Page 45 of Undercover with the Heiress
Maybe she should change into the ivory dress, the one with the embroidered flowers, instead of the mint green. When she wore that dress, he always looked up and stared a little longer than at other times. But the green was bright and fresh and a contrast to high summer. Green spoke of new beginnings.
‘And my white bonnet, please, Letitia. The one that sits back from my face.’
Letitia removed the white cotton and lace from the box. Rosanna steadied the fluttering in her stomach. It was only one tiny sentence. Simple, especially for her, who always had a word for the silence.
I want you to be my real husband. I want to live here, even after everything is sorted. I don’t want a lord or an heir or anyone else. I want you.
Oh, the agony. It wasn’t something she could blurt out over breakfast or tuck into a conversation over the headlines. How could she find the right moment to spill the secrets of her heart?
What if he said no?
On the walk home from the exchange the night before, her arm linked in his, her every step and breath heavy with incandescence and exhilaration, the words had hummed on her lips. But when she looked to him, he looked away. When she eased into him, he pulled back. He had seemed to fold in on himself, lost. The man who had been so transparent and giving had shuttered himself more rigidly than ever before. But after sharing so much, feeling so much, and touching so much, she couldn’t be imagining the spark. There had to be the possibility of more.
‘There you go, milady. Pretty as can be.’ Letitia straightened a curl into obedience. ‘Is there anything more? Are you going riding today?’
‘I’m hoping to spend the morning with my husband,’ she replied.
Rosanna rose from her seat before the dresser and checked herself in the mirror. Smooth dress, cinched waist, neat hair… Perfect. Her slippers hushed along the hallway, and as she walked, she trailed her fingers over the fabric wallpaper that she had chosen, which Felix and Hugh had hung the week before. As her fingertips rubbed each ridge between the joins, her body felt a little more grounded, like the walls welcomed her, like she might belong in this house. At the top of the stairs, she paused to settle the fear and hope in her chest.
Just three words, Rosie. Of all the millions you’ve spoken in your life, it’s only three words.
The wood pressed firm through her slippers as she swept down the stairs. Maybe over breakfast she’d suggest that she could join him on his morning walk to the bank. Or he could take her to the hotel. Or she could…
A scuff and a knock came from the entrance. In the lobby at the base of the stairs, Rosanna turned away from the hall that ledto the dining room and the smell of their small mornings. She inched around the corner.
‘Have you already broken your fast?’ she asked, her voice catching.
Phineas barely flicked a glance at her, staring at the paper in his hands. ‘I am heading to the bank early. We have a new client. He is very particular about his margins.’
‘No, you aren’t.’ Rosanna stepped fully into the entrance hall. The sun streaming through the arched window over the door had turned the air stifling, and it clogged her next breath. ‘You don’t have your umbrella. You never walk to the bank without your umbrella. You’ve carried it all summer, like every bank clerk.’ She sidled around the room to stand between him and the door. ‘Where are you really going?’
‘To the bank,’ he repeated. He opened his coat, but before he could shove the note into his pocket, she strode forwards and ripped it from his grasp.
‘That’s my mail!’ he growled, and lunged to snatch it back. But Rosanna was too fast. If she could sneak the last biscuit from a plate before the other Hempel children, she could out-swipe Phineas. She shook the piece of paper out and scanned the typeset of black and red ink.
‘Argonauts Trading have a warehouse by the docks? I’ll get my coat.’
‘No!’ Phineas snapped. ‘It’s too dangerous! If Lord Richard sees you there, he might try to hurt you. And you… You’ll only make a mess of it. You will cause problems, like you always do.’
‘Make a mess of things? I help you,’ she protested. ‘I picked the lock. I figured out the duplicate ledgers, and I—’
‘Beginner’s luck, Hempel,’ he said, his tone flat and dry. ‘I don’t need to rely on it. This is too important. I’ve had enough of this city and of you. It’s time this finished. We both need to move on.’
The bitterness of his words hung in the architraves longer than their echo. Silence lingered until it ached, and her heart, that pathetic lump in her chest, seemed to stop beating with the harsh whipping of his words. He snatched the paper from her grasp and kept his head bowed as he folded it into an uneven mass, halved over and again too many times, then shoved it into his coat pocket.
‘But—’ her voice scratched. She needed three words. Three little words.
‘Pack your things,’ he said, each syllable hard and splitting. ‘You’ll be home before nightfall. I hope so, anyway.’
‘Youhopeso?’ Anger, frustration, and damn it, embarrassment clashed and collided in her chest. ‘You hope I will be gone?Youstarted this.’ She stabbed an accusatory finger at him. ‘You brought me here. You insisted we do things according toyourplan—’
‘And you forced yourself into my work, and you made everything complicated! You filled my house with people and noise and mess—’
‘With life!’ Damn the pleading in her voice. ‘I thought you liked it. I thought you might—’
Love me. I thought you might, one day.
A knock came at the door, a brassy beat that echoed into the emptiness.
