She caught her breath, aware she’d committed the sort of verbal affront for which Phoebe and Matilda were famous, but unable to bring herself to regret it. His Lordship was clearly a terrible host and, it seemed, intent on insulting her too.
At this he tipped his head back and let out a bark of laughter, stirring his hound. Josephine took a wary step sideways. She was not in any way afraid of dogs– indeed, she had grown up around many, but this one was unusually large and looking at her as though she might be a new species of rabbit.
‘Oh, take no notice of Brutus, he’s the biggest coward I’ve ever known. But you… you’re beginning to interest me.’
He rose suddenly, throwing his chair backwards, and affording Josephine her first real glimpse of his towering frame. She shrank back, aware that her well-intentioned plan mightn’t be as straightforward as she first thought.
‘Thomas said I’d find you spirited but, egad, no female I’ve ever known has had the effrontery to waltz into my house and tell me it needs a good clean, before accusing me of being drunk!’
He paced towards the door, making Josephine sidle back towards Brutus, who suddenly seemed the least terrifying prospect of the two.
‘And the purpose of your trip, Miss Fairfax?’ he mocked. ‘Was it to inspect the manor over which you might preside? That’s somewhat understandable, yet I might remind you that, while Thomas appears to have done his homework, I have yet to make an offer.’ He paused to run his fingers through his mop of unkempt hair, his eyes gleaming. ‘Though why I shouldn’t drink wine in my own home, and in my own time, eludes me. I’m sure many would agree it’s farless unsociable than waltzing into a stranger’s house before they are even dressed, without so much as a by-your-leave. Furthermore, while I am usually the last to observe any kind of social protocol, there are still certain formalities to be attended to, are there not? As well as a little familiarisation?’
He ran his gaze over her slim, neat person while Josephine reddened, aware Thomas had likely described a very different sister.
‘No… Yes… Of course!’ she replied in confusion, trying not to think about whatever Thomas may have said. ‘I am not who you think I am,’ she continued, clenching her fingers tightly. ‘My name is Fairfax, but I amJosephine, Matilda’s older sister.’
At this Lord Huntingly frowned, while reaching for the back of a chair as though to steady himself.
‘If you’re in need of assistance, sir…’ Josephine began, suddenly noticing a cluster of thick, ugly scars encircling his left wrist and reaching up his forearm.
‘No! I am not in need of assistance, any more than I’m in need of inspection, if that’s what this is about?’ he growled. ‘And Thomas made no mention of surprise visits from…’ he looked her up and down again, ‘bluestocking sisters! Tell me, what is your impression? Are you to tell your sister to run while she still can? I would I could run from me too.’ He scowled as he picked up a nearby bottle and drained the contents directly.
Josephine gritted her teeth. An arrogant, shamed lord she could manage, but a self-pitying one?
‘Really, sir!’ she remonstrated. ‘I have younger brothers with more pluck than you!’ Her tone was severe as she eyed his scars. ‘And you can think again if you consider your injuries will frighten me, for my oldest brother fought at Waterloo and the rest are keen sportsmen. Through their combined efforts, I am no stranger to a wide array of injuries, which to my knowledge they have never used to plead sympathy!’
Her scolding words echoed around the high ceiling, while Lord Huntingly eyed her in fresh astonishment. ‘Haven’t they, egad?’ he repeated in wonder, running his fingers through his unkempt hair, his knot of scars glinting in the pale light. ‘And you’ve come here today to read me a lecture on all my deplorable habits?’
Josephine flushed, realising it was going to be much harder to achieve her original aim if the lord in question was eyeing her with distinct abhorrence. ‘No…’ she stalled, wracking her head for inspiration and failing to find any. ‘I’ve come here to ask you to marry me.’
Momentarily, he stared as though she were a madwoman who’d accidentally wandered into his home, while a defiant heat bloomed across her cheeks. Josephine forced herself to stand tall. She might not have Sophie’s face or Phoebe’s and Matilda’s spirit, but she was still a Fairfax and, from what Thomas had said, that was his only requirement.
‘I am a quiet person, sir, and will give you no trouble. I am also organised and well able to manage a household, for I have been helping my brother since my older sisters left Knightswood. I understand you are looking for a wife to assist with Huntingly Manor, and, to that end, I respectfully suggest one Fairfax is as good as another, is it not?’
His Lordship gave another bark of laughter, although it was marginally less certain, as he reached for a half-filled goblet. He eyed her intently, before tipping its contents back, affording Josephine a full view of his muscular neck and chest through his barely buttoned shirt. She swallowed and averted her eyes. She’d witnessed most of her brothers in a state of undress at some point or another, mostly through banned swimming outings to Knightswood’s lake when she and her latest novel were chief sentry, but this was different. For some inexplicable reason, his half-dressed person made her feel oddly breathless, as though she was wearing one of Sophie’s pelisses after a large breakfast.
‘Take off your glasses?’ he asked in a curious tone, replacing his goblet.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Josephine blinked, feeling her flush reach down her neck. ‘I assure you, sir, I can see little without them, and you would not wish me at any disadvantage because I am not familiar with your home.’
She was already regretting so much, but to agree to be inspected, like some sort of bottled specimen, was a stretch even for her. Defiantly, she pushed them further up her nose, which was precisely the moment he began to move around the foot of the table, and across the flagstone floor towards her.
‘I am not asking you to navigate my home without them,’ he returned as she watched his progress in horror. ‘I am simply asking permission to see your face without them.’
He paused directly in front of her and, for the first time, Josephine wondered if she’d been an utter fool. To come here alone, without bringing one of Phoebe’s maids or even the kindly coach driver, was misguided to say the least. She’d been so intent on saving Matilda that she hadn’t paused to consider herself at all, and now she’d never felt more vulnerable.
‘You make an interesting proposition, Miss Fairfax,’ he murmured, ‘so let us understand one another completely. I am well used to people judging me by what they see, or hear, and rarely looking further. But if I am to consider your offer properly,’ he paused with a glinting smile, ‘I would like to see you without your armour.’
Josephine caught her breath as she stared up into Lord Huntingly’s dark eyes, feeling her blood pound as though she was atop a tor in a moorland storm.
‘Sir,’ she replied, by now certain she had made a grave misjudgement. ‘Your request is not… seemly, given our brief acquaintance.’
‘Seemly?’ he quizzed in an amused tone. ‘But I thought we’d dispensed with all the usual formalities? Perhaps then, it would be more gentlemanly if I levelled the field a little?’ In a heartbeat, Lord Huntingly pulled his open-necked shirt over his head and reclined back against the breakfast table, wearing only his breeches and boots.
Josephine flushed flame-red as she had little choice but to face his honey-toned chest and tangible warmth. She pressed back into the mantle behind her, wondering if the poker was within reach.
‘So now, Miss Fairfax, you may observe at your leisure the gentleman to whom you are making an offer.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘It is a somewhat terrifying sight, is it not, a form that is less than perfect? Feel free to leave when you have looked your fill, for I will not stand in your way.’
