By Judith Ivory
No guy, gentleman or in a different way, has ever checked out woman Edwina Bollash the way in which the brash, good-looking guy status ahead of her is doing now. Edwina has permitted the problem to rework incorrigible Mick Tremore right into a gentleman in precisely six weeks. And even if the linguist is bound she will be able to upward thrust to the duty, she isn't really in any respect sure she will not swoon below his frankly sensuous gaze ahead of her task is done.Mick has lived outdoor of London society lengthy sufficient to grasp that appearances will be deceiving. Edwina could glance all buttoned up-the excellent English lady-but there's unleashed ardour latest slightly below her placid facade (not to say a superb pair of legs!). And as she prepares him to take his position in society, Mick prepares Edwina to take her position in his heart...and in his mattress.
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Extra info for The Proposition
It had to be, though Edwina had never seen one. But that was what ratcatchers used, wasn't it? Ferrets and terriers? What a vocation. It had a shiny brown coat and a long, supple body, which it folded in half to "kiss" Mr. Tremore on his dark-stubbled cheek. The animal's shape was strange but good, she supposed, for wiggling through rat mazes and rabbit burrows. One of nature's better adaptions. When Mr. Tremore lowered it out of sight, he also took the teacup. A moment later, the cup returned to the table, missing tea—or rather tea was in different places, in little sprinkles all around the inside of it.
His adversaries, less spry and more worked up, whipped against people and objects he avoided, rather like the tail of a cyclone. They knocked chairs sideways, overturned a table, then sent one man sprawling. When they grabbed for the frisky fellow over another table, they ended up pulling off the table linen. They sloshed over countless teapots and tossed clotted cream onto the floor by the bowlful. At this point, an apron-fronted waiter joined in, then another waiter. Mr. Abernathy himself materialized from the back offices, his glasses on his forehead.
He didn't want to frighten them more. He lay quiet, scanning the floorboards, palms flat, elbows up, toes curled to support some of his weight, ready to spring up if a mouse came into sight. Then he spied it, and it was sort of a letdown. A little thing, it was more scared than the ladies, shaking over in a corner at the base of a sewing machine in the shadow of a press-iron. Barely more than a baby. He could catch it in his hand. There were no others, no noise under the floor, no activity. " whispered the seamstress, her voice hushed with worry.
The Proposition by Judith Ivory