Twenty
Amelia hated puzzles, but language, simple words, had suddenly become one. A rather difficult one at that.Marry me.Words that should thrill her when spoken fromthoselips, but… what had they been discussing?
Oh, yes.
Money.
Amelia’s world darkened, shrank. His hands. Her face. Her heart beating madly in her chest. His eyes bright with panic. And determination.
Marry me.
She closed her eyes to savor the words like the first bite of an apple or the first sip of an excellent wine. Better.
And then she opened her eyes to face truth. She stepped from his embrace. “Why?”
“Why? Ha.” He threw his arms out wide, and his gaze scattered wildly around the room. “This is why. All of this. You can save the agency.”
There it was, the reason given so freely, so immediately. What she’d feared even as she’d held his question like precious gems in her palm.
Glass only. Paste.
She took another step backward. “I thought you might mean that.”
He rushed toward her, arms outstretched. “Not just that. Hell, Amelia, you could be with child.”
Her hands whipped to her belly. Could she? She wanted to laugh until she cried. Of course she could. She’d given it no thought, even though she knew, cautioned the governesses and companions before each new assignment. But herself? A spinster of two and thirty years? She’d simply not considered… More fool, her. She was turning up a fool in every direction.
His hands hovered around her shoulders, and though his gaze held hers, he did not dare touch her.
Good. She took yet another step away from him. “I think, Lord Andrew, you should reconsider your proposal.” She turned her back to him. “I will not entertain it as it stands.”
“There are other reasons, too. You know it. We work well together, perfect partners.”
“Partners. Ha.” Yes, partners in a professional capacity and nothing more.
“We must leave now.” The clip of bootsteps walking away.
She spun around and chased after him as he moved into the hallway. “And what shall you do when you get there? Threaten Beggsly? Threaten Tidsdale? Threaten our former clients? They have all made decisions that you cannot control, Drew. It’s better to stay here and think of how to move forward after such decisions have been made. After you have calmed down in a few days, and you have formulated a plan, you will return to Manchester early.”
“Wewill return to Manchester now. And then we will go straight to London.” He took the stairs two at a time in long, sure strides, and she ran to keep up, lifting her skirts and fighting against a wailing heart.
They would do nothing. But she would not argue the point now. He’d proposed to her for money, and she could understand why. Surprising he’d not done it sooner. Didn’t lessen the pain of it. Not one bit.
“I repeat,” she said, “and do what, Lord Andrew Bromley? Where is your habitual calm reasoning?”
At the top of the stairs, he whirled around. “I don’t know what I’ll do, and I’ve no use for calm when my entire life is being shoved off a cliff by a charlatan! But I will not sit idly by.” His words, loud and hard, echoed off the walls.
A few steps lower than him, she flinched backward, wobbled.
His hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm, hauled her up the remaining steps, and dragged her down the hallway.
She ran to keep up with his brutal pace. Here was his passion, unlocked and bleeding, and perhaps he’d been right to shove it so deep down, to keep it locked away. “You cannot make decisions for other people.”
“I will make a decision for you now. Go pack your belongings.”
She ripped her arm out of his hold. “No.”
He stopped mid stride, turned slowly to face her. His tongue toyed with a lengthened incisor as he studied her. “Then I will throw your skirts up,” he said prowling toward her, “and take you against that wall to remind you of our agreement.”
