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
