Page 74 of An American in London

“You okay?”

I nod. “High shoes,” I say, plus the giddiness I feel whenever he’s near. “Too much time wearing sneakers.”

He glances down at my footwear. I’ve worn dark jeans and a white shirt. I’ve tried to keep the vibe non-date-like. The only thing that dresses it up are the shoes. High and strappy, and by the look in Ben’s eye, the right choice.

“They look good on you.” His voice is so thick I can almost feel it wrap around my waist.

“Thanks.” We’re not pretending anymore; there’s no one to overhear or impress. I appreciate the compliment. I know Ben well enough to understand he doesn’t give them out easily.

We head to the bar and it’s weird. I’ve only known the man next to me for a few weeks, yet to anyone watching, we probably look like we’ve known each other for years. That’s how it feels too.

The waiter immediately appears and I order a glass of wine. Ben orders a martini. Even his drink order speaks volumes about who he is. He doesn’t give a crap what anyone else thinks, he just knows what he wants.

“Before I forget,” I say, “I have something for you.”

I dig into my jeans pocket and pull out the ring box.

“Are you proposing?” he asks with a smile.

I tilt my head to one side. “This is yours.”

His expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t say anything. He just picks the box up from the table where I placed it and tucks it into his breast pocket, almost like he doesn’t want anyone to notice what he’s doing.

My fingers trace the space on the table where the box was, and I’m not sure if it’s deliberate, but as Ben reaches for his drink, his fingersscrape mine. Our eyes lock, and I want to ask him to come back upstairs with me and spend the night in my bed.

But I don’t.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. I want to ask him what he’s going to do with the ring. Will he keep it for the woman he actually proposes to? I feel a little queasy at the thought. I need to distract myself. “So what happened? You spoke to the duke?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“How was that?”

He pauses. It’s his thinking pause, and I sit back patiently while he decides what to say.

“Overdue.” Most people would look at him and say he is unreadable, but I know him well enough now to catch the slight softness in his gaze, and the way those lips sit with a little dip on the left, to know he’s disappointed.

I wish I could have helped him more. But we would have actually had to be engaged and gotten married for things to have worked out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that again. I should never have asked you to be part of this ridiculous charade. I lost sight of what was important.”

“But getting the hotelsisimportant to you,” I say, leaving room for him to tell me why.

Neither of us says anything as the waiter places our appetizers in front of us. But when we’re alone again, without prompting, Ben says, “I lost sight of the end goal. Without my integrity I undo everything I’ve worked to achieve.” I’m not quite sure what he means by “end goal,” but before I get a chance to ask, he says, “He asked after you.” He pauses again, and I know he’s trying to find exactly the right thing to say. “They’re good people.”

“Wonderful people,” I reply. “You might still have a chance at buying the hotels. The duchess is desperate for the duke to sell. Why not to you?”

“You were there for the conversation with Nick. He wants a family man.”

Isn’t it better to have a man of integrity? That’s what Ben is.

“I got a message from the duchess earlier.” I pull my phone from my bag to see if I missed something in her text that might help. “She wants to meet me for tea.”

“I’m sure you can think of an appropriate excuse.”

“Maybe I should go,” I suggest.

---