One Tempting Proposal by Christy Carlyle Page A

sure I understand why Lord Clayborne wishes to see you .”
    Seb frowned. “I suspect he wishes to discuss the prospect of Ollie marrying his daughter. He can’t be unaware they’re enamored after how they carried on at the ball.” He shot a stern glance at Ollie, who smiled brightly enough to deflect any censure.
    Pippa twisted her lips in a thoughtful moue. “I think it’s far more likely he wishes to speak to you about marrying his daughter.”
    S E B P A C E D T H E floor of Lord Clayborne’s drawing room. He’d misjudged the walk and arrived early, and nothing about the starkest four walls he’d ever seen in his life put his mind at ease. The Fennicks were given to covering their walls, every bare inch, not just with wallpaper but with art and sketches, even framing some of Grandfather’s blueprints for majestic country houses and civic buildings. When Pippa turned out a fine watercolor, it had taken pride of place next to prized oil paintings by their late mother’s artistic circle of friends.
    The Marquess of Clayborne and his wife clearly didn’t share his parents’ lackadaisical notions regarding decor. Pristine whitewashed furniture seemed to frown on the pale pink of the walls and upholstery. Seb tolerated it for all of five minutes before tugging the bellpull.
    When a maid popped through the door, he gave into the desire to escape the cold room.
    â€œI’m a bit early for my meeting with Lord Clayborne. Is Lady Katherine at home?”
    Like steel striking flint, speaking her name set off sparks of anticipation that disturbed him as much as the memory of their first clash. He reminded himself to approach softly this time and try to refrain from upbraiding the woman.
    The maid seemed as dubious about leading him to Lady Katherine as he was about the wisdom of seeing her again. She chewed on her lip and scrunched her eyes, assessing him, before relenting.
    â€œI believe she’s in the conservatory, Your Grace. Right this way.”
    The room was far at the back of the Belgrave Square town house where Seb imagined the kitchens or laundry might be. But the maid took a sharp turn and led him into a room filled with light filtered through panels of frosted glass and dominated by enormous palms and ferns. The plants clogged the space, towering above his head, some branches seeming to strain against the limit of the glass ceiling. Scent assailed him and then lured him—­the damp loam of earth, the fresh sweet scent of greenery and flowers, so many that it was impossible to sort out a single note in the cacophony of aromas.
    And back in the corner amid a collection of glazed pots, shovels, and trowels, Lady Katherine stood at a bench crowded with seed packets and small seedlings in tiny clay pots. She wore a plain brown dress and her hair wasn’t pinned but pulled back, a waterfall of gold waves caught in the knot of a simple blue ribbon. She scrubbed her bare hands together, as if dusting away dirt, but then turned to two small pots and carefully pressed her forefinger into one and then the other, burrowing pockets into the soil. Reaching for a packet, she carefully poured a ­couple of pea-­sized seeds into her palm and rolled them about a minute as if studying the facets of precious gems before carefully dropping them into the holes she’d made.
    Humming as she worked, she turned to one bud that had just begun to reveal the coral shade of its yet hidden flower. She touched the bud, then stroked its dark leaf, cooing encouraging words under her breath.
    Though he stood out of her view, a few long strides would bring her close. He had no wish to disturb her, and yet here among her thriving plants she was as alluring as the lush blooms. Seb’s body tensed as he resisted the wave of desire threatening to wash away his inhibitions and make him do something foolish. Like call out or reach for her. Clenching his fists, he held his