Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,89

Not that she’d compete with my Charlotte for offers of marriage of course, but—”

“Cartwright.” George’s chair jerked back taking him with it. “We might as well discuss the railway now. Come, let’s go to the library where the chairs are more comfortable.”

Sophie lolled back and clamped a hand over a mad giggle. She’d rattled the oh-so-sure-of-himself Mr. Lovelace. Who knew he could be such a coward?

Or that she could be so wicked?

No…not wicked. That had been foolish.

When she heard the sharp click of the door, she crawled out and returned to her criminal enterprise.

It was past midnight when Cartwright finally went off to bed and George hastened back to the study hoping Sophie was waiting for him.

Her intentions were clear. The only question to answer was: his bedchamber or hers?

He found her at the desk bent over a letter. Other correspondence sat stacked on each side of the desktop.

He silently closed the door. “What did you find?”

She stood and paced to the fireplace, worrying her hands at her waist.

“Sophie? What did you find, my dear?”

Her fingers rubbed her temples. “It is worse than I feared. I thought I could… I’d hoped…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I must think.”

He went to her and took her hands. “I said I will help you, and I will. We’ll find a way.”

She lifted her chin, but there was no defiance in it, and he couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes.

“You have worries of your own. I will have to find my way to London as soon as possible, after I speak with Fitz.”

“You’re not going with Cartwright.”

She searched his face. “What?”

After thirty minutes probing George for information about Sophie, and one man to another, making his interest clear, Cartwright had mentioned he’d travel to London before the New Year.

“You can’t serve as Charlotte’s sponsor.”

She let out a tight breath and pulled her hands away. “He knew I was under the desk.”

Had Cartwright known? “No. He’s…” Looking for a lover. George reached for her hand again, watching annoyance play on her face. “Sophie, I’m not entirely sure his intentions toward you are honorable.”

She scoffed. “Then you are two peas in the same pod.” Her lips pressed together. “I apologize for my earlier forwardness. Be assured I’m not going to London as anyone’s mistress. That sort of business enterprise doesn’t interest me at all.”

He held her gaze deciding whether to laugh or to chastise. She’d just been on her knees in an enterprising position. And the kisses that afternoon and the night before had not been produced by an uninterested woman.

“Do not worry,” she said. “I understand men like Cartwright far better than I do the genteel sort, and if I chaperone Charlotte, I’ll make my intentions clear.”

When she wasn’t hiding under a desk or standing under the mistletoe, Sophie had principles. She wouldn’t take a carte blanche from the man.

Oh hell. The way Cartwright had spoken of her, he might…he might…

His jaw tightened. “He might want marriage.”

“Marriage?”

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“It’s not so outlandish.”

“I don’t wish to marry. I’ve been married, Lovelace. I fulfilled my marriage contract. I did my marital duty, and my duty didn’t end with Glanford’s death. I have children, and tenants, and a community that depend on me.”

“You’re not going to London to seek a husband?”

“Are you daft?” She sniffed his breath. “Or…foxed. You’ve been drinking.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not drunk, Sophie. I’m…”

I’m in love.

Head spinning, he pulled her into a kiss. He wanted her. She should be his.

She broke the kiss and touched his cheek, and then yanked her hand away. “I have children. You have a railway. We can’t do this.” Her eyes glistened betraying her lie.

“We can.”

Lips trembling, she looked away. “Perhaps one day. Not now. I have responsibilities.”

The longing in her voice stirred his spirits. “One day, then.” Tomorrow, if he had his way. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, what did you find?”

“Letters. The stack on the right had been opened.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The file in the middle contains IOUs. Glanford owed Fitz an ungodly amount.”

She stepped out of his arms and returned to the desk, collecting the opened letters.

“May I read those?” George asked.

“Tomorrow. I need to study them tonight, and I’ll leave them for you in the morning.”

More letters were piled on a corner of the desk. “What is this other correspondence?”

“See for yourself. I’m going up.”

He reached for her, but she shook him off and crossed the carpet.

“We’ll talk again after breakfast,” he said.

“I