Her stomach roiled, and she pressed a hand against it, staving off the sour sickness. She could be no convenience bride for him. Her heart would shatter. But business partner… perhaps.
“I don’t know.” He pushed to standing and strode across the room toward the fireplace. A fire growled and crackled there, and the fire screen saved Bernard’s wool from the hottest heat. He turned. “I do not live by the whims of others. I act on my desires alone. I cede control to no one. Not even you. It is why a bride is best. A business partner would gain control as they invested their funds. I refuse to relinquish any control.”
Ah. Good to know. Offer of a partnership would be fruitless. “I am not trying to control you.”
“Oh? Why do you want me to stay?”
Because she wanted to kiss him again. Because she wanted him wrecked and melted on the floor for her. Again. And once they returned to Manchester, that would never happen. “I…” She could not say any of that. “I had hoped we might have productive discussions about the future. If I were to take control of the London location, for instance, while you retained the Manchester one, then?—”
“That’s it, then? You’re tired of being my secretary. You wish to be my partner?”
Yes. More than anything she wished to be his partner. But not at the agency. In life.
She shook her head, her heart hurting. “I’m not expressing myself well. It is only that I—” She sighed, seeing only one way forward. “Once you marry, your wife will not like you to be so close to another woman. She will dislike me and make my position in the agency more difficult than it was before.”
“Is that what this is about? You’re afraid your position in the agency will become tenuous once I marry?”
“Yes.” Not a lie. It was a worry.
“Must I say again the marriage is to be of the convenient sort? Whomever she is will not care.”
“You’re a fool if you think that.”
Once that nameless, faceless woman took this man to her bed, felt those hands on her body, she’d want to shred the heart of any other woman who thought to be near him. Amelia, at least, might feel that way.
He made a small noise half scoff, half grunt, then awkward silence hung between them.
Bernard streaked past the window, screaming, holding a bottle of wine above his head.
Amelia rushed to the window to look out, and Lord Andrew must have as well. Her body slammed into his as they reached the window at the same time. The hard point of his chin slammed into her temple, and she teetered. His arms wrapped around her to steady her, lean her back against the windowsill, and lift the curls along her forehead.
He peered down at her with a scowl. “Are you injured?”
“No.” She touched her temple and hissed. “It might be a bit bruised. You have a sharp chin, my lord.”
He leaned past her, one arm bracing on the window frame on the far side of her body. As he peered at the window, presumably looking for Bernard, his arm crossed over her chest, and she stopped breathing. Quite on purpose, she held her breath. Any movement would brush her breasts against his arm. She tingled.Everywhere. But particularly where his arm so closely almost brushed her body. And lower, past her belly, between her legs. She turned and pressed her palms against the glass, hoping the cold pane would calm her jumping pulse, hoping the edge of the sill digging into her hips would ground her in reality.
“Give that back, you blackguard!” Miss Angleton streaked past the window, skirts hiked above her knees.
Amelia jumped again, the back of her body jolting into the front of his as the wine-stealing mouse and the enraged cat disappeared into the night.
And still, Lord Andrew’s arm was braced on the window, his arm crossing over her back. They would, if Amelia left her body and observed them from behind, look like a couple viewing the gardens beyond. A man with his arm crossed over his lady’s back, protective, adoring.
Too much.
She ducked beneath the arm and hurried toward the door. “I must find Miss Angleton. This is beyond the pale. She cannot act in such a manner when we send her off to a client.”
Lord Andrew cleared his throat. “Quite right.Wemay have to reconsider the position we offered her at the agency.”
“Yes.” Amelia ducked into the hallway, her heart racing.
“Mrs. Dart.”
She pressed her back to the wall just outside the door, squeezed her eyes shut, and cooed at her heart to stop hurting.Poor thing, you’ll survive. Just keep beating.“Yes?” she called out loud and clear with false bravado.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow, early. You may send my trunk along when the roads are passable.”
“Yes.” She didn’t run after Miss Angleton. She ran up the stairs. She’d asked him to stay, and he’d refused. No matter what he said, he did not want her to remain in his employ. If he did,he would have acquiesced to doing something so simple—stay. That’s all she’d wanted.
