Page 32 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

To have one’s cake, and eat it too…

Clementine sat in the parlour with her sisters, wondering why the two of them were staring at her with such peculiar intensity.

“What?” she demanded, folding her arms. “Do I have a horrid spot on my nose? Or spinach in my teeth? Or have I grown a second head? Why are you both looking at me like that?”

Izzy and Bea exchanged glances, then Bea leaned forward, her lovely expression gentle. “You said Lord Beaumarsh asked you to guess why he was here,” she repeated.

“I did,” Clementine confirmed, wondering if the entire town had been afflicted with some dread disease that made them ask pointless questions.

“And that he had come to speak to Papa,” Izzy added, almost sounding out the words.

“Yes, what of it?”

“She’s hopeless,” Bea said with a sigh, shaking her head.

“A lost cause,” Izzy agreed. “There she is, wanting to marry you off to a duke, and she can’t tell when she’s landed an earl.”

Clementine stared at them, bewildered. “Landed an earl? He’s not a fish. A peacock, possibly, but definitely not a fish, and—”

She gazed at them as their meaning filtered through the turmoil in her brain. It did not help matters.

“Ah, there it is,” Bea said cheerfully. “She’s finally figured it out.”

“Just to be certain, let me spell it out in words of few syllables. Clemmie, dearest, the earl has come to ask Papa if he can marry you,” Izzy said, speaking in the same tones she might use on an elderly halfwit with hearing deficiencies.

Clementine shot to her feet. “No!” She shook her head, gave a hysterical bark of laughter, marched to the window, and then marched back again.

Standing in front of her sisters and gazing down at them, she regarded them with fond exasperation.

“You poor little hen-wits—” she began, just as the door opened.

“Ah, Clemmie, my dearest,” her father said, bubbling with excitement. “There you are! I told you she’d be with her sisters, my lord. Now, girls, you must leave Clementine alone for a moment, for the earl has something most important he wishes to say to her.”

Slanting ‘I told you so’ glances at her, Izzy and Bea rushed from the room, their muffled laughter and squeals of delight only too audible. Clementine, by contrast, stood frozen in place, shocked to her core.

She did not move, even as her father winked at her and closed the door, leaving her alone with the Earl of Beaumarsh.

“Ah,” he said dryly. “I see you hadn’t figured it out after all.”

Clementine stared at him. Her heart was beating a hectic tattoo in her chest, and she did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Perhaps both. Yes, both at once were distinct possibilities. Hysteria seemed to her a perfectly reasonable response to an offer of marriage from an earl. From this earl.

“Is this a joke?” she managed, startled by the faint quality of her voice.

He shook his head, his expression gentle.

“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to take me seriously.

And please remember that, whilst I am an idle peacock, I do have feelings.

Please take a moment to reflect before you laugh in my face or run away screaming.

Or laugh and then run. I’m certain you are contemplating something of the sort. ”

A strangled giggle escaped her, his words touching so close to the truth she couldn’t help herself.

His lips quirked, and that endearing smile made her stomach lurch again. “I thought as much.” He gestured to the settee, moving slowly, as if afraid to spook her. “Might we sit down?”

Clementine nodded, but seemed unable to make her legs work.

Apparently accustomed to dealing with hysterical females—was that reassuring?

—Lord Beaumarsh took her arm and guided her to the settee.

Clementine sat, put her hands in her lap and stared at them, wondering how she had got here.

It had started out as a perfectly agreeable but quite unremarkable day. What had happened to it?

“Now, then, I’m sure this has all come as a most unpleasant shock to you,” he said, his tone perfectly reasonable.

“And you are wondering what on earth I am playing at. Well, if you will bear with me, I shall explain. Or attempt to. You will note that I am not quite comfortable with this situation myself,” he added ruefully.

Clementine glanced up at him again. He’s nervous.

The realisation was startling. Why on earth was he nervous?

The Earl of Beaumarsh was a catch, one of the prizes of the marriage mart.

What had he to be nervous about? Any girl in her right mind would snap his hand off if he proposed marriage.

Well, apart from her, obviously. She wouldn’t. Would she?

She pushed the question aside. Obviously, she would refuse him, because… because this was insane. He’d obviously lost his mind. He could have any woman he crooked his finger at. What on earth would induce him to offer for her?

“Why?” she demanded, finally having got a hold of her wits. “Why me? We hardly know each other. You didn’t even like me when we first met.”

“You liked me less,” he retorted.

“True, but that’s by the by,” she replied briskly, unsettled by the delighted smile he returned when she agreed with him.

“No, it isn’t, it’s entirely the point. I don’t dislike you the least bit now. Indeed, I like you very well.”

Clementine snorted. “Well, that is reassuring. I am heartened to discover you do not go about proposing marriage to females you dislike.”

He grinned. “Not usually. Indeed, this is my first proposal, so I beg you will forgive me if I am making a mess of it.”

“Oh, certainly. If you are using me as an exercise to improve your chances with another lady, this makes a great deal more sense,” she said with growing agitation.

She started as he reached out and took her hand.

Her gaze flew to his, her heart picking up speed again.

The poor thing would run out of steam soon if it kept up this pace.

Perhaps that was the best thing. If she fainted, she would miss the rest of his speech.

But Clementine was far too sensible to faint and instead got lost his sea-blue eyes again. Drat them for being so pretty.

“Miss Honeywell,” he said softly. “Clementine.”

Her breath hitched. His deep voice speaking her given name gave her chills, and the feel of his hand, oh, his hand , so strong and warm, clasping hers, made her flush.

He had removed his gloves, and his bare skin against hers was an intimacy for which she was unprepared.

Suddenly she was hot and cold all at once and her insides trembled with… with something.

“No,” she said, and surged to her feet, pulling free of his hold.

She shook her head and paced away to stare out of the window, her arms wrapped around her body as if to hold herself together.

“No, I cannot allow you to do this, to say another word. I cannot imagine what maggot has got into your head, but this is sheer folly. I am on the shelf, with no dowry worth mentioning, as well as being far too independent and outspoken and… and a meddling busybody. I am a nobody from a town no one has ever heard of, and you would be a fool to ask for my hand when you might have a beautiful, well-behaved young woman with a fortune and…and… what are you smiling at, drat you?”

“I had a horrible feeling you were about to tell me you could not marry me because you cannot stand the sight of me,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Because I am a shallow fribble not worth your time. But you said only that you are not worthy of me, which only proves how badly I have upset your equilibrium. Do come and sit down again, my dear. Perhaps a glass of brandy would restore your spirits? You’ll have to do better than that, you know, if you truly wish to be rid of me. ”

Clementine did not know what she wanted, but a glass of brandy did not seem a terrible idea. “Brandy,” she agreed, putting a hand to her temples, which had commenced a dull throbbing.

Beaumarsh got up and walked to the decanter her father kept on a small side table for guests in need of a bracer. He poured her a surprisingly generous measure, and one for himself, before sitting down again.

“Are you trying to addle my brain with alcohol?” she asked, regarding the glass sceptically.

“Would it work?”

“Possibly.”

“Excellent.”

He sat down beside her, and they sipped their drinks for a few moments in silence.

“Clementine?”

His caressing voice sent little darts of pleasure rushing beneath her skin, and she closed her eyes, fighting the desire to run from the room.

She had not realised how very dangerous he was.

Not until now, when it was too late, and she had no defences ready to wield against this unforeseen attack on her emotions.

“Please let me explain.”

She nodded, knowing she must listen, no matter how afraid she was.

“Your father is a wise man, Clementine, and he has helped me more than I realised until I had time to reflect upon his words. You see, I had always viewed marriage as a transaction, for that is what it often is for men of my class. I offer a title and wealth, and the woman offers herself, and her dowry and connections, or land. It matters little if the two people even like each other, only that they increase the value of the earldom. Yet my parents lived that way, two strangers who despised each other, sharing a house. I see it all the time: the bickering, the tit for tat and one-upmanship. It is a wretched way to live, and I do not wish for it.”

Clementine swallowed, horribly afraid of what he might say next.

“Your father said I ought to find my soulmate, but I’m afraid I am too old and too cynical to believe such things exist, at least for me.

A good-hearted man like your father, a man who works tirelessly for the benefit of others, a man like that might deserve such things, but not me.

And even if I did, I think I might run from it, for fear of how I should feel if it were taken from me. ”