A False Proposal by Pam Mingle Page A

father when he came to Longmere on business. “Ah, now I remember her,” Adam said, rolling his eyes. “She’s barely out of the school room. I must be a good ten years older than she.”
    “She’s twenty, and marriages are arranged every day between people with far greater gaps in their ages than that. It’s nothing.”
    “No. I won’t do it.”
    His father went very quiet, and Adam recalled that this always occurred when he was at his most intimidating. The elder Grey made his way back to the drinks table and refilled his glass, not offering any to his son. “It is my understanding you wish to stand for election. I happen to know Sir William wants to get rid of that old fool he’s been sponsoring for years. Through the baronet’s auspices, you may succeed. However, without his help, you don’t have a prayer. He owns the seat. Your marriage to his girl would assure your election.”
    Hugh must have informed him after the dinner party. Adam felt his political ambitions slipping away. Even so, he would not trade a seat in Commons for a wife he neither knew nor wanted. His refusal had to be irrevocable and beyond question. Before he could consider the consequences, he said, “I am recently betrothed, and under no circumstances would I consider breaking my engagement.”
    His father slammed the brandy glass onto the desk. The amber liquid splashed out and ran in lazy rivulets toward the papers scattered across the surface, enough of it that Adam could smell the rich, woody scent.
    “You’re lying! Hugh would have mentioned it in his missive—”
    “It only just happened. In fact, I am en route to a house party at my mother’s estate for a celebration. We have not even drawn up the marriage settlements yet.”
    The old man grunted. “Then there is still time to cry off, if you haven’t put your signature to anything. You must think of your future!”
    Adam struggled to keep his temper. “Don’t pretend to care about my future. It’s your own hide you’re worried about.”
    If his words offended, there was no sign. His father went right on pressing his case. “You say you and your mother are having guests? Include Eleanor Broxton. You may change your mind when you’ve seen her. A prime article, they say.”
    Adam felt nothing but distaste at the thought of inviting Miss Broxton, but he needed time to think through this wrinkle in his plan. At least he’d be showing courtesy to the girl by including her. That might appease her father—his too.
    “Very well. I shall ask Deborah to send round an invitation for her. But that will be the extent of it.” He made his way to the library door, where he hesitated. “How much do you owe Sir William?”
    “Over 50,000 pounds.”
    “Good God, Father!” Adam jerked open the door, his escape now seeming quite urgent.
    “Not so fast, boy. You haven’t said. Who’s to be your bride?”
    Without wavering, Adam named the woman who’d been haunting his dreams. “Cassandra Linford.” He strode through to the corridor before the old man had time to react. Adam’s lack of belief in ill omens notwithstanding, he felt a sharp sense of doom settle in his belly. How ironic that he’d thought his father might have a positive influence over Sir William. None of this boded well for his career as an MP, or for a future bond with Cass.

Chapter Ten
    Cass sighed with relief when the Linford carriage drove down the long avenue with its canopy of tall trees overhead, the final approach to Deborah Grey’s country home. Jack had ridden his spirited bay alongside them, so he had not been subjected to Cousin Louisa’s ceaseless lecture on the unsuitability of Cass’s attendance at the house party. When Cass had reached the end of her patience, she finally barked out, “It’s done. We’re nearly there. May we speak of something else?” Louisa had grimaced, but she said no more. When she’d dozed off at last, Cass had entertained herself by sticking her tongue out at her