A point for Drew. Finally. What else could he promise her? What other reasons could he give? “You enjoy my family.”
She smiled. “I do.”
“And you enjoy Manchester.”
“It is a bustling city.”
“And… you can wear pink if you wish.” His fingers curled into his palms. This time he broke and looked away from her, from her cheeks reddened by her berry gown. His cravat, the only article of clothing he’d been able to get just right, squeezed his neck like a noose.
When she did not respond right away, he began to count the seconds, unable to meet her gaze. One, two, three. All the way up to twelve before?—
“And your list? Of matrimonial candidates?”
He raised his eyes to look at her. She seemed paler than before.
“What of it?” he asked.
“Will you make me look at it, advise you on it? Will I attend your wedding and sit with your wife in the drawing room?”
What did any of that have to do with this, with them? “I suppose if it distresses you so much you hie off to Scotland, then no.”
Her tongue shot out and licked her lips and her eyes closed, and a look he’d never seen on her face before passed across it like a summer storm. Then she opened her eyes, and her gaze found his, pinned him. “Lord Andrew,” she said, “I have a proposition for you. Will you hear it?”
A proposition? He’d done it, then. He’d laid out his reasons for her to stay, and she’d seen that the prudent path to take was the one that kept her by his side.
Now, negotiations. She’d propose a means of moving forward, set her demands on the table between them, and by the time he finished this excellent glass of wine, he’d concede where necessary and refuse when allowed.
And he’d have her back.
He nodded, and Mrs. Dart told him exactly what she wanted.
“Stay with me.”
Eight
Three little words had taken so much effort to speak aloud, and Amelia found herself exhausted. Still, she pushed on because the tilt of Lord Andrew’s head suggested he did not know what to make of her statement.
“Stay here with me,” she repeated, “for the next three weeks, and after that time, I will make a decision.” Amelia put all the words together as fast as she could, barely breathing or pausing between them. A terrible request, a foolish plan, but she’d known when he’d said she could wear pink… Something had changed. No idea what or why or when. But she could not run from him until she understood. And in Manchester, they would fall into familiar routines, the unknown blooming between them forgotten.
If she wanted him unsteady, she had to keep him here. In ill-fitting clothes and unfamiliar environments, without work to occupy his every waking moment. Until she knew for sure that the happiness she’d seen in three women on a wedding day weeks ago could not be hers, too. They’d said to tell Lord Andrew how she felt. She knew him too well to think that a possibility.
The man would run. Shut her out entirely.
This was better. This was her only chance. If he stayed to convince her not to leave his employ, perhaps she could convince him she possessed more than a brain and a perfectly organized agenda. She must show him, persuade him that shifting sands were not so horrid after all. He’d kissed her, hadn’t he? And with such passion she felt his breath on her lips even now, a sacred memory. He had traveled on fear and impulse and found her, kissed her. She’d take it as a sign. He’d acted on what he wanted when words had been impossible.
She hoped.
Despite the almost instantaneous apology, he was not so cold to her as she’d always believed. Shehoped. He could be warmed, and she was the woman to warm him. More hope, and hopefully not fruitless.
So even though she knew she must throw the challenge between them, goad him to stay, she could not keep the fear away, could not keep it from tumbling her words into one another. When he did not answer, merely stared at her with his lips slightly parted, that fear grew. But she pulled herself up tall and spoke without a quaver.
“Well, Lord Andrew, what is your answer?”
His fingers, wrapped around the stem of his wineglass, twisted and rolled, casting diamonds in the candlelight. “I have much to do in Manchester, and this little trip has put me behind schedule.” His gaze on her was hard.
But she did not look away. “By all means, return, then.”
His fingers tightened, white knuckles shining through skin. Then he lifted the glass, finished the wine, and snapped it back to the table. “I have made excellent points. They are all I have to convince you to remain in my employ. Three weeks will do nothing to add to my arguments.”
