Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,87

handsome woman, isn’t she?” Cartwright said, watching her.

Jealousy reared in him. Chaperoning Charlotte would throw Cartwright and Sophie together. If she truly was penniless…

He’d promised to help her, and he would. “Cartwright, I’ve some correspondence to see to. I’m afraid it can’t wait. Please feel free to avail yourself of my brother’s library.”

“And you’ll owe me that chat,” Cartwright called after him.

He bowed and made good his escape.

Sophie said her goodnights and escorted the children, leaving them in the care of the nursery maid. In her bedchamber, she found Willa stitching the hem of a dress.

“Not another one.” Lady Loughton’s generosity was out of hand.

“Aye.” She held up the royal blue sarcenet and got to her feet. “This was from last year. Said she’d only worn it but the once. Ready to turn in?”

“No. Go on to bed. I shall manage when I return.”

“You’re going somewhere? Wake me, as you won’t manage those hooks without help.”

She’d hate for anything to spoil the lovely green gown. “Perhaps I’ll change into my old morning dress.”

Willa turned her around and began unhooking her. “Where are you off to? In case that you don’t return and I need to go looking.”

“You won’t need to go looking.”

Willa paused. “You’re not visiting Mr. Love—”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Hmm. I did happen to peek out of the door late last night. And then you came back with him, both of you soaked, and there’s that bruise on your neck I covered with the ribbon.”

Her hand flew to the spot where he’d kissed her that afternoon.

The maid chuckled.

“I’m not meeting anyone. I hope everyone has turned in. I’m going to search Lord Loughton’s study, and I pray Mr. Lovelace won’t be there.”

“Pity. He might do you a world of good.”

“Willa. I won’t risk my reputation.”

“He might want to marry you.”

“He doesn’t. He’s a full five years younger than me. Gentlemen like him want young women with good childbearing prospects and a healthy dowry.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Sophie stepped out of the gown and rubbed her side where the stays were digging.

“Let me loosen those. Or you might take them off altogether. I’ll guard them well.”

She trusted her maid above all others. And yet…

She reached for her old gown. “No. I must hurry.”

“You know, my dear, Mr. Lovelace ain’t the heir. There’s five other brothers and any one of them might father a boy. In any case you’ve had two and you’re not too old for another. He may be younger but he’s plenty old enough to be thinking of marriage. And he’s not poor. He could help you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Glanford had married her only for money. No way would she turnabout and pursue Lovelace for the same mercenary reasons.

“Downstairs speak well of him.”

Ignoring the maid, she went to light a candle.

“Don’t wait up.”

“Sure and you don’t want me? Two extra hands make for a faster job.”

“I wouldn’t risk you getting caught.”

“By who? His lordship is gone…Ah.” Willa turned away, but not before Sophie saw her sly smile.

“Stop, Willa. The house is quiet. He’ll have gone up.”

“Hmm. Might be another kissing bough in the study.”

“Aargh. Go to bed.”

As she slipped into the corridor, the door closed on Willa’s deep chuckle.

Inside the study, an Argand lamp shone brightly on a pair of expensive shoes propped on the desk.

Drat and double drat.

Mr. Lovelace—George—tossed aside a newspaper and stood, coming around the desk and crossing the thick Aubusson carpet.

“Sophie.” He tilted his head, examining her. “Is anything wrong?”

“Other than your brother’s continued absence?”

His mouth firmed. “Mr. Cartwright questioned you rather closely during dinner.”

“And well he should. We’ll see what else he’s curious about when we have our private interview.”

He straightened. “Private?”

“We’ve yet to negotiate the more unrefined part of the arrangement—my compensation. We shall see what he wants to pay me and what he expects to get for it.”

A deeper frown settled over George. He felt some antipathy toward Mr. Cartwright. Was it a matter of class, or something else?

“As long as the unrefinement only involves a discussion of money for chaperoning Charlotte.”

Oh. She let out a breath. Might he be jealous? Perhaps their two kisses had him feeling possessive.

She wanted to laugh, but decided to take her own jab at him. “He had you pulled aside after dinner, didn’t he? Worried you’ll offer for Charlotte?”

“Gad, no. He’s interested in my railway.”

“Does he wish to invest? He’s very rich.”

“Perhaps. Or else he’s nosing about for our competitors.”

“Or perhaps he wants to make your iron rails? Who have you