Her lips quirked up, and she gathered her skirt, moving beside him. “Better?”
He looked pointedly at his hand that she’d let go of. “Almost.”
She crashed her shoulder into his. “I will never stop being astounded at what a flirt you’ve become.” Color infused her cheeks, but she kept his gaze.
She did not, however, take back his hand. Cruel.
“We ought to go over the details of our relationship, if you do not mind?” she said, her tone businesslike now. “That way I will not clam up as I did with Mrs. Haverwick.”
He shifted to face her. “What do you want to review?”
“We met as children.”
“This part is not fake.” He crossed his arms, settling back.
Her smile reappeared. “Yes. But what about after I left? Did we marry before? Did you follow me?”
“I was in Bristol on business when we happened to meet each other. Sometime close to three-quarters of a year after you first arrived there. It is best to keep to the story your parents began, I think.”
“Yes, yes, a good point. It was a whirlwind courtship then?”
“Indeed. I visited as often as I could, even relocated there for a time.”
“You began work at the bank here five years ago.”
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded. “It works well because the year before that, I was at my uncle’s, learning the trade.” He’d returned to work for the man when Sophie was gone from Weybridge. “His bank is nowhere near Bristol, but I did not socialize often, so it is not as if anyone could refute that.” He crossed his ankle atop his knee, recollecting. “I did spend some time at a friend’s estate not ten miles from Bristol for a month, though.”
She folded her hands together, pressing them against her lips, her eyes faraway. “That is rather coincidental. This might have been a true story, if only in the details.”
The details. Yes. But what if it really could have been? He’d said he wished it were last night, and it was the truth. What if he’d had the sense to seek her while he was so nearby? Why had he allowed himself to bury himself in work rather than go after what he truly wanted?
Because he had not thought himself worthy. All along, his plan had been to become established in the business and then court Sophie. By the time he learned of her marriage, it had been too late.
Was he doing the same thing now? Waiting for the right time to tell Sophie his feelings… Would it make him too late again?
No ofcourse not. After all, they were to be married the next day. Nothing would derail that.
“And we’ve already determined that we would play the part of an eccentric married couple, living apart for the bulk of our marriage.”
Andrew nodded, grateful she’d not noticed his lapse in attention. “And that you rise late when possible, and I bring work to the dinner table.”
Her eyes sparkled with a smile. “The important facts.” She looked out the window. “Mr. Whitcomb is a bit of a stick in the mud.”
“Some might call me that as well.”
“You and he are nothing alike, have no fear. But he may be abrupt and… well, rude. He may insult my intelligence.”
“Does he usually do that?”
“At times, it is warranted. I made the most ridiculous mistake yesterday—”
He cut her off, unable to help himself. “I’ll call the man out. Who in the blasted—” He raked a hand through his hair, seething. “Apologies.”
“It does not bother me, your cursing or Mr. Whitcomb’s dismissal of me—most of the time. It is a part of the position I have put myself into, and I will prove my own worth.”
Except she didn’t need to prove anything of the sort. She was worthy just by existing, and her intelligence was clear enough, to a man with half a brain at least. His concern mounted. Would her happiness be safe in Durham? Would Mr. Whitcomb and his astronomy project break Sophie?
But before he could think how to phrase his thoughts, the carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman opened the door. The townhouse was the very one Andrew met Sophie at daily, but tonight it was alight with candles and activity. Ducking from the carriage, he offered Sophie his arm. Regardless of how he felt about Mr. Whitcomb and this project, he needed to support Sophie in her goals. Tonight, that meant one last night of faking a marriage before it would become real.
