like the towel off the rail of his washstand. ‘My wife?’
‘It’s perfect, don’t you see?’ She hurried up to him, drawing close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. She took a cautious step back, acutely aware of how much taller and wider he’d grown since he’d left. She tried not to be distracted by the more intimate terms of marriage, but with the sunlight caressing the angles and sinew of his shoulders it was difficult. ‘You want the building and I want my freedom. There’s only one way for us to get both. We’ll get married.’
‘Married?’
‘We’ll work together to build up your whatever-it-is.’
‘A club for merchants.’
‘Excellent.’ She had no idea what that meant, but they could discuss the details later. ‘You’ve been gone from London for so long, you lack connections. My connections through Philip, combined with my keen managerial sense, the property I purchased—the one you wanted—along with your particular expertise in this kind of venture will make us quite a force. And you know how good I am with negotiation.’
He smothered a laugh. ‘Yes, I remember.’
But he wasn’t rushing to agree. The same tightness in the pit of her stomach as when she was thirteen and begging him to offer her some promise of a future together knotted her insides again. Anger began to creep along the edges of her confidence. ‘You remember what good friends we were, though you never troubled to write me a single letter the entire time you were in Savannah. Do you know how much I could’ve used your friendship, even from across the ocean?’ She winced at this slip. What in Heaven’s name was she thinking saying such a thing?
‘I do.’ Regret flickered in his eyes and he raised his hand as if to graze her cheek, the ruby on his small finger glinting in the sun before he lowered it again. ‘But marriage is different from children scampering through the Fleet in search of a shilling or eavesdropping on the adults.’
‘You sound like my brother.’ She crossed her arms in front of her. ‘And I’m perfectly aware of the seriousness of a union, which is why I think one based on friendship is the best kind. Don’t you agree?’
‘No.’ He didn’t even hesitate in his answer. ‘As much as I respect and admire you...’
‘Don’t.’ She held up one hand, humiliation clipping her words. ‘That’s the drivel your brother tried to placate me with when he returned from Scotland with his simpering wife. I expect better from you, Jasper.’
‘All right, you’ll have it.’ He dropped the lothario act and spoke to her as he had when he’d told her there could be nothing between them once he left for Georgia. ‘There are extenuating circumstances preventing me from marrying anyone, even an old and valuable friend.’
‘You’re already married?’ It wouldn’t surprise her. Everyone appeared capable of finding someone except her.
‘No.’
Well, this was a small relief. ‘Betrothed?’
‘No.’
‘Keeping a mistress?’
‘Of course not. Where did you get such an idea?’
She tilted her head in pride. ‘I’m not a complete innocent. I read novels and the newspapers.’
He stroked his smooth chin with one large hand. ‘And yet you are, aren’t you?’
‘If we married, I wouldn’t be, now would I?’
His eyes flashed the same way they had when she’d turned around to greet him yesterday. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would be.’
‘It’d be quite an honour for you.’ She lowered her head and peered up through her lashes at him, imitating the young ladies she usually scoffed at during parties. She felt like a fool doing it, but she was willing to try anything to persuade him, even the promise of something more carnal.
‘That’s one way to put it,’ he choked out through a laugh.
‘Then why are you objecting?’ She dropped the dewy-eyed pose, having expected him to respond with something other than humour. She was losing him as much now as when he’d set sail and she couldn’t. She was tired of being a failure and she wouldn’t fail at this. ‘You need me and you know it.’
‘Yes. I always have.’ A loss greater than their mere time together, one she’d experienced the day her mother had died, and in the many years since, filled his words. Whatever had happened in Savannah, it’d scarred him like her parents’ passing had damaged her. He did need her the way she needed him and for more than just a club.
‘Then why are you refusing me?’ she asked in a softer tone. It made no sense.
* * *
Voices from downstairs filtered up through the floorboards. He should insist she return to her brother, but he hesitated. She was offering him the building, her help in establishing a legitimate venture, and something his fifteen-year-old self would have sold his soul to acquire. But a wife? He was struggling to keep everyone out of his affairs, not searching for ways to draw someone deeper into them. Except this was Jane. If anyone could help him make a go of his club it was her, but he couldn’t ask her to share his secret and to deceive her family the way he was deceiving his. Nor could he risk her realising the terrible man he’d become in Savannah, not when she viewed him as an old friend still worthy of her affection.
The time ticked by on the ornate dolphin clock perched on the excessively gilded bedside table while he racked his brain for a delicate path out of this indelicate situation. He needed a reason why he was refusing her, one she wouldn’t try to logic her way around or hate him for saying.
‘Be honest with me, the way you used to be,’ she demanded.
I can’t be, with you or anyone. Nor could he wilfully hurt her. She’d taken a risk by approaching him and he admired her too much to treat her as poorly as his brother had. Despite his not having written to her while he was gone, she’d still believed in him and their mutual past enough to ask him for his future. If he told her even one of the real reasons behind his refusal, it would put her off him and this idea, and he wasn’t ready to pull himself down in her eyes.
There was a more subtle and less hurtful way to make her abandon this notion of marriage.
He stepped closer, affecting the smile he used to employ with agitated gamblers in Savannah, smooth, charming and convincing. ‘Because I’m not sure you could handle the level of honesty I’m prepared to offer you.’
‘What do you mean?’ She didn’t step back and he inhaled her flowery scent. It was lighter and more alluring than the cloying mixture she’d fancied at thirteen, the one which used to remind him of her whenever he inhaled it on a passing woman in Georgia. He might not have written to her after he’d sailed away, but she’d never really been far from his thoughts.
‘Your brother wouldn’t approve of the match.’
‘I’m past the age of needing his permission to marry.’ She waved her hand in dismissal, her fingertips grazing his chest before she pulled them back. Her faint touch raked him like a pitchfork. She must have felt it, too, because she clasped one
