A Holiday by Gaslight(9)

“On Fleet Street? In broad daylight?”

Sophie privately conceded his point. Perhaps she should have worn a veil? She’d considered it, naturally, but when standing in front of the pier glass in her bedroom, it had seemed altogether too dramatic a choice. She hadn’t wanted to look like she was engaging in some pantomime of a Gothic novel.

“I’ve instructed Murray to call for a hansom to take you home. It should arrive directly. If you have something important to say to me, I suggest you do so within” —he withdrew his pocket watch from his waistcoat and gave it a cursory glance— “the next five minutes.”

Her frown deepened. “That was my intention.” She certainly hadn’t traveled all the way to Fleet Street to bombard her former beau with garden-variety chitter-chatter. “Although…I’m afraid it’s rather complicated.”

“Shall I simplify the matter? You’re clearly here as a matter of duty. I might have predicted as much.” His mouth curved into a humorless smile. “You’re nothing if not a dutiful daughter.”

“I hope I am, sir, but I don’t see—”

“I gather your parents aren’t pleased that our…association…has come to an end.”

She didn’t deny it.

“And they’ve instructed you to repair the breach, have they?” He moved as if to rise.

Sophie anticipated him, standing in a rustle of starched petticoats. She wasn’t about to let any man loom over her and read her a lecture, least of all Mr. Edward Sharpe.

“Let me set your mind at ease, ma’am.” He stood to his full and not inconsiderable height. “There’s nothing between us to repair. There never was.”

She swallowed back an acute spasm of disappointment. “In other words—”

“In other words, Miss Appersett, I was as amenable to putting an end to our courtship as you were.” He came out from behind his desk, moving as if to escort her to the door. “If you require me to explain such to your parents, I’d be delighted to do so. Now, if you would be so kind as to gather your things—”

“You’re wrong. My parents didn’t instruct me to make amends with you. Quite the opposite. They may not be happy with my decision to end our courtship, but they fully support it.”

“Ah.”

“It’s the truth. Whatever their failings, my mother and father would never force me to marry a gentleman I didn’t like.”

Mr. Sharpe went still. He gave her a look that was hard to read. “You have me at a disadvantage, ma’am. I don’t recall having asked you to marry me.”

Sophie blushed to the roots of her hair. She opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but the words, once summoned, wouldn’t come. Something in his face stopped her. It was just a flicker. She might well have imagined it. Nevertheless…

She took a step toward him, brows knitting with concern. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”

He failed to conceal a flinch before turning back to his desk. He straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening. “You assume a great deal.”

“I didn’t know I had the power to hurt you.”

“You don’t.”

“Nothing else could have provoked you to say something so ungentlemanly.”

“We’re not in a drawing room in Mayfair, Miss Appersett.” He paused before adding gruffly, “But if I’ve offended you, I beg your pardon. Now, if you’ll gather your things. I see no reason to continue—”

“Please. Please, don’t apologize. I could do with a little plain speaking between us. Indeed, it’s the sole reason I’ve come here.” She took another step in his direction. “You see, Mr. Sharpe…I have a proposition for you.”




Ned’s gaze jerked to hers. A proposition?

What the devil?

His breath stopped at the various implications of her words. None of them were good.

He wished it were otherwise. That she’d come here for— What? To tell him she was sorry she’d ended their courtship? That she’d made a mistake? Sentimental nonsense. He’d learned long ago that there was no point indulging such thinking. No purpose in sticking his head in the sand. It was better to face reality. Even if that reality was bleak and painful and deeply disappointing. Even if that reality wounded his pride.

So, Sophia Appersett was as mercenary in her own way as her parents were. As mercenary as she’d accused him of being himself.

Did she need money? Is that what this was? A ploy to gain some manner of compensation? He hadn’t offered marriage to her, it was true, but that was no reason her father couldn’t threaten a breach of promise suit.

The very idea made his blood pump hot with outrage. Good God, but he was no untried youth to be manipulated thus.

“A proposition,” he repeated in a voice of dangerous calm.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Ned’s heart hardened into an unforgiving lump in his chest. “And the terms?”

Miss Appersett stared at him blankly. And then realization lit in her eyes. She gave a soft huff of annoyance. “Not a business proposition. A proposition about how we might deal better together. What I’m proposing is…honesty.”

His already heated blood simmered to a boil. “If you’re implying I’ve been anything less—”