Page 18 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

Lucy stared at the buttons on his formal wear, plain with no elaborate design, unlike Dufton’s that had been engraved.

In fact, Estwood’s attire was devoid of any ornamentation.

No stickpin in his cravat. No jeweled cufflinks.

Spartan when comparing his clothing to that of the other gentlemen present.

Estwood could have afforded the extravagance but chose not to.

“I have information for you.”

“Do you?” He appeared utterly bored. The tip of his thumb flicked absently against his pinky finger.

“And a proposal to make.”

One brow raised in question. “I’m listening,” he growled softly.

Lucy reminded herself that Estwood was…dangerous, but not in the same way as Dufton.

She sensed that no matter his anger, irritation, or dislike, he would never harm her, which boded well for her proposal.

But he could be brutal in his business dealings.

Ruthless, as only a man who’d grown up poor and clawed his way to success could be. Her research had proved as much.

“Will anyone else be joining us? Waterstone, perhaps?” Estwood gave her a pointed look. “Maybe Dufton? I understand you two are close.” Mockery lit his words.

“No,” she stammered. He had good reason to think her dishonest.

“Well…” He crossed his arms. “Spit it out, Miss Waterstone. I did not allow the duchess to seduce me with a good roast and rosemary potatoes to be kept in suspense.”

So Romy had invited him to dinner, filled his belly, and then informed Estwood the note he’d assumed to be from Father had come instead from Lucy.

Given the wariness with which he eyed her, Romy had been wise to use every method available to compel him to listen.

She doubted he would have spoken to her otherwise.

“I could hardly call upon you or have you call upon me,” she started, pleased her voice didn’t tremble.

“Of course not,” he said, words thick with sarcasm as he leaned closer, his presence rushing over Lucy in a wave.

She caught a whiff of his shaving soap, something light with a hint of spice.

“What would people say? Miss Waterstone, paragon of virtue and all things ladylike, cavorting with the likes of Harry Estwood.” His eyes narrowed.

“I’d never dare taint you. I believe you made your aversion to me abundantly clear at Granby’s house party. ”

The words were cold, lashing her like bits of ice. She’d humiliated him, and Estwood had never forgotten.

Fine. Very well .

There was no point in attempting to explain her father’s manipulation, not when he wouldn’t listen.

Besides, any excuse she might offer for cutting him so directly at that house party would be scoffed at.

He wouldn’t believe her, and frankly, Lucy was ashamed of her own na?veté, for having followed Father so blindly.

She had a limited amount of time to present her proposal.

Earn Estwood’s agreement. Dufton or Father could burst through the doors at any moment.

She took a brave step, drawing an inch closer to the only man who had ever made her heart flutter. And her heart was fluttering, along with her pulse and every nerve in her body. The way her skin pulled in his direction made it difficult for Lucy to think properly, and she needed her wits.

“Mr. Eth ” She halted, features pinching together. “Estwood,” she finished. Mortified, Lucy turned away, struggling to regain her composure.

An exasperated sound came from behind her. “I haven’t all night, Miss Waterstone. If you are going to blush and stammer, I fear I’ll lose interest.”

Blush and stammer?

She spun around and faced him, frustrated anger finally erupting to the surface.

How tired she was of being dismissed, of being treated like some empty-headed nitwit.

It was entirely intolerable, especially from him .

He could dislike her all he wanted. Father had ruined Estwood for her, as he had so much else in her life.

“I thuppothe you think this is easy.” She lifted her chin, daring him to mock her speech.

“I don’t care whether it is or isn’t, Miss Waterstone.” His eyes never left her mouth, fingers twitching at his sides. “Make your point. I’ve a game of whist waiting.”

“Father has at least six contracts,” she hurled back at him, caring more about her own annoyance at his condescending tone than her speech. “Large ones on which, due to his mismanagement, Pendergast will default. You won’t find out until the papers are signed.”

“How kind of you to warn me.” The side of his mouth twitched, though the gray of his eyes went brittle and cold. “I’m aware. Your father isn’t as clever as he thinks, Miss Waterstone. Now, I appreciate the warning, but—” Estwood turned and started towards the door.

“Marsden,” she choked out in desperation, to get him to listen. “Don’t you want it?”

Estwood halted, turning back around. “I beg your pardon?”

Lucy flinched at the ugly sound of him, but she refused to stand down. “He isn’t going to sell Marsden to you. No matter how he insists he might. No matter what you offer for it.” She swallowed. “He doesn’t own it.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Estwood stalked back across the room so ferociously, Lucy shrank away until her back hit the paneled wall. “Is this yet another scheme?”

This was the man Father should be afraid of.

Her fingers trembled once more, and she hid them in her skirts. “Marsden, Mr. Estwood,” she glared up at him, courage hanging by a thread. “My father can’t deliver it to you, but I can.”

“How?” A snarl came from him. “What is your price, Miss Waterstone?” He looked as if he meant to strangle her. “Name it.”

Lucy refused to flinch. Or appear weak. Romy would be proud of her.

“Marriage.”