Page 48 of Hearts of Briarwall

“I see.” Warren likely wouldn’t jeopardize his position by telling his employer how to handle his own sister.

They sat silent for a moment. A breeze blew, and he stole a glance as it played with Lydia’s errant curls. She tucked one behind her ear and gazed about.

“Andrew never comes here,” she said quietly.

“Is that why we’re here now? To discuss such a sensitive subject as the motorcar?” He might’ve teased her, but he kept his tone serious.

She nodded. After another moment, she straightened, folding her hands in her lap. “I’ve interrupted your proposal. Please, do continue.”

He nodded, intrigued by her fluctuation between frustrated girl and self-assured woman. He had no idea how she intended to remedy the situation with Andrew, but if she wished to talk motorcars with someone, by Jove, he’d talk.

She listened intently to the rest of it, asking surprisingly astute questions about investment, capital, and shares.

After a particularly intelligent question about reinvestment and chain shops, she gave him a look and said, “I don’t just read novels, Mr. Hayes.”

He chuckled. “Forgive me.”

“It so happens that what my brother lacks in discussing automobiles he makes up for in spades when it comes to discussing business.”

“Thatdoes not surprise me. What does surprise me is that you entertain a similar interest.”

Her smile widened. “All a girl needs to fly is a little fairy dust.” She held her fingers aloft in a sprinkling motion.

He recognized the reference from James Barrie’s play. “The fairy dust being ... ?”

“Knowledge, Mr. Hayes. Knowledge. I’ve become an excellent listener.” She leaned into him, her brown eyes soft, her scent welcoming. “I turn twenty-one next month,” she said quietly.

He found himself leaning in as well. “You mentioned that.” He should pull away, and soon, but the caress of her voice was far too enticing.

“I come into my independence. I should very much like to invest in your motor supply shop.”

He arched a brow, an attempt to hide his ricocheting heart. “I believe that to be very wise. Thank you.” He would not shirk her. He would use whatever trifle she wanted to pledge and be sure of her return. He knew her interest in his proposal would not make up for Andrew’s lack, but whatever disappointment he felt about that dissipated at her nearness and the heady scent of her perfume. He swallowed, his gaze drawn to her lush mouth. “I shall be very judicious with your sum.”

“I’m counting on it.” She blinked slowly, a slight tremor in her breath. “I think twenty thousand pounds will be sure to draw more investors.”

“Of course,” he whispered, the space between them slowly disappearing. Her eyes closed, her chin lifted—

Twenty thousand—

He jumped up and teetered toward the smoldering fire in front of the log.

“Spencer!” She hopped up and reached for his arms, grasping his wrists to pull him away from the fire and directly into her arms, his momentum pushing her back and over the log bench as he tumbled helplessly after.

“Oof.”

“Lydia—” He pulled himself to his elbows and twisted to see her face. “Lydia, are you alright?” He took her face in his hands and tapped her cheek. “Lydia?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found his gaze. Her shoulders began to shake. She gasped, laughing. “Did we just fall over a log?”

He watched her, baffled and bewitched by his need to protect her, by the utter nearness of her. He was afraid to touch her yet needed to be assured she was unharmed.

She looked around, taking in their awkward position in the winter detritus and new growth of spring grass, one of her legs bent over the log and him sprawled across her midsection. “Really, Mr. Hayes, if this is how you react to your investors, perhaps you should put up a little sign: ‘Prone to step in fire when excited; may tumble over low furnishings.’” She turned back to him, her eyes alight. “You’re not burned, are you?”

He shook his head. No, he was fighting a different kind of fire altogether.

She stilled.

Likely because his fingers remained cradling her face, his traitorous thumb stroking the silky corner of her smile. Or because he was not laughing. Indeed, he could hardly breathe.

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