The Proposal by Mary Balogh

Stanbrook had coaxed her into taking when he had discerned from the paleness of her face that she was in more pain than she could easily endure.
    She had not seen Lord Trentham all morning. It was a great relief, for she had awoken remembering his kiss and had found the memory hard to shake. Why ever had he wanted to kiss her, since he had given no indication that he either liked her or was attracted to her? And why on earth had she consented to the kiss?
    She certainly could not claim that he had stolen it before she could protest.
    Neither could she claim that it had been an unpleasant experience.
    It most decidedly had not been.
    And that fact was perhaps the most disturbing of all.
    She had endured Vera’s visit for several hours before the duke himself came to the room, as promised, and very courteously yet very firmly escorted her out to his waiting carriage after assuring her that he would send it for her again tomorrow morning.
    Vera had been quite vocally put out at being left alone with Gwen throughout her visit. When their luncheon had been brought to the morning room, delicious though it was, she had protested at the discourtesy of His Grace’s not having invited her to join the rest of his guests at the dining room table. She was chagrined at the arrangements that had been made for her return home—and its early hour. She had assured His Grace on her arrival, she had told Gwen, that she would be happy to walk home and save him the trouble of calling out his carriage again if one of the gentlemen would only be kind enough to escort her at least part of the way. He had ignored her generous offer.
    But what could one expect of a man who had killed his own wife?
    How she hoped, Gwen thought as she drifted off to sleep, that Neville would not delay in sending the carriage for her once he received her letter. She had assured him that she was quite well enough to travel.
    Would she see Lord Trentham today? It was perhaps too much to expect that she would not, but she did hope that he would keep his distance and that the duke would not appoint him to take dinner with her again this evening. She had embarrassed herself enough with regard to him yesterday to last her for the next lifetime or two.
    He was the last person she thought of as she fell asleep. And he was the first person she saw when she woke up again some indeterminate time later. He was standing a short distance from the chaise longue upon which she lay, his booted feet slightly apart, his hands clasped behind his back, frowning. He looked very much like a military officer even though he was dressed in a form-fitting coat of green superfine and buff-colored pantaloons with highly polished Hessian boots. He was frowning down at her. His habitual expression, it seemed.
    She felt at a huge disadvantage, stretched out for sleep as she was.
    “Most people,” he said, “snore when they sleep on their back.”
    Trust him to say something totally unexpected.
    Gwen raised her eyebrows. “And I do not?”
    “Not on this occasion,” he said, “though you do sleep with your mouth partway open.”
    “Oh.”
    How dare he stand there watching her while she slept. There was something uncomfortably intimate about it.
    “How is your ankle today?” he asked.
    “I thought it would be better, but annoyingly it is not,” she said. “It is only a sprained ankle, after all. I feel embarrassed at all the fuss it is causing. You need not feel obliged to keep talking about it or asking me about it. Or to continue keeping me company.”
    Or watching me while I sleep.
    “You ought to have some fresh air,” he said. “Your face is pale. It is fashionable for ladies to look pale, I gather, though I doubt any wish to look pasty.”
    Wonderful! He had just informed her that she looked pasty.
    “It is a chilly day,” he said, “but the wind has gone down and the sun is shining, and you may enjoy sitting in the flower garden for a while. I’ll fetch your cloak if you wish