“Sophie. Would you give me your hand in marriage?”
Marriage? Yes, her heart cried.
But her mind picked through the events of the last hour. And the last few days. And the last decade, while she accustomed herself to the notion that George Lovelace was offering her—impoverished, low-born, encumbered with children, Sophie Clark—marriage.
Not a romp, not a brief liaison, but a lifetime of…of what? Respect, and…passion, she hoped. And love?
She blinked back tears. He’d gone mad. They both had. And oh, how she wanted him.
She set aside the box, bent closer, and dropped a quick kiss on his lips.
Pulling away, she set her palm to his jaw and swept her thumb over the masculine stubble there. His eyes glittered up at her, sending more heat through her. “I’ve been longing to touch you here again.”
Chapter Twelve
Luminous eyes gazed down at him from a face otherwise shuttered. She was guarding herself again, and she didn’t need to. Not with him.
He stood and embraced her, reveling in the soft heat of her skin under the thin cotton. “Then say yes, you’ll marry me.” He fisted a lock of her fragrant hair and inhaled deeply. “But, first, hear me out. I need to be completely honest with you.”
She backed away and his gaze flew to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips under the gown. Color swept up her neck and into her cheeks. “Honest about what?”
A drop of sweat ran down his cheek.
She pulled out a tail of his neckcloth and mopped his face. “Willa appreciates your mother’s supply of coal. Now, get on with your confession.”
“It’s not exactly a confession.” He captured her busy hands. “I learned something. Something that impacts you. And Arthur.”
Those beautiful eyes widened, searching his face.
“It’s potentially very good.”
She nodded. “Go on.”
“It has to do with right of way leases. One property we wish the line to cross has presented particular difficulties. The title changed hands irregularly. Perhaps as a lost wager? The old owner fled to the continent because of some scandal, and it’s taken a great effort to record the transfer. In short, the new owner is the Earl of Glanford.”
She let out a long breath. “That’s what those letters meant. And you learned this when?”
“Tonight. When I read the solicitor’s letter. The one you carried away last night before I could see it. But yesterday, I received a letter that made me wonder. My colleague discovered that the new owner was a minor whose mother was unwilling to allow the right of way.” He dropped her hands and mopped his forehead again.
“Take this off.”
Her slim hands tugged at his coat, bringing instant relief from the heat of the room, but not from the growing fire inside him.
She patted the back of an armchair. “Sit. Tell me more while I fetch you a drink.”
He remained standing, watching her glide into the shadow, wondering how his wooing had transformed into a discussion of business, and whether she minded. Liquid sloshed and she returned with a full glass.
“Only water, I’m afraid.”
He thanked her and took a head-clearing drink.
“Better?”
Better would be casting business aside and getting her into bed.
“Yes,” he said.
“Tell me more.”
“I can understand your objections, Sophie. Use of the land is not without inconvenience to the landowners. The Stockton and Darlington line had to be rerouted to avoid Darlington’s fox coverts. Assuming Artie doesn’t have fox coverts, there’s still the loss of farmland, resistance from tenants, concerns about the smoke and noise—we anticipate using steam engines—and the presence of workmen who are strangers.”
“You think I’ve objected?” There was an edge of irritation in her voice. “Did you not read my letters to Fitz?”
Her letters. Of course. “You didn’t know about it.”
She bit her lip and perched temptingly on the edge of the wide bed. “Are there tenants? If so, we shall have to hear their concerns.”
Hope grew in him, but he’d planned to be brutally honest, so he went on. “And as you so sagely pointed out two nights ago, there may be cost overruns and unexpected pitfalls.”
She smiled. “And there’s no guarantee the railway won’t fail, leaving behind ill will, a disrupted economy and miles of decaying tracks.”
Her smile cheered him and he unwound his neckcloth, tossing it aside and seating himself on the bed next to her. “My partners and I have made a solid business plan. We will undoubtedly encounter difficulties, but we will succeed. I won’t let you down. I won’t leave you penniless. There will be no Matilda Roses in our future. We both have dreams: my railway, your foundry on Glanford land. We can help each other achieve those dreams. We can be true partners. I believe we—you and I—can make a good marriage.”
“And a good railway?” She reached for the top button of his waistcoat. “I’m not a natural pessimist, George. The railway will bring more work, more goods for purchase, and faster, safer transportation.”
She was, without a doubt, the woman for him. “All of that.” And what of my proposal?
“After London,” she said, pushing his waistcoat off, “you and I shall travel to Lancashire, see this land, and speak to the people there.”
When she smoothed her hand over his clammy shirt, his privy counsellor stirred mightily.
“George, I must ask: did you tell Fitz to give me power over Artie’s affairs because you planned to offer marriage and get control anyway?”
“No. Yes—that is, I had—have—no idea whether you will say yes.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “No. I’ve said I’ll be completely honest. I’d planned to wait to ask for your hand. To give you time to take charge of your responsibilities—and they will be your responsibilities, though I’ll do everything in my power to help you. I’d hoped to have time to convince you of my love, and that our marriage would be different to your marriage with Glanford. Money will perhaps be tight while you rebuild the estate and I build the railway, but we can make our own fortune, together, as well as see to Artie’s and Ben’s futures.” He touched the warm, silky skin of her bare arms, drinking her in. “I’d planned to wait, but I learned tonight someone else intended to offer for you.”
“There are only Fitz and…oh heavens.”
Sophie howled and clapped a hand over her mouth, and his heart lifted.
“Cartwright is far richer than I am. I can’t offer you a house in town and a country estate—”
“We have a country estate, at least until Artie marries, and then I’ll persuade him to give us use of the dower house.”
Yes. She was saying yes.
Before he could kiss her, her palm flattened against his chest. “Since we are being completely honest…” She reached for a garment he hadn’t noticed and handed it to him.
“Stays.”
A husky laugh rippled out of her. “The look on your face, George—let me get scissors.”
He fingered the lumpy boning and yellowing fabric, still warm with her heat and her scent, and followed her to the table.