Free A Scandalous Proposal by Julia Justiss Page B

she finished, he opened the book, intending to flip idly through the designs. The first image facing up at him riveted his attention. “Why, that’s Lady Wendfrow to the life!”
    â€œâ€™Tis easier to design a bonnet that flatters my client if I work from a detailed sketch of her face.”
    â€œIf you can fashion something to flatter Lady Wendfrow, you’re a wizard.”
    She made a little gurgle of a laugh, the sound so enchanting it momentarily distracted him. “She does tend to wear plumed hats that only emphasize her narrow face, in shades of black that do nothing whatsoever for her coloring.”
    â€œYou intend to rectify those errors?” He pointed to the half-fashioned bonnet.
    â€œYes. The frame is mourning black, on which she insists, but I’ve lined the brim and trimmed the sides with peach satin. That soft tone beside her face will warm her skin to cream. And I shall drape the plume more to the horizontal, to broaden her face.”
    â€œBy heaven, it might work. Mama said you were a genius. May I look at the other sketches?”
    â€œIf you like. I’ll be just a few more moments.”
    She took up needle and thread and set to work.
    While she stitched, he flipped through the book, pausing to study several sketches of the ladies familiar to him. He had to marvel both at how well she had captured their images and at how skillfully each bonnet she’d designed emphasized their best features.
    Then he reached the last page and froze.
    Emily had caught the sitter at a pensive moment, one hand to her chin as she gazed into the distance. The pale ivory of her hair, the turquoise of her eyes and the wistful, half-smiling expression were so vividly rendered he felt as if his mama might at any moment speak to him from out of the sketchbook.
    â€œThis is extraordinary!” he burst out. “Please, I must have it. May I buy it from you?”
    She glanced over, her hand with the needle momentarily stilling. “The sketch of Lady Cheverley? Take it, if you like. That bonnet is already finished.”
    â€œI must pay you for it.”
    â€œNonsense, ’tis only a pastel. Besides, you’ve already expended far too much for me. If the likeness pleases you, I should be honored for you to have it as a gift.”
    He hesitated, about to argue the point, but the oblique reference to her indebtedness and the slight lift of her chin alerted him that her pride was at issue.
    Give in gracefully, he decided. He could repay her in ways she’d not discover—through Francesca, who, unlike her mistress, seemed cheerfully willing to accept his largesse.
    â€œThank you, then.” He took a knife from the worktable and carefully cut free the sketch. That task accomplished, he looked back to see her hunched over the bonnet, peering at the dark velvet in the rapidly fading twilight.
    â€œEmily, stop. You can’t possibly see black thread against black velvet any longer.”
    â€˜A few more stitches, and ’twill be finished.” While hewatched in exasperation, she stubbornly bent closer, her nose nearly buried in the bonnet as she attached a final ribbon. At last she knotted off her thread.
    â€œEnough,” he said, and put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her from the worktable. But at the feel of her flesh under his fingers, he found all his banked passion surging back. He shuddered and went still, resisting the sudden, sharp longing to enfold her against him.
    She’d gone motionless as well, and he could feel her muscles tense under his hands. Without thinking, he began to massage her stiff shoulders.
    â€œAhh,” she sighed. “That feels lovely.”
    â€œNo wonder your shoulders ache, standing in front of that worktable all day,” he chided, extending the massage to her neck and upper arms.
    â€œYou scold just like Francesca,” she said with a giggle. ’Twas so infectious a sound, he found himself