“Huh.” Her godfather finally fell silent, then leveled an incisive look at Martin. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Mr. Cynster. I would like to speak with you further, but m’wife’ll be searching for me by now. I’d better go and be found.”
Sophy laughed and sent her best wishes to the long-suffering Mrs. Brown.
“One last thing,” Martin said, and her godfather paused. “Sophy mentioned that her cousins, Edward and Charlie, have no real interest in the Carmichael business. I wondered if that lack of interest extended to all such enterprises or was specific to the Carmichael holdings.”
Her godfather readily replied, “Oh, their aversion is general in every sense. Indeed, their attitude might be said to be against all forms of work—administration, management, all such exertions.” He shook his head. “Never understood it, myself. Their father, Hubert Carmichael, at least tried, mostly to placate his older brother, Sophy’s father, but really, Hubert wasn’t much better, so I suppose you might say Hubert’s apples fell close to his tree.”
“Thank you.” Martin nodded, and with a salute and a smile, her uncle John turned to forge a path up the room.
Sophy caught Martin’s eye and arched a brow.
He smiled. “Your godfather knows absolutely everything about the iron and steel industry in this town, and he would certainly know of anyone with even the vaguest involvement. If he says Edward and Charlie have no interest in any such business, I think we can be sure that’s still the case.”
She studied his eyes. “You wondered if one of them had changed his mind and recently developed an interest in the industry?”
“It seemed a possibility, but clearly is one we can safely discount.” He met her eyes and smiled wryly. “That’s one possible suspect-and-motive combination struck off our list.”
She frowned and was about to grumble about how little they’d learned that evening when the musicians started playing the introduction to another waltz.
While they’d been investigating, they’d ignored several opportunities to dance, but Martin had noticed her frown, and he caught her hand and tugged. “Come and dance.”
He didn’t have to ask twice.
She told herself her eagerness was understandable; she needed to see if the magic would flare and ensnare her again.
She stepped into his arms, and as soon as they took the first sweeping steps, the enchantment returned in a rush, and she stopped thinking.
Martin watched the delight of the dance take hold and sweep their current difficulties from Sophy’s mind and felt an unexpected contentment warm him.
Once again, the exercise affected him—afflicted him—as it never had before.
This was so very different—so new and novel and engrossing.
The subtle movements of the dance—their closeness in the turns, the powerful revolutions as they went up the room—combined with the giddy joy in her face, the same joy the sight sent bubbling through his veins, to tighten a vise about his chest and render him almost breathless.
Expectation and anticipation had already sunk their claws deep. The compulsion to go further—to pull her nearer so her soft, slender body was flush against his—pricked and prodded.
Since their first dance, he’d found himself struggling to hold the line against a fascination driven by lust—by rabid wanting—more than anything else. Lust did not mix well with business, and given the company they’d been keeping, he’d needed all his wits about him.
The waltz was confirmation, if any was needed, of just where he now stood, namely, on the other side of a line he’d never thought he would cross.
In his mind, he could hear his sister, Therese, cackling in I-told-you-so delight.
For many long years, he’d been wholly engrossed in building his business empire, and to keep his female relatives at bay, he’d taken to insisting that he simply didn’t have time for this.
And indeed, he’d spoken truly. He hadn’t had time for love.
Apparently, love had given up waiting.
He was too experienced and too wary of the emotion’s inherent power not to name it accurately, as what he knew it to be.
He knew in his heart—and deep in his bones—what this feeling, this giddy rush of lust, desire, possessiveness, and protectiveness, was.
He knew what it was that, when he looked at Sophy’s face, with her lips curved and her lashes low as the sensations of the shared dance swept her wits away, left him feeling so deeply contented.
The musicians reached the final chords, and the music faded. The dance ended, and patently reluctantly, they halted and stepped apart.
He bowed, and when he raised her from her curtsy, their eyes met, and their gazes held.
