Authors: Gloria Harchar
Falcon
'
s face was carved from granite.
"
You may go, Gaspar.
"
With a
stiff
bow, the servant left.
Nicola
clasped her palms together in panicked supplication.
"
I b
eg you, do not pummel him, milo
rd.
"
"
If he continues with that infernal
yelling
, no amount of feminine wiles can stop me.
"
Feminine wiles? She didn
'
t know whether to be amused or insulted by his words. At least he
'
d noticed she was a woman—more than she could say of many men of her acquaintance. But did he actually think her capable of exercising feminine wiles, or was he making jest of her plainness?
She wished she could stop the tremble in her voice as easily as the one in her hands.
"
Wh-what are you going to-to do?
"
"
After his beating?"
He shrugged.
"
Deport him.
"
A lump lodged in her throat. What
could she do to prevent such
devastating punishment? Not only would Ramsey be ruined, she feared her father would die of sorrow. She ran her hand desperately over her indispensable, trying to feel the little Callers, but could detect nothing tangible.
"
What now?
"
she whispered to them.
"
I need you.
"
Silence rolled over her like a heavy mist.
"
You need me?
"
She wasn
'
t sure whether that was amazement or amusement coloring his voice, but she had no doubt embarrassment was coloring her cheeks.
"
Ah... mmm
... that is, I need you to release Ramsey and forget this whole episode.
"
He continued to look at her, ru
bbing his chin as if she were a strange puzzle he was trying to solve.
"
Tell me, do you always talk to yourself?
"
"
Not until tonight,
"
she muttered,
and then
threw him a look of appeal.
"
Please, don
'
t be harsh on Ramsey. He
'
s a young man with noble ideals to save the stockingers, as misdirected as his deeds may be. Surely you were young and reckless at one time.
"
"
We are not discussing my deeds, but your cousin
'
s. He is a
born
criminal.
"
"
No, he isn
'
t. You are too austere in your judgment.
"
He held up the axe and ran a finger along the blade
'
s sharp edge.
"
I should have your cousin deported.
"
"
But surely you can see that is too extreme.
"
She stepped toward him and grasped the edge of his greatcoat.
"
Can
'
t you think of something less severe? Perhaps he could do chores without wages, such as bookkeeping.
"
"
After his attempt to destroy my property?
"
Falcon
wood
'
s dark brows beetled with his scowl.
"
That machinery took
ye
ars to develop.
"
"
I
'
m pleading with you, don
'
t be too harsh. He
'
s from a good family. I think your apprehension and keeping him overnight in your offices will be enough to cure him of his wayward actions.
"
"
I do not agree.
"
He glanced at her fingers, and she realized she still clutched his greatcoat.
Self-consciously, she released him and rubbed her damp palms along her skirt.
"
Then perhaps have him do something loathsome. Why, he could muck out your stables for as long as you believe is appropriate. That would have a lasting effect on any young man who has not experienced such dreadful duty.
"
"
I
'
m not convinced.
"
"
He could
... labor in one of your mills. A young man
accustomed to leisure would repent doing work like that.
"
"
I would rather see him deported.
"
A load of bricks seemed to land on her. She extended one hand in a last supplicating gesture.
"
I
'
m certain we can come to a more appealing agreement, one that would satisfy your need for justice without such catastrophic consequences.
"
Falconwood leaned against the table, crossing one ankle over the other, and regarded her with his slate-colored gaze.
"
As a matter of fact,
"
he said in a languid drawl,
"
there
is
something I find more appealing. Or, more precisely, someone.
"
His gaze sent shivers of dread skittering down
Nicola
'
s spine. There was no need for panic, she assured herself. He couldn
'
t possibly mean—He could never want—
She was simply overreacting. After all, he was the Earl of Falconwood, and she—she was plain
Nicola
Moore, an upstart who used to be a stockinger's daughter who now claimed to be middle class. Now at twenty-
three
, she was a
tomboy with
an
uncouth manner and a propensity of getting her hands dirty
. No, he couldn
'
t conceivably want anything from her.
She drew a deep breath,
and then
forced a casual note into her voice.
"
And who would that be?
"
"
You.
"
That deep breath disappeared, leaving her lungs tight.
"
I-I beg your pardon?
"
"
You heard me. I want you. If you refuse, I will see that your cousin is deported to the far reaches of New South Wales.
"
"
You mean, as in you and me? Toge
ther? I mean, you want me to-to
...
"
she asked, her voice squeaking
so badly she couldn't finish the sentence
.
He pinned her with his gaze.
"
Allow me to be more precise,
Miss Moore
. I want you to be my wife.
"
"
Your wife?
"
Nicola
exclaimed. She was more surprised than when she
'
d discovered the Callers. Dismay swept over her. What could he be thinking to propose marriage to her? Did he realize what he was
saying? Could it be that he was
... attracted to her? Was
he
the one the Callers wanted for her spouse-to-be, so the union could supposedly help England to win a war that hadn't even begun?
She stared at his darkly handsome face with its high cheekbones and mesmerizing e
yes
. He leaned against a worktable, his hands supporting him on either side, his greatcoat open, his lean, powerful legs crossed at the ankles. The sculpted contours of his chest were clearly delineated under the white shirt, making her mouth go dry.
A
strange shortness of breath assailed her.
This was the pixies' doing. Under no conditions would an earl with his stature in life want to marry a girl who had been born into poverty
, a girl without property or prestige
. She would wager the pixies—Glissando in particular—
h
ad
cast a spell on
Falconwood
.
B
ecause of the pixies, Falconwood couldn
'
t see that her short, stubby nose was sprinkled with ghastly freckles
, and that her
hair was an unseemly barley-color
blond.
And why
would he trap her into marriage?
T
hreaten her dear cousin with deportation in order to force her to his will?
It plum didn't make sense.
The notion that he really wanted her was so absu
rd, she had to laugh
.
Falcon
'
s gaze flicked over her.
"
I admit
you'll
make an outrageous countess.
"
As she absently noted how the light from the lantern painted strange patterns on his austere face, she supposed she should be insulted that he would have such a low opinion of her. But
how could she when
his statement was all too true. She would make an outrageous countess, not only in society
'
s e
ye
s but in her own. Why, she didn
'
t know the first thing about being nobility. His obvious reluctance only confused her more.
"
Why do you propose such an unacceptable
arrangement?"