lovelace.”

“Ah, but she did throw herself on his mercy.”

“She accepted Lovelace’s offer of help because she was quite desperate to save herself from a dreadful marriage, only to find herself in a worse situation than she was before.”

“And you have an affinity to Clarissa, have you, Miss Divine?”

Louisa smiled with a faint trace of cynicism. “Oh, I believe there is a Clarissa in most women, Lord Dunstan—just as there is a Lovelace in most men.”

“Perhaps you are right, but we do not all have to resort to kidnap to engage the affections of the ladies we desire. You speak from experience, I think, Miss Divine?” he said slowly, meaningfully, in a voice low with seduction that made Louisa think improper things; it was a voice few women would be able to resist, especially not if the man speaking happened to look like Lord Dunstan—over six feet tall and built like a Greek athlete of old.

She looked at him, suddenly beginning to feel out of her depth, unable to answer his question, and feeling a wave of hot colour burn her cheeks under his close scrutiny. She was relieved when Mr Brewster chose that moment to come shuffling along the aisle towards her.

“I must apologise, my dear young lady, for taking so long. I thought I had a copy of Mr Collins’ poems but I was mistaken.”

“That’s all right, Mr Brewster.” Louisa smiled. “Thank you for taking the trouble to look.”

When he had moved away, Louisa looked up to see Lord Dunstan eyeing her with some amusement and a hint of mockery, his eyelids drooped down over his glorious blue eyes giving him a lazy, sleepy look.

“William Collins! A book of sentimental lyric poetry that is fashionable and much sought after in some circles, I believe.” His smile widened. “I salute your taste, Miss Divine—a veritable catalogue of sensation. Perhaps Mr Brewster might order it for you if you are so desirous to obtain it.”

“I am sure he would, but that would not be convenient.”

“And why is that, pray?”

“Because I do not intend remaining in London for very much longer, Lord Dunstan. That is why.”

“You are not leaving before I have had the pleasure of receiving you at Dunstan House on Thursday evening, I hope?”

In answer she took the book he was still holding and placed it back on the shelf, conscious as she did so that their fingers touched. She moved away from him quickly, disturbed by his close proximity but refusing to show it—although she strongly suspected he was aware of it and found it amusing. Assuming a calm, almost blasé expression, she smiled.