Until a month ago she’d worked at an art gallery in the West End.
Her fork made a circle in the air. ‘Of course, the upside is all of that has annoyed my father no end, so...’
She and Lord Collingford had always had a fraught relationship. It was worse now that Peter was no longer around to play peacemaker.
‘But it needs to stop.’ She stabbed another bean. ‘Enough is enough.’
Her self-awareness surprised him, though he wasn’t sure why. She’d never been stupid just...wilful.
‘Where would you go?’
‘Cornwall.’
His jaw dropped and for the briefest moment she grinned, as if delighted by his surprise. That spark definitely lurked in the backs of her eyes. What had brought it back?
‘My mother’s mother left me a bit of land that borders Bodmin Moor. It’s not much...but it has a run-down stables and I thought...’ She trailed off with a shrug.
He had to fight the urge to lean in towards her. ‘You’re riding again?’ It had been her enduring passion since he’d met her as a pudgy eleven-year-old.
‘I never stopped riding, Will.’
She hadn’t?
‘After Peter died I thought I should give it up. It felt wrong to still enjoy anything.’
He knew what she meant, but... ‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to.’
She stared down at her plate. Please don’t cry again.
A moment later she lifted her chin and sent him a game smile. ‘I haven’t been riding as much these past couple of years as I normally would. Riding and hangovers don’t mix.’
She was choosing riding over hangovers? Excellent choice!
‘If I had a million pounds I’d turn those stables into a riding school—an equestrian centre. There are a few acres down there so perhaps I could offer agistment as well.’
‘How many acres?’
‘Seventeen and three quarters. There are fields and a stream but no house.’
Ah.
‘My million pounds would buy me a modest cottage.’
It would buy more than that if she had a fancy for grander living, but before she could make any of that a reality, she’d need start-up funds.
She set about demolishing the rest of her lamb. When she was done—and true to her word she cleaned her plate—she set her cutlery onto the plate at a neat angle and dabbed her lips with her serviette. ‘Will, for the last five minutes straight you’ve been staring at me without saying a word. I can’t imagine that watching me eat is that fascinating. I really would prefer it if you simply said what was on your mind.’
Her words made him jerk back in his seat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I was thinking.’
‘About?’
‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table in front of him.
She grimaced, but her chin didn’t drop. ‘Okay.’
‘But what makes you think you could stick to this hypothetical plan of yours? I mean, running a stables and riding school isn’t precisely glamorous. It’s hard work and...’
‘And hard work isn’t something I’ve been known for these past couple of years.’
She nodded, evidently not the least offended. And that was what got to him about Sophie. She never reacted the way he expected. She could take criticism on the chin.
Unless it came from her father.
She stared up at the ceiling and wrinkled her nose. ‘Needs must, Will. I’m losing myself. Playing the party girl isn’t the answer—it’s left me feeling hollow...ashamed.’
Whoa! He chose his words carefully. ‘I think you’re being a little too harsh on yourself.’
‘No, you don’t.’
He blinked.
‘And being my father’s hostess with the mostest is shredding what little self-respect I have left.’
He could see that was true, even though he didn’t understand it.
She pushed her hair back from her face, pulled it momentarily into a tight ponytail that highlighted the exhausted lines fanning from her eyes, and Will’s gut gave a sick kick. Hell, he’d be happy to just give her a million pounds, though he knew her pride would forbid her from accepting it.
‘Of course, the million pounds is a pipe dream.’ She let her hair go and it fell back down around her shoulders in a blonde cloud. ‘But my plan is to get a job in Cornwall and save madly until I can do something with my little property.’
‘What kind of job are you looking for?’ Was she hoping to land another gallery job? He didn’t like her chances.
‘Events management. I know to the outside gaze it’d look like I’m just continuing with my party-girl ways. But running an event is very different from attending as a guest. I used to run all the gallery’s events. And, even if I say it myself, I have a knack for pulling together a halfway decent party, ball, charity luncheon or any other kind of get-together you’d like to name.’
He sat up straighter. She’d be perfect at it. Lord Collingford demanded the best when he entertained. She not only had a name and experience, she had connections. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’
‘Doh!’ But she smiled as she said it to soften the sting.
‘If you were really willing to marry me for a million pounds, Sophie, how would you see that marriage working?’
It was his turn to have the satisfaction of seeing her jaw drop. The waiter chose that moment to clear their plates. ‘Would you like to order dessert or coffee?’
‘Chocolate cake,’ Sophie said, not taking her eyes off Will. ‘Please.’
‘And champagne,’ Will said, holding her gaze. ‘A bottle of your best.’
‘I wasn’t serious when I said I’d marry you for a million pounds,’ she whispered, when the waiter had melted into the background again.
‘I know. You were being flippant. But if we were to speak hypothetically...’ He let the rest of the sentence dangle and watched her mind race behind the perfect blue of her eyes. ‘I’d put a million pounds into your bank account... What would I get in return?’
‘A million pounds...?’
Her eyes glazed over and he could feel his lips start to lift. ‘I believe that was the price you put on it.’ A million pounds...and then she could live the life she’d just outlined to him.
She shook herself. ‘We’re playing hypotheticals?’
He nodded.
‘Well, if that were to ever happen...it’d have to be a strictly business arrangement. A paper marriage—no sex, no children, no complications.’
He nodded. So far so good.
‘You’ve never wanted to marry.’
The ugliness of his parents’ marriage had cured him of ever wanting to trade in his bachelorhood for the vagaries of matrimony. He wasn’t inviting that kind of acrimony and spite into his life. The very thought made him break out into a cold sweat.
‘But you’ll do just about anything to keep Carol Ann healthy and happy,’ she continued.
She knew him better than the women he dated. He should find that reassuring considering the conversation they were having, but he didn’t. It took a force of will not to run a finger around the collar of his shirt.
She smiled at the waiter as he brought their champagne and slid her chocolate cake in front of her. ‘Thank you.’
The waiter’s lips lifted and his eyes lit up. ‘You’re very welcome, madam.’
That was one of the things Will had always liked about Sophie. She didn’t just have impeccable manners, but genuine manners. She made people feel valued.
‘You’d be in London most of the time and I’d be in Cornwall most of the time, so I don’t see any reason why we should even have to live together.’
Better and better.
‘If you needed me to host the odd dinner party or event
I could certainly do that.’
He didn’t entertain often but every now and again business demanded it. And he could see how having a ‘wife’ at those events could be an advantage. Sophie had a talent for ruffling the waters when she had a mind to, but she had an even greater ability for smoothing them.
‘Though I’d expect notice. You couldn’t just spring events on me at the last minute.’
That was reasonable. ‘And if you want me to attend anything you need only let my PA know and—?’
She shook her head. ‘In this hypothetical situation you’re giving me a million pounds, Will. Nothing more will be asked of you.’
He frowned. That didn’t seem fair somehow.
She ate a huge piece of chocolate cake and then nodded and pointed her dessert fork at him, her tongue sweeping out to check for crumbs, leaving a shine on her bottom lip that made something inside him clench tight.
No! Don’t do that. Don’t look at Peter’s little sister like she’s a woman, for God’s sake.
‘I know how much you value your...independence.’
Her words hauled him back, and he glanced at her to find her staring at him expectantly. A frown built through him. It wasn’t like her to mince her words. ‘What are you driving at?’
She shrugged, almost reluctantly...and as if in resignation. ‘I know the thought of being monogamous to one woman fills your little bachelor heart with fear and loathing.’
He stiffened. ‘It’s not fear. It’s just... Why the hell would anyone want to do that?’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Whatever. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not expecting you to abstain sexually during this hypothetical paper marriage of ours. You could continue to have as many lovers as you wanted. But...’
His heart started to thump. ‘But...?’
‘You might want to consider being discreet.’
Ah. ‘I’d have no intention of making you look like a fool or a stooge, Sophie.’
She dabbed at her lips with a napkin. ‘While that’s a relief, it’s not really what I was getting at. I’m assuming we’d have to put on a convincing show for your grandfather.’
‘Only until we were married. I’d have legally binding contracts drawn up. He could do whatever the hell he wants with his title and money, but the deeds to Ashbarrow Castle would pass to me the moment I married.’
‘Well, in that case, once we’re hypothetically married you can be as indiscreet as you want.’
Would it really not bother her? ‘And you?’
‘You can be assured of my discretion.’
Her answer left him unsatisfied, though he didn’t know why.
‘We would have to agree to a minimum duration for this paper marriage too,’ she added. ‘Eighteen months, perhaps?’
He nodded again.
‘As for how we got married, that’d be entirely up to you—a quickie Vegas wedding, a big London society do, or something in between.’
His lip curled. There’d have to be a wedding. Nothing else would satisfy his grandfather, but he couldn’t face the thought of some big society affair. ‘Could you face a quiet family affair at Ashbarrow?’
She stared at him, and her soft laugh tripped down his backbone. ‘The real question, Will, is can you?’
It didn’t fill him with a shred of enthusiasm, but if it meant securing Carol Ann’s future...
She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. ‘But I have to ask, hypothetically speaking, of course. If you were to embark on this paper marriage for real, why would you choose me? There has to be someone more suitable.’
Sophie might have a certain reputation in the tabloids but... He knew a lot of women—all more than happy to keep him company whenever he wanted—but he wouldn’t be able to rely on a single one of them to stick to an agreement like this.
Was he really considering this? His gut churned. Was he crazy? Or was this the answer he’d been searching so desperately for?
He drummed his fingers against the linen tablecloth. Beneath the table his foot began to bounce. ‘You know me and you know that I don’t want to give up either my freedom or my independence. I know you and what you want—money for a fresh start. We’d go into this arrangement with our eyes wide open. You wouldn’t be expecting a husband in the real sense of the word. I know you wouldn’t ever misconstrue our situation. Besides, you’re Peter’s little sister and, regardless of anything else, I don’t believe you’d try and take advantage of being married to me.’
She folded her arms, her chin angling up. ‘Are you sure about that?’
Positive. ‘You haven’t tried putting your price up to two million pounds, have you? Even though you know I’m considering a more than hypothetical arrangement here.’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t need two million pounds.’
Exactly.
If he married Sophie, it would secure Carol Ann’s future. He recalled those few weeks he’d brought her to London to live with him and acid burned his throat. He’d had such high hopes, but she’d become so distraught. She’d become so ill. And he’d been helpless to ease her homesickness and her grief at being torn from her home.
Peter had always felt responsible for Sophie in the same way Will felt responsible for Carol Ann. And if anything were to happen to Carol Ann...
His hands clenched. He couldn’t bear the thought, but it reminded him of all the unspoken promises he’d made to Peter when he’d sworn to keep an eye on Sophie—promises to help her wherever and whenever he could. And here was the perfect opportunity to do exactly that.
‘I trust you, Sophie.’ And there weren’t too many people he did trust.
She pursed her lips. ‘I’ve been in the papers a lot recently—always linked with a different guy. I know how much you hate any kind of tabloid attention.’
‘Do you mean to continue appearing in the gossip pages?’
‘God no!’
He believed her. ‘Which makes it a non-issue.’
She stared at him for a long moment. ‘If you were serious about this, we’d need lawyers to draw up pre-nup agreements. I couldn’t take you for anything more than that million pounds.’ The blue in her eyes started to dance. ‘And you couldn’t take my little property in Cornwall.’
‘Every word is music to my ears, Sophie.’
He poured out two glasses of champagne, and handed her one before raising the other in the air. ‘I’m game if you are.’
Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Douglas
ISBN-13: 9781488089718
English Lord on Her Doorstep
First North American publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Marion Lennox
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