Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,96

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