Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors Page 19

  She would have preferred not to betray her nerves. She took a sip of the excellent tea. Then another, to moisten her dry throat.

  She had made a mistake. He would use this meeting as an excuse to raise the rent.

  When the dish was nearly empty, she replaced it in its saucer, careful not to rattle it this time. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Would you like another?”

  Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “I am content.” Damn the man, he was prolonging this encounter, and his delaying tactics were working. Her nervousness had increased to the point of tightening her throat.

  Carelessly, he dumped his empty dish on his desk, keeping his attention on her. His small, black eyes gleamed in the light from the narrow windows that illuminated the room. Opposite, the back of another building similar to this loomed, and beyond that, the spire of a church; a typical London landscape. The gray skies above were familiar, too.

  “Madam, I have found your behavior exemplary since your unfortunate spouse’s demise,” he said. At last he was getting to the point. “You have worked hard to support your sons. However I find it impossible to believe you wish to expand the business. Your duty is first to your family. It is distressing to me that a woman with your sterling qualities is without support, other than what you can give yourself. Furthermore, you employ six excellent workers. Who designs for you?”

  The fancy patterns they put on some of the wire, he meant. “Jem Levallier, sir.”

  He nodded. “A Huguenot.”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at the letter again, then back at her. “As I said, supporting a woman in independence goes against my principles and my sense of chivalry.”

  Him, chivalric? The words didn’t go together. Oh, he was well-mannered, but chivalry indicated some kind of knightly behavior, and Mr. Stephenson did not go in for such extravagant gestures. He could be playing with her. Cold hands clutched her heart when the dreaded word “eviction” entered her mind. He would not do that, surely?

  His gaze rested on her. It traveled from her waist to her face and remained there, as if he could see through her clothes. Annie fought not to squirm.

  Mr. Stephenson was about forty-five, a couple of inches above her height, and very slender in form. He had never married. Rumors suggested his preferences did not go in the direction of the opposite sex but remained firmly on his side of the divide. Considering his high moral stance Annie doubted that. Furthermore, he had never avoided women. Previous courtships had ended in nothing.

  “Mrs. Cathcart—Annie—I have found, as I’ve been watching you, that I would find you acceptable.” He stood, and his coat skirts whirled as he turned to place the letter on the desk. He moved toward her, the smell of camphor and lavender, no doubt layered with his clothes to deter insects, swamped her in thick scent. “Acceptable, that is, as a wife.”

  Annie sat completely still, stunned. She had never imagined this conversation would go in that direction. A simple yes or no to her query about the leasehold, for sure, but nothing more.

  He was undeterred by her silence. “Therefore, I make you this proposal. Marry me, and I will ensure you retain your property and more. I will take your business into my care, and treat it as my own.”

  “I wish to leave it to my sons,” she pointed out gently.

  “In the fullness of time, they would of course inherit. But as my wife, you could bestow so much more on them. They could become my heirs, although I would prefer to sire heirs of my own. However I would look on them favorably.”

  Her bewildered thoughts caught up with her. He meant it. That was the reason for the clothes and the fine china. He was proposing to her.

  Mr. Stephenson was a fine catch; everyone would tell her. His enterprise was much greater than hers, and he was of excellent standing, his name a byword for reliability. “Sir, I fail to understand. Why would you want me?” He could have someone with a greater fortune and influence. “I heard that Miss Child was interested in you.” Vague rumors, that was all, but the daughter of a banker would have been a fine catch.

  He waved a hand, the lace ruffle at his wrist catching the light. “I do not believe we would suit. I am serious, Annie.”

  “Mr. Stephenson—”

  His voice softened. “Joseph. Please call me Joseph.”

  She swallowed. “Joseph, then. Sir, this is a big decision. I have more than my own future to consider.” Her mind screamed at her Tell him no! Was she to enter another marriage that was little more than a business alliance?

  A few days ago she would have accepted him with only small hesitation. But held in Lord Carbrooke’s arms, a part of her had awoken that she hadn’t been aware of before.

  Mr. Stephenson’s was a sensible solution, even a superb one. She would be respected, the wife of a wealthy man, her future assured. Why would she not want that?

  Because she did not want Joseph Stephenson, that was why. If only the roles were reversed! Then all her problems would melt away.

  Wait—she’d met Lord Carbrooke once, and shared one kiss with him. She’d known Joseph Stephenson for years. How could she say that?

  “What has driven you to this decision, sir?”

  He tilted his head on one side and considered her as if looking at her for the first time. “I have admired you for some time, madam, but I have not been ready to marry. I am, I fear, settled in my ways. However, recently I have become aware that I must make provision for my future. My heir by blood is my sister’s son, but he is a frippery fellow. I would far rather have a son I can rear myself. You have proven your fertility, and you are a woman of good sense.”

  Such a compliment, how could she resist? She could not say no outright to Mr. Stephenson—Joseph. He was still her landlord.

  Annie smiled in what she hoped was a shy but hopeful way. “I would need time, sir, to consider such a momentous decision.”

  A crease appeared between his brows and he waved a hand dismissively. “What is there to think about? I’m offering you a magnificent opportunity. How could you even think about turning me down?”

  She got to her feet. “I cannot begin to explain how flattered I am, but I would require a little time to let the notion settle in my mind.”

  His brow cleared. “Ah. Maidenly modesty, or rather, matronly modesty.” She smiled faintly at his thin sally. “Very well, madam. But perhaps something on account?”

  She could not avoid his arms. Reluctantly she stepped forward and lifted her face for his kiss.

  Dry and passionless at first, until he ground his lips against hers, pushing so hard he nearly split her skin. In default of that, she opened her mouth and let him stick his tongue inside. He shoved deep, right to the back of her throat, the kiss becoming messy quickly. He tasted of tobacco, and something sweet she didn’t want to process.

  Her hands tightened on his sleeves, then relaxed as she forced herself to accept what he gave her. Her neck hurt from being tilted at an uncomfortable angle, and she wondered when he would be done.

  At last, after what seemed like an age, he lifted his head. He stepped back, after a quick glance at her bosom, which was decently covered by her kerchief. If he pulled that away, she’d leave.

  Her head was reeling. Her husband had kept his encounters gentle and with the minimum of contact. He was clean and neat in his habits, but from the odor emanating from Joseph’s body, he was not quite so fastidious. If she married him she would have to put up with that, maybe even share a bed with the man.

  She forced the memory of the kiss she’d shared with the earl out of her head.

  He kept his arms around her. He was smiling, as if he’d won. “You will accustom yourself to a younger man.” Age wasn’t the problem, but if she told him that, she’d probably infuriate him. Stephenson was nearly fifty. She knew from the records in the Guild. “You deserve to be looked after,” he said, sending a sense of doom through her. That was not what she wanted. “I don’t want my husband’s legacy to die.”

  He nod
ded. “I can ensure that does not happen. It is not your husband’s business I wish for, but his widow.”

  She had intended to register her name. What would happen to her? She knew without asking. She’d become an accessory, an adjunct. If she married Stephenson—Joseph—she would be relegated to the role of wife, the person who ran the household, the mother of his children. While some women were successful, and became useful partners to their husbands, Annie was not made for that. In truth, she had run the business as much as her husband before his death. John was capable of staring into space for days, lost in one of his moods. Businesses could not run on that. Matilda ran the household and she did it very well indeed. Enjoyed it, too.

  What would happen to Matilda? She had no personal fortune, or barely enough to keep her fed.

  She stepped back and brushed her skirt, keeping her gaze lowered, as if modestly overcome. “You flatter me, sir, but I do need time to consider how to manage this sudden change in fortune.”

  “Have I not yet dissipated your maidenly modesty? Why not let me do it?” His gentle tones were almost as terrifying as his usual cold, hard demeanor. They sounded exactly as determined. Joseph ignored other people’s wishes routinely, utterly convinced of his own rightness.

  “I would like to talk to them. They know me. My household, and the people I know. A little time, Joseph, before I give you my answer.” Until she worked out what to do.

  He sighed. “Very well. A woman is, after all, a creature of softer temperament. Your rent is due on Lady Day. In case you were in doubt, that is now April the sixth, due to the change in the calendars.”

  Since she’d been paying her rent on that date for the last three years, Annie did not need to be told. But she had the lurking suspicion he would make a habit of telling her what she was perfectly aware of already. “Thank you sir,” she said, although it went against the grain to concede even that much.

  In three weeks she could no longer defer her decision, unless she could persuade him to hold off for another quarter.

  “The season will have begun, and society will want its little luxuries. I foresee a busy time, so I would prefer that our nuptials and the consequent negotiations are concluded by that date.”

  “I will speak to my people and see to my business. If I agreed to your flattering proposal, would you still allow me the property next door?”

  “We would certainly consider it,” he said. “After all, we would want the business to become more prosperous. That house has been empty too long.”

  At last something they could agree on. “It has vermin. We bought a cat to deal with the mice and rats, but the children love it, and now it’s a pet.” Tabby was their not so original name for the animal.

  “I regret the deterioration of the property next to yours.” He moved and Annie was hard put not to step back to compensate for his proximity. “We will deal with the problem. They adjoin, do they not?”

  She nodded. “We are in the center of a row. They were built as residences, but most of them are currently made over to industry of one kind or another.”

  He gazed at her speculatively. “And I own the whole row of six.”

  Would he offer her more? “Yes, I’m aware of that. And I have no complaints about you as a landlord. In fact, quite the contrary.”

  He still watched her as if she held answers she was unaware of. “It is possible we could clear the row and use the whole set for the production of silver wire.”

  “As Cathcart and Sons?” Eagerness suffused her and when he took another step toward her she did not retreat.

  “I see no reason why the name should not continue.”

  She swallowed as her mind started working faster.

  She could become the largest producer of silver wire in the City, and do it far earlier than she had planned. If she put the company into trust, at the behest of her husband’s will, Joseph could not incorporate it into his business, and she would hand a legacy to her sons much larger than the one she’d inherited.

  She needed to explore this aspect before she made any more decisions.

  ***

  On the way home, she slowed her pace and told Matilda what had occurred. Matilda gave a long, very unladylike whistle. “Do you think he wants you? I mean you, or your business?”

  “He wants me.” If that kiss had told her anything, it was that Joseph wanted her.

  “And what of your feelings for him?”

  “What do you think of the match?” she asked bluntly.

  Matilda paused while they crossed the road. They passed by the shop they’d paused at earlier, sparing it scarcely a glance. “I think he is a man you would find difficult to live with,” she said. “However, you are a resourceful woman and you would find a way of coping, I have no doubt.”

  No shared bedroom for a start, Annie thought grimly.

  “On paper, it’s the perfect match for you. It enhances your standing, increases your customers and your appeal to them. To be part of the Stephenson company would bring great good fortune, if you decided to take that course.” He would doubtless wish for at least a share of Cathcarts, should he provide the company with the houses.

  “Perhaps.” She pondered on the problem. “The man is thorough and methodical. He prefers not to take unnecessary risks, but he is prepared to do so if he thinks the rewards will be high. He would not invest his complete fortune on any one venture.”

  She stopped so suddenly she evoked a curse from a man following close behind. He dodged around them. “They should ban hoops,” he muttered, sending them a darkling glare.

  Slowly, Annie started walking again. She was really considering this. She had little choice but it felt like the bars of a prison were closing around her.

  “I’m very pleased for you, dear.” Matilda paused, and Annie knew her well enough to know she was about to reveal something she had not said before. That pause was distinctive, clenching the air with tension. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” She lowered her voice. “Never doubt that he wants you.”

  A chill struck Annie as if she had fallen into a snowdrift. If that was true, Joseph Stephenson would not stop until he had her. He would treat her as his property, if she was his main reason for the proposal. He might grant her concessions for the business, but she would be his entirely.

  That was the way his mind worked. He held on to the things he considered closest to him, like his father’s business and the house he lived in.

  “You’re sure?” Her throat tightened.

  “Yes. He watches you. At the last Guildhall dinner, he rarely took his eyes from you. I swear, he could recount that evening in detail.”

  She remembered him, but not that he was particularly enamored with her. He would have been making his plans. Like a spider at the center of a web, he would watch, and weave his threads, not moving until he was certain of his prey. So by coming to him for a lease, she was playing right into his hands.

  Annie felt sick. What Joseph Stephenson had, he rarely released. That was how he’d made himself essential to others.

  A breeze skittered along the narrow street. Annie pulled her shawl tighter around her.

  Lord Carbrooke had awakened her to a different Annie, one who found happiness for herself, and thought of duty a little less. He showed her what she could have.

  Except she could not.

  “I will have to find a way of turning Stephenson down without offending him.”

  “It might be too late for that,” Matilda muttered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GERALD COULD NOT GET THE MEMORY of that kiss with the prim and proper Mrs. Cathcart out of his mind. As he was falling asleep at night, he’d recall the way she nestled into his arms, and the lushness of her lips on his—and then he’d wake up with a groan, longing for a warm body to hold.

  Unfortunately not just any warm body, but the one he’d held just once and been so reluctant to release. The harder he tried, the worse his desire grew until he couldn’t think of her without tent
ing his breeches. Not thinking about her didn’t work, either, because her name occurred to him at the most inopportune moments.

  Like when he was squiring the woman everybody expected him to marry. Riding one of his new, high-spirited horses in Hyde Park had seemed like a good way to let off some steam. In his previous life, if he’d wanted to exercise his horses, he’d taken them on the Heath, or out to the country, not to Rotten Row, where the great and the good disported themselves.

  Today, however, being the first fine day for weeks, augured well for an early ride in the park. Ten o’clock was the earliest time he could get Elizabeth to agree to. He met her by the gate, and he had to admit that she had the appearance of a princess. She had not one but two attendants, liveried servants riding identical bay horses. The lady herself was resplendent in crimson cloth, the white feather in her cocked hat sweeping down to obscure one side of her vision. In short, she was dressed more to be seen than to enjoy the morning air.

  Several other people had braved the inclement weather to parade on the Row. Gerald accepted Elizabeth’s gloved hand, brushed his lips across the back and then mounted his own steed. Perhaps he should not have picked Rebel, who was already dancing with an eagerness Gerald had to admit he felt himself. But the horse was powerful, his glossy black flanks gleaming with bunched muscle and good health, and Gerald longed to ride.

  “Good morning, my dear. My mother sends her regards,” Elizabeth said. A few people glanced at them as their horses ambled past. “She wonders if you would send back the list of evening events you intend to appear at once the season starts.”

  “That’s weeks off yet.” A squirrel scurried along a branch of one of the trees edging the Row. He would rather not think about the season today.

  But Elizabeth was not so easily deterred. “Mama says a good season is like a successful military campaign. It needs planning just as meticulously.”

  He didn’t ask her if she deferred to her mother on everything, because he already knew the answer. Yes, she did, and he very much feared he would be expected to do the same.