Page 88 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
She had other prospects before her. Other duties. To herself and to the man she loved.
She sat down beside him and took one of his hands in hers. “I love this garden.”
He smiled. But his heart was not in it. And he did not look at her, but stared off into the distance.
“I always wanted to grow roses.”
“I remember.”
She cleared her throat. “I am an heiress.”
He frowned. “What?” he asked, as if he did not comprehend.
“My mother bequeathed me five thousand acres in Yorkshire. I also have a bank account with Child’s in London. Aunt Cecily knows not how much is there. When she came to take me with her when I was nine, the total in the account was more than eight thousand pounds.”
“Dear God,” he murmured, his expression going from shock to delight. All for her.
“That is in addition to a good sum of money that Aunt Cecily grants me from her own investments. I have shares also in an American shipping company out of Baltimore, Maryland, in the new United States.”
Ram stared at her. At once he blinked and reached to enfold her in his arms. “That’s extraordinary!”
She giggled. “It is, rather, isn’t it?” She gave a little shake of delight.
“Not many can say such a thing. You will be unique, and all in London will rush to call upon you.”
“Oh? Are we going to London? I thought you said it was best if we stayed here because the Season is so hectic.”
“It is mayhem. But now that you have all this to take care of, you should go. Did Cecily tell you the name of a solicitor to administer all that?”
“She did.” Amber waved a hand. “I forget his name. I’ll find it, and then you must tell me if he’s any good.”
Ram snorted. “I doubt the Countess Nugent entrusts her financial dealings or yours to a hack.”
“But I want you to come with me. Tell me if he meets your standards.”
Ram got to his feet. “Sweetheart, the man most likely walks on water.”
She gave a laugh and let her head fall back to view how handsome her beloved was. She had missed him in her bed these many months. They had not made love since that fateful night in February when they reunited at the theater and later in her bed. “I have missed you, my darling.”
It was as if she had poured ice water over him. He stiffened—and spun on his heel to stride away.
She shot up to catch him. But like that night in Charleville, he marched onward, focused on nothing but getting away from her.
“Wait! Wait, Ram!”
He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets and went on.
She ran in front of him, her hand out. “Stop! You are angry because I tell you I want you?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be.”
“Not easy, my girl.” He made to go around her.
She planted her feet. “Do. Not. Leave. Me.”
He halted and slowly turned his head to gaze down at her. “You are unkind.”
