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She halted in the middle of lacing her stays. What did he mean by that statement? Did he wish her for a mistress?
“Pray, do not concern yourself,” she replied before considering the temptation. “I am quite resourceful.”
“You are indeed, Miss Herwood.”
She finished with her stays and reached for her frock. The sooner she escaped his presence, the better for her.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Damnation, she groaned, not another one.
He rose and went to the chest of drawers. Upon it was a large velvet box. He brought it over to her.
“Humor me,” he said as he opened the familiar container.
She stared at the exquisite jewelry she had worn at Chateau Follet. She hesitated. Had she not just determined that she had to leave as quickly as possible? But the ornaments called to her. He lifted the necklace and placed it about her neck, then the headpiece, earrings, and bracelet. She fingered the intricate web of the necklace.
He stepped back for a better view. “They belong with you.”
“I said once before—gifts are unnecessary.”
“You’ve not heard my proposition, Miss Herwood.”
Did he mean to offer her the jewels if she spent another night with him? If she returned to Chateau Follet with him? She dared not consider the prospect further.
“I think Lady Isabella would enjoy these equally,” she said.
His expression twisted oddly, and she admitted that her statement sounded rather stupid.
“Miss Herwood, if you disrupt me again, I will whip your arse such that it will be a sennight before you can sit down.”
She blinked. By God, he meant it. Reluctantly, she remained silent. But she knew her answer already. Whatever he offered, she had to refuse.
“I would have you take the jewels, Miss Herwood, if you will not take my hand.”
“I have no intention of accepting your—pardon?”
Astonished, she watched him go down upon a knee.
“Miss Herwood, would you honor me by becoming the Baroness Rockwell?”
Was he mad? Drunk? Jesting? If the last, it was a cruel, cruel hoax. Or perhaps she had mistaken him? Heard incorrectly? The hour was late, her body had endured much. Her mind was not at peak performance. But then why was he before her on bended knee?
“Lady Isabella,” she said in her confusion.
Rockwell appeared annoyed. “What of Lady Isabella?”
“Did she reject your suit?”
“Reject my...? I never asked for her hand. But, God, woman, I am asking for yours. Do you know how many hours I have spent in the last month searching for you? I must have gone to every gaming hall in London—twice. I made inquiries everywhere. I had someone ask your mother and aunt and would have paid them a visit myself if my appearance would not have alarmed them. And if I had been certain you had feelings for me. That I had to determine for myself.”
He had been searching for her? Was he not pursuing Isabella then?
“I had thought,” he continued, “if I could show you, remind you, of the pleasures we knew, perhaps you would find it difficult to be parted from me. I have thought of nothing else but you since leaving Chateau Follet. I had to have you. It would hardly have been fair to you to constantly proposition you or hope that you lost often enough at vingt-et-un. I considered asking you to be my mistress, but then that would have been unfair to my future wife for doubtless I would have wanted to spend more nights with you than her. A common practice among husbands, I know. But my sister had reminded me of what my father and mother had between them. A mistress would be an unnecessary excess if I had what they did. But I see that I have been greatly deluded for my offer cannot best a set of damned baubles from India.”
She sank to her knees before him, still hardly able to believe what she heard. Searching his face, she saw the depth of emotion there.
“You wish for me to accept your hand...in matrimony?” she inquired. “Are you certain?”
