The Most Inconvenient Proposal
Hereford was havinga rather delicious dream involving Amelia Thornton’s chestnut hair spilling across his pillows when thunderous pounding dragged him from sleep. In the hazy space between dreams and waking, he could still feel the phantom sensation of her curves pressed against him, taste the sweetness of her mouth…
“This better be about a beautiful lady caller waiting for me, Cooper,” he growled as his butler opened the door, looking distinctly ruffled.
“My lord, the Duke of Lancaster, the Earl of Carlisle, Mr. Thornton, and Viscount Norwich are here. They insist it’s urgent.”
“Are they foxed?”
“Not in an obvious way, my lord.”
Hereford released a long groan, trying to banish the lingering images of Miss Thornton’s lips parted in pleasure. What the devil was wrong with him, dreaming of that sharp-tongued termagant? True, she had magnificent eyes that turned forest green when she was angry, and that limp of hers made her hips sway in a rather hypnotic fashion…
He shook his head sharply. Clearly, he needed to find a new mistress if he was having erotic dreams about a woman who’d compared his intelligence to that of livestock.
“ARE YOU COMING DOWN OR SHALL WE DRAG YOU OUT OF BED?” Carlisle’s voice boomed from below.
Cursing, Hereford grabbed his banyan and headed downstairs. Whatever had brought four powerful men to his home at this ungodly hour, it couldn’t be good news.
But as he descended the stairs, his treacherous mind kept returning to how Miss Thornton’s hair had felt sliding through his fingers in that dream…
He found the four men in his study, helping themselves to his best brandy. Lancaster paced before the fireplace while Carlisle slouched in a chair, looking grim. Steven Thornton stood ramrod straight by the window, his expression unreadable. Norwich appeared to be the only one relaxed enough to enjoy the brandy. They all seemed to have been dragged out of bed.
“This had better be good,” Hereford growled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Do you know what time it is?”
“We wouldn’t have interrupted you if it wasn’t important. We know how much you treasure your beauty sleep,” Carlisle said.
“We have a problem,” Lancaster said. “The railway investment we’re involved in. Apparently, there’s an old law still on the books—all major investors must be from noble families.”
Hereford dropped into a chair. “And this couldn’t wait until morning?”
“Our solicitor just confirmed it,” Carlisle said, his usual good humor absent from his face. “If we don’t resolve this within a few days, we could lose everything we’ve invested. The whole project could collapse.”
“And you’ve come to a solution, I take it?” Hereford reached for the brandy, noting the peculiar tension in the room.
“Yes,” Steven said quietly. “You could solve our predicament.”
Hereford’s glass froze halfway to his lips. “How?”
Three of the four men exchanged loaded glances while Norwich fixed Hereford with a steady, almost challenging stare. Lancaster cleared his throat before speaking. “By marrying Miss Thornton.”
Brandy burned Hereford’s throat as he choked. “I beg your pardon?”
“If Amelia becomes a marchioness,” Steven explained, his voice steady despite the audacity of the suggestion, “I would be connected to nobility through marriage. The law’s requirements would be satisfied.”
“You’re mad. All of you.” Hereford stood, pacing the length of his study. “I will not marry under duress, especially to a woman who makes her contempt for me abundantly clear.” He turned to Steven. “My apologies, Thornton, but my mother would have an apoplexy. I’d rather lose my investment than test her health.”
“More than just money hangs in the balance,” Carlisle said softly, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. His eyes held something that made Hereford pause.
“I told you he’d refuse,” Norwich said, his cultured voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. “The Hereford line is too precarious for such a hasty match. No doubt the marchioness has a carefully curated list of suitable debutantes awaiting her son’s attention.”
Though the words were true enough, Hereford felt his jaw tighten at Norwich’s casual reference to his family’s generations of difficulty producing heirs. Being the third generation of only children was not something he cared to have bandied about.
“I assure you my sister is quite capable,” Steven said, his quiet tone carrying an edge of steel.
“With that leg of hers?” Hereford’s laugh held more discomfort than humor. “Come now, Thornton. I need someone sturdy, someone who can withstand multiple pregnancies. And she’s hardly the type to inspire…” he hesitated, reluctant to finish the thought, “marital enthusiasm.”
The temperature in the room plummeted. Steven’s expression turned dangerous, his fingers whitening around his glass.