Chapter 5 - The Proposal on the Desk
The heavy front doors slammed shut behind the weeping, terrified socialites. The foyer was empty save for the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock and the sound of Maya happily chewing her roll in the kitchen.
Claire dusted flour from her jeans and picked up her empty basket. “Well. That was certainly more dramatic than Sunday morning at the church bazaar.”
“Miss Miller,” Vincent’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “In my office.”
Claire followed him down the dark-paneled hallway. His private study smelled of rich tobacco, aged leather, and cedar. A massive desk dominated the room, covered in financial ledgers and architectural maps of the valley.
Vincent walked behind the desk, but he didn't sit. He leaned his knuckles on the dark mahogany, staring at Claire with an intensity that made her skin tingle beneath her woolen sweater.
“I’m offering you the position,” he said plainly.
Claire let out a dry, incredulous laugh. “The position? You make marriage sound like a contract for hauling timber.”
“It is a contract,” Vincent countered without batting an eye. “I don’t believe in romance, Miss Miller. Romantic love makes men weak and makes women make foolish decisions. I offer you complete financial security, total control over the household budget, and an estate that will never allow you to go cold or hungry.”
Claire’s amusement faded. The raw, lingering wound in her heart flared open.
“You don't know anything about me, Mr. Vance,” Claire said, lifting her chin proudly, refusing to let him see her hurt. “If you did, you wouldn’t be making this offer. Go ask Dr. Hayes. Go ask anyone in Greyhaven why Donald left me standing in an empty house.”
Vincent’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care about Donald. Donald is a coward who runs a failing hardware store.”
“I cannot bear children!” Claire’s voice cracked through the quiet room, echoing off the leather-bound books. “Do you hear me? My body is damaged. I can never give a man a child of his own flesh and blood. You are a powerful, wealthy man with a family line to protect. Greyhaven made it clear: I am incomplete.”
Vincent straightened to his full, towering height. He walked slowly around the desk until he was standing directly in front of her.
He was so tall that Claire had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. The heat radiating off him was overwhelming—spicy, masculine, and intoxicating.
He looked down at her face, then swept his gaze slowly down the generous curve of her bust, the swell of her waist, and the full flare of her hips. There was no pity in his eyes. There was only a dark, burning hunger that shocked the breath out of her lungs.
“I have five children, Claire,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a rough baritone. “I have two sons who need a father’s discipline, two toddlers who need warmth, and an infant who needs gentle hands. I don’t need an incubator. I need a woman with spine enough to stand against this valley, and heart enough to keep my children from growing cold like me.”
He reached out. His calloused, tattooed fingers brushed against the stray lock of hair near her cheek. Claire shivered, her pulse racing wildly against her ribs.
“Look at you,” Vincent murmured, his thumb resting near her jawline. “You were made to hold life together. If God didn't give your womb children, it’s because He knew you were meant to save mine.”
Claire’s eyes stung with hot, unbidden tears. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Donald had called her defective; the town called her a tragedy.
Vincent Vance looked at her as if she were salvation.
May you like
“Give me your answer,” Vincent commanded softly. “Be my wife.”
***
