Suzanna Medeiros by Lady Hathaway's Indecent Proposal
Authors: Lady Hathaway's Indecent Proposal
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Chapter One
Until that morning the Earl of Sanderson would have said he was long past making a fool of himself for Miranda Hathaway, yet here he was, following her butler into the drawing room of her London town house. He told himself it was only curiosity that led him to accept her request for a meeting. After all, they hadn’t seen one another in twelve years, so why on earth would she want to see him now?
He took in the room’s ornate furnishings as the butler bowed and left to fetch his mistress. Viscount Hathaway had always made a point of displaying his vast wealth at every opportunity, as was evidenced by the amount of gilt in the room. He wondered if Miranda approved of the decor, or if she, too, found it lacking in taste. The old Miranda would have believed the latter. Or so he’d thought at the time, but that was before she’d broken it off with him to marry the much wealthier older man.
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach, and annoyed at the sign of weakness, he moved to the window and looked out onto the fashionable Mayfair neighborhood. It was early for a social call and the road was quiet. No doubt most of Miranda’s neighbors were still abed, recovering from whatever entertainments had kept them up the evening before. He would have been sleeping as well if Miranda’s message hadn’t arrived last night before he’d left for his club.
He resisted the urge to turn around and leave, just as she had done that last time they’d seen one another. Once again, he was at a disadvantage with her. In her house, at her summons, no knowledge of what this meeting was about. He was not, however, the same untried youth he’d been back then. If Miranda assumed so, she would be more than a little surprised.
He sensed her approach and turned in time to see her enter the room. He couldn’t help but notice she still moved with the same grace she’d possessed as a young woman, setting the ton ablaze during her first season with her beauty and unaffected charm. It had been inevitable that she’d captured his interest as well. But the new widow standing across the room from him now, clad in stark black, was far different from the girl of eighteen who’d worn only pale colors.
That was a lifetime ago.
“My lord,” she said, executing a fluid curtsey. Her expression gave no hint as to why she had sent for him.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement and watched in silence as she sat on one end of the ornate settee. A chair was positioned at an angle from her and it was clear she expected him to use it.
A need to ruffle her impassive bearing had him remaining silent and ignoring the chair. He moved past her and sat, instead, beside her on the settee. He left a respectable distance between them, but the way she stiffened told him she hadn’t expected him to sit so close. It was self-indulgent, but he felt a small measure of triumph at her discomfort.
He watched, more than a little surprised, as she collected herself, smoothing away all signs of discomfort. Her body relaxed, her expression becoming one of polite cordiality as she held herself with an almost unnatural stillness. It appeared Miranda Hathaway had learned to control the youthful exuberance she’d once possessed. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud her for her newfound reserve or mourn the loss of that once vibrant, impetuous young woman.
Silence stretched between them for several seconds before she turned to face him. He was struck once again, as he had been all those years ago, by her beauty. Her dark brown hair and the unrelieved black of her dress called attention to her pale coloring, making it seem as though she were carved from ivory. Her gray eyes were larger than he remembered, but she was also much thinner than when he’d known her. Almost painfully so. He almost asked if she was well but resisted the impulse. He had no desire to hear about how much she mourned the loss of the husband whose funeral had been only the week before.
The
Until that morning the Earl of Sanderson would have said he was long past making a fool of himself for Miranda Hathaway, yet here he was, following her butler into the drawing room of her London town house. He told himself it was only curiosity that led him to accept her request for a meeting. After all, they hadn’t seen one another in twelve years, so why on earth would she want to see him now?
He took in the room’s ornate furnishings as the butler bowed and left to fetch his mistress. Viscount Hathaway had always made a point of displaying his vast wealth at every opportunity, as was evidenced by the amount of gilt in the room. He wondered if Miranda approved of the decor, or if she, too, found it lacking in taste. The old Miranda would have believed the latter. Or so he’d thought at the time, but that was before she’d broken it off with him to marry the much wealthier older man.
Unease settled in the pit of his stomach, and annoyed at the sign of weakness, he moved to the window and looked out onto the fashionable Mayfair neighborhood. It was early for a social call and the road was quiet. No doubt most of Miranda’s neighbors were still abed, recovering from whatever entertainments had kept them up the evening before. He would have been sleeping as well if Miranda’s message hadn’t arrived last night before he’d left for his club.
He resisted the urge to turn around and leave, just as she had done that last time they’d seen one another. Once again, he was at a disadvantage with her. In her house, at her summons, no knowledge of what this meeting was about. He was not, however, the same untried youth he’d been back then. If Miranda assumed so, she would be more than a little surprised.
He sensed her approach and turned in time to see her enter the room. He couldn’t help but notice she still moved with the same grace she’d possessed as a young woman, setting the ton ablaze during her first season with her beauty and unaffected charm. It had been inevitable that she’d captured his interest as well. But the new widow standing across the room from him now, clad in stark black, was far different from the girl of eighteen who’d worn only pale colors.
That was a lifetime ago.
“My lord,” she said, executing a fluid curtsey. Her expression gave no hint as to why she had sent for him.
He inclined his head in acknowledgement and watched in silence as she sat on one end of the ornate settee. A chair was positioned at an angle from her and it was clear she expected him to use it.
A need to ruffle her impassive bearing had him remaining silent and ignoring the chair. He moved past her and sat, instead, beside her on the settee. He left a respectable distance between them, but the way she stiffened told him she hadn’t expected him to sit so close. It was self-indulgent, but he felt a small measure of triumph at her discomfort.
He watched, more than a little surprised, as she collected herself, smoothing away all signs of discomfort. Her body relaxed, her expression becoming one of polite cordiality as she held herself with an almost unnatural stillness. It appeared Miranda Hathaway had learned to control the youthful exuberance she’d once possessed. He wasn’t sure whether to applaud her for her newfound reserve or mourn the loss of that once vibrant, impetuous young woman.
Silence stretched between them for several seconds before she turned to face him. He was struck once again, as he had been all those years ago, by her beauty. Her dark brown hair and the unrelieved black of her dress called attention to her pale coloring, making it seem as though she were carved from ivory. Her gray eyes were larger than he remembered, but she was also much thinner than when he’d known her. Almost painfully so. He almost asked if she was well but resisted the impulse. He had no desire to hear about how much she mourned the loss of the husband whose funeral had been only the week before.
The
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