his sharp cheeks and strong nose. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought.
She gripped the brass handles hard, as much to steady herself against Mr Connor’s influence as to prepare to face her father, and opened the doors. Everything depended on the success of what she was about to do. ‘Father, please return, we have a few more things to discuss.’
‘You’ve both seen the sense in the proposal, then?’ Lord Rockland asked as he returned, appearing quite pleased with himself.
‘Not until you agree to raise the dowry to two thousand pounds.’
This startled her father out of his usual imperiousness. ‘One thousand pounds is a very generous offer.’
Clearly he hadn’t intended to engage in a negotiation, but to hand her over to Mr Connor with little trouble and no further thought. She wouldn’t allow him to get off so easily. He was the man who’d helped make her a bastard, now he’d make her a legitimate woman, but not without some pain.
‘One thousand, five hundred, and you’ll purchase the wine for Lady Rockland’s masque from Mr Connor and see to it we’re both invited so Mr Connor may make the connections necessary to ensure the growth of his trade.’
‘Lady Rockland will never allow such a thing,’ her father scoffed and she wasn’t sure which he dreaded most, his wife’s wrath or the thought of connecting himself so publicly with his potential merchant son-in-law.
‘If you agree to this, in writing, I’ll marry Mr Connor and create no stir which might result in a scandal where Lord Howsham is concerned.’
Tense silence settled over the room as her father mulled through the points of her demands. She slid a glance at Mr Connor. If her negotiations couldn’t open his eyes to the benefit of having her as a wife and a partner in his business, nothing could. His admiration for what she’d done showed itself in the impressed half-smile he offered her. Freedom was within her grasp.
‘All right, I’ll do what you’ve asked.’ Lord Rockland looked to Mr Connor. ‘Are these terms amenable to you?’
She waited, hands tight at her sides for him to answer. It wasn’t so much the thought of freedom which captured her now but the sun from the window illuminating his hair and falling over the tan wool of the jacket covering the width of his shoulders. She shivered a little at the sight of him, tall, solid, a rock of a man next to her father, yet with a humour to soften his edges. She’d witnessed his strength last night when he’d flattened Edgar, but he wasn’t all unthinking, uncompassionate brawn. When her pain had welled up during their discussion, sympathy had whispered through his eyes. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she knew he understood her loneliness, not in the mocking way Lord Howsham had pretended to understand, but in the way of a man who had shared something of the same kind of experience. If they married, she would come to know both the serious man and the one smiling at her father now, the one she desperately hoped would accept the offer.
‘They are,’ Mr Connor said at last. ‘I will marry Miss Lambert.’
Susanna unclenched her hands, relief sweeping through her followed by a new anxiety that tightened her neck. Her course was set, for good or for bad. Mr Connor was right, she knew nothing about him, but he was now her intended and no matter what, she must make the best of things, although being with him would surely be better than staying here.
Mr Connor turned to her, gracious in his surrender. He reached for her hand, bending his tall frame as he slid his fingers beneath hers and brought them to his lips. He pressed the firmness of them against her skin, raising a chill which raced up her arm to crash inside her against the fire his gentle touch ignited. She’d never experienced such a reaction to a man and she rocked a touch before the squeeze of his fingers steadied her.
‘I’ll call for you later this afternoon for a carriage ride,’ he offered, his breath whispering over the back of her hand.
‘Please do.’ She could barely utter the words through the dryness in her mouth. It wasn’t like her to want a man so powerfully, not after the awkward way Lord Howsham had introduced her to the physical side of love, but Mr Connor was no Lord Howsham. There was tenderness beneath his teasing, something she’d never experienced with the earl. This man wouldn’t be rough with her. It would be smooth and easy like sliding into the warm water of a bath.
‘Until this afternoon.’ At last he released her and with reluctance she lowered her hand, wanting him to take her from this house now, tonight, so she could delight in the fire filling his eyes and the comfort of his good nature.
Mr Connor left with more confidence than he’d entered with, when she’d watched him through the crack in the door, listening eagerly for what he might say.
‘Well, there’s one matter resolved,’ her father sighed with relief once they were alone. Then he turned to her, his expression clouding with the disapproval he’d meted out to her last night. ‘Now you’ve accepted Mr Connor, there’ll be no calling off the wedding, no matter what happens, or I’ll cast you out of this house without a penny. Do you understand?’
‘I do.’ She stared at Mr Connor’s empty glass and the faint outline of his lips along the rim. In her desperation to escape the Rockland house, she’d misjudged Lord Howsham. She hoped she hadn’t misjudged Mr Connor. If he proved even a tenth of the man she gauged him to be, he’d make a good husband. She’d do her best to deserve him and put all of the unfortunate incidents of the previous day, and her life, behind them.
‘Was your meeting with Lord Rockland a success?’ Philip asked as Justin strode into his friend’s study.
‘You have no idea.’ He explained to Philip the events of the interview. When he was done, he leaned back against the French door, feeling the sun warming his back through the glass. ‘I suppose you think I’m crazy.’
‘I’m the last person to judge a man for taking a wife so quickly, or for the most ephemeral of reasons,’ Philip admitted from where he sat ramrod straight in the chair behind his desk. Philip had proposed to Mrs Rathbone after she’d held him at gunpoint demanding the return of some collateral. It’d been a strange start to a very successful marriage, one Justin hoped to emulate.
‘Mr Connor, your father would like to see you in the morning room,’ Chesterton, the Rathbones’ butler, announced with more apology than efficiency. This wasn’t the first time Justin’s father had come here in search of him.
Justin looked at the liquor on the side table before eschewing the drink. Smelling alcohol on his breath would only give his father another reason to criticise him. ‘I’ll be back.’
He strode down the panelled hallway of the Rathbones’ house which was situated in Bride Lane just off Fleet Street. Across the street, the bells of St Bride’s church began to toll the noon hour. In a matter of days, he’d have his common licence and a date fixed at the church. It amazed him how the green-eyed hellcat had managed to snare him in a matter of minutes, though he’d rather be back with her than preparing to face the man pacing across the Rathbones’ fine sitting-room rug.
Mr Green, the young man Justin paid to reside with his father and keep him out of trouble, sat on a bench near the front door. He jumped up at the sight of Justin. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Connor, I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted on coming here to see you.’
‘It’s all right,
