That was not true, was it? And even if it was, what of it? Life was unpredictable. Work, the environment he’d cultivated himself, ran like a well-turned clock—perfectly predictable. “Is that a point against me? Seems to me that is an admirable quality in an employer.”
She sighed again and stood, moving through the doorframe and into the hall before he knew her intention to leave him.
He stood and rounded the desk in one fluid movement, darted after her, and draped his arm over her shoulder, turned her, brought her back where she needed to be. “We’re not done.”
“There’s more work to do?”
“The London residence. The two houses on Aster Square. I want them. But Tidsdale has outbid us. Mr. Beggsly is waiting for me to make a counteroffer.”
She relaxed under his arm, and a brief glance down at her face revealed her furrowed brow. He’d caught her, so he wheeled her back to her desk, sat her behind it, then pulled a spare chair in front of it to sit facing her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, setting his forearms on the desktop and leaning toward her. The desk was rather narrow, and her hands were clasped together atop it, the length of her resting forearms putting her hands between his. She leaned forward, too, and her breath warmed the air he inhaled.Intimate. No more so than they often were, working together. But somehow different this time.
Because he’d kissed her and knew what she tasted like. He saw now not just her lovely brain working behind her dark eyes but also her lips, flower petal pink, and her teeth darting out to chew on the bottom one.
“I’m thinking,” she said, “of the last time we reviewed the agency’s books. We budgeted a set amount for the expansion. If the price of the Aster Square houses rises too high, we will not be able to procure them.”
We.He’d begin to use the word as often as possible to place the concept in her head. There was noherseparate fromhim. There was onlywe,us,our.
She’d gone silent, and he lifted his head to look at her. Her lips were slightly parted as if she’d frozen just before speaking, and in her eyes… she’d gone someplace else. She swallowed and leaned toward the back of her chair, sliding her arms off the table.
“What’s wrong?” He caught her hands before they could disappear into her lap, cupped them tight against the table. She pulled away, or at least tried to. But he held tighter. “Tell me.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Oh. Nothing. Nothing. It is only your list. Your intentions to marry. Your means of acquiring the funds necessary for the expansion.”
Ah. That bit of the plan always had bothered her. And though she called it nothing, clearly it was something—something that made shutters slam closed across her eyes and made her skin seem tight and taut and porcelain fragile. Something that made her run all the way to Scotland.
He held onto her hands even tighter than before, pulling them across the desktop toward him, inching her body closer, too, so she could fog his air with her breath once more. “I see the problem. I’ve decided though it was a good idea, it’s not theright strategy. You’re correct. A wife may not approve of my late working hours. A loan will do, instead, don’t you think?” He wasn’t a man to lie, but he didn’t even wince with this one. He’d ask for a loan, but he would not accept one, even if it was offered. He’d have a wealthy wife instead.
She darted a glance up at him, those teeth still worrying that bottom lip. Then, all at once, confidence flooded through her, and she was the steel-strong Mrs. Dart he’d come to know so well over the years. “A bank loan should have been your first thought.” A huff as she tried to lower him with an eyebrow raise and scowl that would turn another man to ash.
Did not so much as singe Drew. It did something else to him. Something much more disturbing. It made him sweat, made him want to strip his gloves from his hands so he could feel the skin, bone, and sinew he trapped against the desk, so he could feel her.
He snapped his hands back to his lap and rocked to his feet. “We are in agreement, then. I’ll write to my man of business to get things started. You will write to Beggsly, tell him whatever Tidsdale bids, we will bid higher. Every time. I want those houses.” He sat behind his desk and picked up his pen, drew out a new bit of paper and began to write. He did not look over to see if she’d followed his instruction, but soon theskritchof a second pen across paper joined the scratch of his own.
When he’d salted, folded, and sealed the letter, he clasped his hands behind his head and propped one booted foot on the desk. “Now. What do we do about Miss Angleton? Because we clearly cannot send her out as a governess to any of our clients.”
Amelia looked up, gently laid her pen down. “That’s a certainty. I’ll give it some thought. We cannot abandon her, either. She’s so young. And she has no family.”
“An unfortunate situation. We’ll figure it out.”
And they spent the next hour doing so. When Amelia rose to take a walk after that, she asked him to join her.
“No. I’ve more work to complete.”
Her gaze rested on him for an uncomfortable moment, then she left without another word.
Which left him curiously unsettled. No reason for it. Today had been an unarguable success. They’d worked well as they always had together, and he’d reminded her of how it once had been.
Most importantly, he’d kept—for the most part—unwanted questions and emotions away. He’d not had to stand on a cliff’s edge and peer into the crashing waters below. He’d not had to risk getting close, losing control.
Yes. Today was a success, and if he could keep her in here every day until they left, there was no reason he wouldn’t be able to follow that up with a proposal of marriage.
Twelve
What an absolute disaster! The man seemed constitutionally incapable of change, of existing on the earth without working every waking minute. And he wanted to keep her in the role of his secretary, seemed determined to shove her into that space behind a desk five paces to the left of his own as if she were a piece of furniture herself.
No!
