Page 32 of The Lost Lord
“The advice of a woman?” Miriam arched her eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Never say so.”
“In full honesty, I have a checkered past with managing funds,” Richard replied with more honesty than he’d intended. This truth-telling business didn’t yet come naturally to him. It was much easier to weave the fabrications in with the truth. Yet each time he admitted a failing, it felt as if a chain had loosened. He was freer. Richard had been so accustomed to thinking about power as something you were granted, like a title, that the concept of owning it felt strange to him.
“In fact,” he continued. “I am hesitant to invest where I don’t know anything about the fundamentals. Might you consider looking it over and advising me?”
Richard’s breath caught. If this didn’t work, his whole plan fell apart. Howard had been easy to convince. He loved one thing—money—although what he did with it all Richard didn’t know. Miriam was liable to be much more skeptical.
And Livingston Walsh, the prize who could give his dream wings? He would poke and prod into every detail before committing a single farthing. Cent, rather. This was America, not England.
He must succeed. His brother might have a plan for charity, but Richard decided then and there that he’d go back to England on his own terms or not at all. He had yet to reply to his brother’s astonishing letter. The one he was composing in his head went something like:
Dear Edward,
Or shall I call you Lord Briarcliff?
I will take you up on your offer. I am coming home an independent man, with a bride whom adores me almost as much as I adore her. I will never be your charity case.
Most sincerely,
Richard.
He would never write it, of course. Any missives between him and his brother must demonstrate his newfound humility. Arrogant sarcasm was Old Richard, not Reformed Richard. Besides, he hadn’t yet secured Miriam’s hand. The lady in question regarded him with serious gray eyes.
“I need to see a prospectus,” Miriam said.
“What is a prospectus?” Richard inquired with genuine confusion.
Marian laughed. “It’s a description of the business. What you hope to accomplish, how you proposed to accomplish it, and estimates of the money required to achieve the goal.”
“Oh.” Richard has ever considered business as a logical concern before. In England it was something one avoid it unless one absolutely needed to engage with it. It suddenly occurred to him that the time he’d spent dodging creditors had materially impacted their livelihoods. He had taken things from people on the basis of his good name and then failed to repay his debts. His father, time and again, had stepped in to save him from ruin.
It made him sick to think what he might have accomplished if he had tried his hand at politics or charity work instead of trying to impress a lot of foolish, aimless gentlemen.
“I will get you one,” he promised. Even if he had to write it himself. “In the meantime, tell me more about Cliffside.”
Miriam’s hand found its way into his again. Their tea went cold as they talked. By the time he noticed the change outside the windows, afternoon had stretched into evening.
“Miriam,” he said, “I need to speak with your father. Before I do, however, I want to know… would you marry me if I asked you to?”
You’re playing into Lizzie’s hands. Howard’s words echoed through his mind. Richard shook them away. He wasn’t. Miriam was worth protecting and he meant to do it the only way he knew how. By marrying her and taking her away from the danger.
“Yes,” Miriam whispered. “In a heartbeat. Yes.”
She was in his arms. Richard couldn’t remember standing, couldn’t remember reaching for her, but her body was pressed close against his. Her clean feminine scent beguiled him.
“I wish you would come and stay with us in the country,” she breathed against his cheek. “I don’t know how it happened, or why, Richard. Every moment I spent away from you is a pain greater than I can bear.”
Her words sent a shiver up his spine. He didn’t deserve her affection yet having it had awakened an insatiable hunger for more. Needing a woman for more than her body felt uncomfortably raw and tender.
“I cannot give you this week, but I can promise you a lifetime.” Richard whispered. His own words unmanned him. They made him weak. To stop himself from speaking further he kissed her. Miriam arched artlessly up to meet his embrace. Her lips were damp silk sliding over his.
Mrs. Kent again interrupted. “Ahem.”
Richard let his hand slide down her body in a long, slow, descent. Her perfect breasts flattened against his chest. His palm curved at the indent of her waist. Mrs. Kent coughed as he reluctantly let Miriam go with a daring skim over her hips. For the first time in weeks, Richard experienced real arousal. His cock was extremely interested in getting her naked, as soon as possible. They wouldn’t be the first couple to anticipate their wedding vows.
“Mr. Walsh wishes to see you,” Mrs. Kent declared in a tone of pure judgement.
“Then, I had best not keep him waiting.”
