a horde of others who would be fascinated by any hint of a connection between them.
He hauled in a breath, mentally gritted his teeth, and forced himself to step back—enough to break the spell. She blinked, then dropped her gaze and eased back.
His fingers tightened about hers. Lifting his head, he scanned the room, but there was no chance of slipping away, of finding some quiet spot in which to pursue their aims, if not mutual, then at least parallel. She wanted to get to know him better; he wanted to kiss her again, to taste her more definitely.
But Finsbury Hall was relatively small, and it was raining outside.
Lips compressing, he looked at her, and found his inner frown reflected in her eyes. “This venue is a trifle restrictive for our purpose. If I call on you tomorrow, will you be free?”
She thought before she nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” Setting her hand on his sleeve, he turned her toward the drawing room. “We can spend the day together, and then we’ll see.”
He called in the morning to take her driving—behind his matched, utterly peerless grays. To Sarah’s intense relief, Clary and Gloria had gone for a walk with Twitters and weren’t there to see—not the horses, Charlie, or how he whisked her from the house, handed her into his curricle, then leapt up, took the reins and drove off, whipping up his horses as if he and she were escaping….
Well wrapped in her forest-green pelisse, she settled beside him and reflected that perhaps they were leaving behind the restrictions of their families and the familiar but sometimes suffocating bounds of local society. At the end of the Manor drive, he turned his horses north. She glanced at him, glad she’d decided against a hat; he, of course, looked predictably impressive in his many-caped greatcoat, his long-fingered hands wielding whip and reins with absentminded dexterity. “Where are we going?”
“Watchet.” Briefly he met her eyes. “I have business interests there, on the docks and in the ware houses behind them. I need to speak with my agent, but that won’t take long. After that, I thought we could stroll, have lunch at the inn, and maybe”—he glanced at her again—“go for a sail if the weather stays fine and the winds oblige.”
She widened her eyes even though he’d looked to his horses. “You enjoy sailing?”
“I own a small boat, single-masted. I can sail it alone—I usually do—but it will carry three comfortably. It’s tied up at Watchet pier.”
She imagined him sailing alone on the waves, sails billowing in the winds that whipped over Bridgwater Bay. Watchet was one of the ports scattered along the southern shore. “I haven’t been sailing for years—not since I was a child. I quite enjoyed it.” She glanced at him. “I know the basics.”
His lips curved. “Good. You can crew.”
He slowed his pair as they approached Crowcombe. They rattled through the village; as the last house fell behind, he whipped up his horses and they rocketed on into open countryside. Once they were bowling freely along, she asked, “What do you do in London? How do you pass your time—not the balls and parties, the evenings, those I can imagine—but the days? Alathea once told me that you and Gabriel shared similar interests.”
Eyes on his horses as he deftly steered them along the country road, he nodded. “Around the time of their marriage, I caught a glimpse into the world of finance—it seemed challenging, exciting, and Gabriel was willing to teach me. I more or less fell into it. These days…”
Somewhat to his surprise, Charlie found it easy to describe his liking for the intricacies of high finance, to outline his absorption with investments and innovations and the development of projects that ultimately led to major improvements for all. Perhaps it was because Sarah wasn’t asking simply to be polite; she sincerely wanted to know—and her occasional questions demonstrated that her understanding was up to
He hauled in a breath, mentally gritted his teeth, and forced himself to step back—enough to break the spell. She blinked, then dropped her gaze and eased back.
His fingers tightened about hers. Lifting his head, he scanned the room, but there was no chance of slipping away, of finding some quiet spot in which to pursue their aims, if not mutual, then at least parallel. She wanted to get to know him better; he wanted to kiss her again, to taste her more definitely.
But Finsbury Hall was relatively small, and it was raining outside.
Lips compressing, he looked at her, and found his inner frown reflected in her eyes. “This venue is a trifle restrictive for our purpose. If I call on you tomorrow, will you be free?”
She thought before she nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” Setting her hand on his sleeve, he turned her toward the drawing room. “We can spend the day together, and then we’ll see.”
He called in the morning to take her driving—behind his matched, utterly peerless grays. To Sarah’s intense relief, Clary and Gloria had gone for a walk with Twitters and weren’t there to see—not the horses, Charlie, or how he whisked her from the house, handed her into his curricle, then leapt up, took the reins and drove off, whipping up his horses as if he and she were escaping….
Well wrapped in her forest-green pelisse, she settled beside him and reflected that perhaps they were leaving behind the restrictions of their families and the familiar but sometimes suffocating bounds of local society. At the end of the Manor drive, he turned his horses north. She glanced at him, glad she’d decided against a hat; he, of course, looked predictably impressive in his many-caped greatcoat, his long-fingered hands wielding whip and reins with absentminded dexterity. “Where are we going?”
“Watchet.” Briefly he met her eyes. “I have business interests there, on the docks and in the ware houses behind them. I need to speak with my agent, but that won’t take long. After that, I thought we could stroll, have lunch at the inn, and maybe”—he glanced at her again—“go for a sail if the weather stays fine and the winds oblige.”
She widened her eyes even though he’d looked to his horses. “You enjoy sailing?”
“I own a small boat, single-masted. I can sail it alone—I usually do—but it will carry three comfortably. It’s tied up at Watchet pier.”
She imagined him sailing alone on the waves, sails billowing in the winds that whipped over Bridgwater Bay. Watchet was one of the ports scattered along the southern shore. “I haven’t been sailing for years—not since I was a child. I quite enjoyed it.” She glanced at him. “I know the basics.”
His lips curved. “Good. You can crew.”
He slowed his pair as they approached Crowcombe. They rattled through the village; as the last house fell behind, he whipped up his horses and they rocketed on into open countryside. Once they were bowling freely along, she asked, “What do you do in London? How do you pass your time—not the balls and parties, the evenings, those I can imagine—but the days? Alathea once told me that you and Gabriel shared similar interests.”
Eyes on his horses as he deftly steered them along the country road, he nodded. “Around the time of their marriage, I caught a glimpse into the world of finance—it seemed challenging, exciting, and Gabriel was willing to teach me. I more or less fell into it. These days…”
Somewhat to his surprise, Charlie found it easy to describe his liking for the intricacies of high finance, to outline his absorption with investments and innovations and the development of projects that ultimately led to major improvements for all. Perhaps it was because Sarah wasn’t asking simply to be polite; she sincerely wanted to know—and her occasional questions demonstrated that her understanding was up to
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