Conor's Way (55 page)

"Yes, it's a beautiful evening," she agreed,
glancing at the moon overhead, then back at the man before her. She
gave him a dazzling smile as she leaned closer to him. "Italy is so
romantic, don't you think?"

"Er, yes, yes, I guess it is," he stammered,
running a finger inside his collar in a stiff and uncomfortable
fashion. Trevor's grin widened. What a cold fish, he thought. Was
the man frigid, queer, or simply stupid? He felt sorry for the
girl, though. It was a shame that such a delectable woman should
have to work so hard for a kiss.

Roger cleared his throat. "I must say, I was
astonished by your invitation to go for a walk. Delighted, of
course, but astonished. You have so many suitors."

"None of my suitors have ever kissed me," she
said, abandoning any attempt to be subtle.

Trevor didn't hold that against her. Coy
women had never held any charm for him. Besides, subtlety was not
going to work with a man like this.

"I should hope not," Roger answered her
pompously. "You are a lady of quality. No gentleman would presume
to be so forward."

Trevor rolled his eyes.
To hell with the
proprieties
.
Kiss her
,
you idiot
.
Can't you
see that's what she's waiting for
?

"Of course not," the girl echoed with such
consternation and disappointment in her voice that Trevor choked
back a laugh.

"Unless he were engaged to you," the man went
on. "Then it would be quite all right, of course." He took a deep
breath, as if gathering his courage, then grasped her hands in his
and suddenly dropped to one knee. "Margaret—may I call you
Margaret?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "I have
such sincere regard for you, that I feel compelled to express my
feelings. I have a deep fondness for you, and I respect you
utterly. You would be the perfect wife for me. Will you marry
me?"

The sight of a fastidious Englishman down on
one knee in damp grass proposing marriage with all the passion of a
schoolboy reciting catechism was nearly too much for Trevor.

Despite how silly the man might look at the
moment, Trevor knew that most women would have been delighted by
such an offer and would have accepted it triumphantly. This woman,
however, did not look delighted at all. Nor did she seem to find
the situation amusing. Instead, she stared down at the man in
astonished dismay. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it
again, as if she really didn't know what to say. This was clearly
not what she had been hoping for.

A few passionate kisses, some romantic words,
yes. But it seemed a marriage proposal had not figured into her
plans. Trevor wondered what she would say.

She tried to pull her hands away, but Roger
held them fast and went on, "I've been planning to ask you for your
hand almost from the moment we met, but I confess that until
tonight, I wasn't certain of your feelings for me. You can be so
circumspect, my dear."

"Roger," she said, "I'm afraid that you have
mis—"

"But your charming invitation to walk in the
garden told me that you care for me a great deal more than I
realized," he babbled on as if she hadn't spoken.

Once again, she tried to speak. "But I
really—"

"Tell me you'll marry me," he urged. "We
would be a splendid match, you and I. All of society will envy
us."

"Yes, I'm sure they would," she murmured,
"but I really don't think—"

"Mother is quite fond of you, you know, even
though you're American. She already told me it was quite all right
to ask for your hand."

Right-ho
, Trevor thought,
Mummy has
given permission
.
How nice
.

The girl was now trying desperately to free
herself. "Oh, Roger, do get up!" she said, finally jerking her
hands out of his grip. "I should have known this wasn't going to
work. Let's just forget the whole thing."

The man stared up at her in bewilderment.
"Forget the whole thing? I don't understand."

"I know you don't. You've made a charming
offer. I'm flattered, really. But I can't possibly marry you."

"You are refusing me?" he asked in disbelief.
"But you invited me out here! You led me to believe—"

"I'm sorry if I misled you, I truly am. That
was not my intention. But we are ill-suited, I'm afraid, and if we
were to marry, it would be a grievous mistake for both of us."

Trevor heartily agreed. This was a girl
clearly out of the common run, a girl who desired passion even
though she was obviously innocent of its ramifications. He doubted
Roger was capable of giving her what she longed for, in the
marriage bed or out of it.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence
before Roger finally spoke. "I see," he said coldly, and stood up.
"You're right, of course. It would be a mistake." His voice grew
more contemptuous with every word he spoke. "I should have known
better than to waste my affections on an ill-bred American.
Good-bye."

He bowed stiffly and departed.

"Oh, hell!" she muttered after he had gone.
"My first real kiss and he had to act like such a prig and spoil it
all!"

Trevor couldn't help it. He burst out
laughing.

Margaret whirled around with a gasp. She
stared in shock as a man she had never seen before emerged from the
shadows, a man of formidable height and wide shoulders, with
rumpled clothes, rakish black hair, and an unshaven face. But the
clothes were of excellent cut, and his voice, when he spoke, was
deep, cultured, and very much amused.

"You can't blame me for laughing." He came so
close to her that she had to lift her chin to look into his face.
She caught a glimpse of angular features and deep-set eyes, then
everything suddenly began to blur. She shook her head from side to
side and hastily took a step back, then another, trying to clear
her champagne-drugged senses.

"If you step back any further, you'll be in
the fountain," he pointed out.

Her heel hit the tiled surround of the
fountain, and she was forced to halt her retreat. "Who are you?"
she demanded.

"I don't know when I've seen anything so
amusing in my life," he said without answering her question. "He is
a prig, and I'm glad you refused to marry him."

She realized that he must have seen and heard
everything, and her shock turned to outrage. "How dare you lurk
back there in the shadows, eavesdropping!"

"I was here first," he replied. "If you
wanted privacy, you should have made certain there was no one else
here."

That did not pacify her, but she had the
feeling it wasn't intended to. "You should have made your presence
known immediately."

"And interrupt one of the greatest moments of
a girl's life? I couldn't possibly."

"It was a private conversation!" she shot
back furiously.

He smiled at her, a slow, teasing smile, and
began to walk toward her. "Somehow, I got the impression it was
kissing, not conversation, that you had in mind."

She was humiliated that this stranger had
witnessed the embarrassing scene. But she refused to let it show.
She tried to gather her dazed wits and muster some dignity. She
lifted her chin and gave him her haughtiest stare. "I don't know
what you mean."

"No?" He gently brushed her lips with the tip
of his finger. The light touch paralyzed her, and she felt her
heart pounding hard in her breast. Who was he?

"If you really want to experiment with
kissing," he murmured, slowly stroking her lower lip, "you ought to
choose a man who knows how to do it properly."

His words galvanized her into action. She
grasped his wrist and violently pushed his hand away. "Like you, I
suppose?"

"Is that an offer? Of course, I'd be happy to
step in for poor old Roger." He leaned closer and added in a
confidential whisper, "I promise not to ruin everything by
dropping down on one knee and proposing."

His teasing smile widened, and she was
certain that he was laughing at her. She opened her mouth to reply,
but she could think of nothing sharp enough or scathing enough to
shatter his arrogant self-assurance. Hot with embarrassment, dazed
by too much champagne, and speechless with frustration and fury,
she did the only thing she could think of. She ran away.

Still smiling, Trevor watched her hasty
departure until something glittering in the moonlight caught his
eye. He picked up the object and whistled. It was a woman's hair
comb of gold filigree set with a multitude of diamonds. Toying
with the jeweled comb that must be worth over a hundred pounds, he
thought of the girl's enticing figure, trembling mouth, and
innocently provocative attempts at seduction. It was an unusual
and tempting mixture, and he felt a sudden rush of desire. A pity
he hadn't been the one to take her for a moonlight walk. Perhaps
she might have found her experiment a bit more gratifying. He
certainly would have enjoyed it.

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Laura Lee Guhrke spent seven years in
advertising, had a successful catering business, and managed a
construction company before she decided writing novels was more
fun. The author of many historical romances, Laura has received
multiple literary awards, including romance fiction’s highest
honor, the Rita Award, and her books have appeared on both the New
York Times and USA Today Bestseller lists. When she’s not tapping
away at her keyboard, Laura spends her time skiing down the slopes,
wakeboarding across the lakes, and fishing the streams of her
beautiful home state of Idaho. You can visit
www.lauraleeguhrke.com
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Laura and all her books. On her website, you’ll be able to view
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