Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 2

Last year he'd courted her, but she hadn't let him near enough for even one kiss. He'd spent a fortune on sending lavish bouquets and had purchased opera box seats facing her father's box in order to watch her enjoy the music from across the theater. And yet she had remained unattainable. Always polite, but never truly open. After months of trying, Cedric had been forced to admit defeat. She would never surrender to him or his attempts at seduction.

And then he'd lost his sight. Any thought of marriage now was inconceivable. While his fortune was still a draw for some eligible ladies, he could no longer stomach the macabre dance of courtship. Not when all he heard were the rude whispers of the ladies behind their fans about his condition. He wanted no such revulsion or pity from his future wife.

Anne would certainly pity him, or be discomforted by his newfound clumsiness. She was too cold-hearted to care whether he could make it five feet without hurting himself or damaging something around him. He couldn't fathom what she'd be doing here of all places, not when she'd spent so much time avoiding him. Furthermore, she was not one for social calls and wouldn't dare pay one to him. Add to that the news he'd recently heard regarding her, and he couldn't imagine why she was here.

Last week when his friend Lucien and his sister Horatia had come by for their weekly visit, Cedric had learned that Baron Chessley, Anne's father, had died in his sleep. Anne was now a wealthy heiress and had no need of anyone, let alone Cedric. Which brought him back to that infernal question-Why had she come?

Was she so ravaged by the grief of losing her only living relative that she was coming to him for solace? He doubted it. What could he offer a woman like her? He was half a man, broken, damaged. A bloody fool.

He forced his face into a businesslike façade. He would treat her the same way he treated all the young ladies he came across since he'd lost his sight, with polite distance. His pride demanded he maintain the upper hand, especially with Anne. She must never know that he still desired her, still craved her with a madness that escaped logic.

Visions of her gray eyes played tricks on his mind. To remember her so vividly, the pale pink lips that curved in a smile only when she dropped her guard, and the way her nose crinkled when she disagreed with him. His chest constricted at the memories of their often passionate discussions on horses, their shared interest. It was the only way he'd ever gotten her to respond to him, by drawing her out through her strong opinions. The icy little hellion loved to argue, and he'd taken great delight in provoking her to blushes.

Damn. I've become a sentimental fool.

The footman coughed politely, reminding Cedric he was waiting.

"Please bring her to me," he instructed.

It was too much of a waste of time to find his way back inside now. Far easier to have her brought to him in the gardens instead. The weather was fine, and he knew Anne well enough to know that she enjoyed the outdoors.

The footman's steps retreated, and a minute later Cedric picked up the sound of a lady's booted steps on the garden path. He heard her gasp when she came close enough to see him.

Rather than reply she tugged her gloves off and grasped his hands, putting them into the cold, crisp water of the fountain, and her fingers gently rubbed and scrubbed at his stinging palms. Then she brought his hands back up.

"Do you have a handkerchief?" she asked.

"In my breast pocket," he said. He felt her hand delve into the pocket of his vest and retrieve it. The simple action was strangely erotic and sent his pulse fluttering. He was always the one to slide a hand under a lady's bodice, or skirt. It was quite a different experience to have a lady's hand moving under his clothes. He could feel the warmth of her skin close to his chest. With an inward grin, he relished the sensation of her soft hands invading his clothes.

When she found his handkerchief, she patted his hands dry and then held his palms up. Her warm breath glided over his skin in a soft pattern as she blew gently on his cuts to dry them.

"I don't think they will bleed further. You must take care not to do anything rough to them for a few days so you won't excite the cuts again."

Her scolding tone caught him off guard and shattered the warm bubble of desire around him. "Thank you, ma'am," he replied stiffly, more from shock than anything. "Pardon my bluntness, but why have you come?" The burning question why still plagued him.