What in the hell was she doing loitering outside on her own? At the docks, the section crawling with the worst vermin humanity had to offer?
She turned her head and waved, looking… so Lydia-like.
Seeing her again… it was too much. He set his jaw and increased his pace, refusing to soften just because he would be in the presence of sunshine and light.
He had no option but to work with her… to ensure this little venture was a successful one.
He’d been given no choice but to step in like some sort of hero. Jeremy shook his head. That wasn’t why he was here. That wasn’t why he was doing any of this.
Fucking Baxter. He glanced up and down the street, looking for the earl’s conveyance, and seeing none, cursed under his breath when Lydia turned to offer him one of those damn smiles.
“Tell me you aren’t here alone.” His gaze roved down her lush figure.
She could wear one of her maid’s gowns, rub dirt on her face, and go barefoot, for all he cared, but Lydia Cockfield did not belong anywhere near White Chapel.
“My driver is around the corner, so I’m not really alone. Lady Baxter sent word this morning that Little Alex wasn’t feeling well, so they won’t be coming. And since I didn’t want to put this off…” She shrugged. “The door’s open. Have you heard back from your engineers yet?”
Jeremy clenched his fists together, tempted to tell Baxter precisely where he could shove any other reputation-repairingsuggestionshe might offer in the future. If the numbers weren’t good enough for his potential investors then…
He sighed.
Because he needed the investors.
“I have.” He stepped toward the warehouse and pulled the door open with a scraping sound. The scent of the docks—tar, whale blubber, and… something that distinctly resembled decades of perspiration—hung even heavier inside than it had on the street.
“And…?” She skipped along beside him.
“No major issues.”
She didn’t appear surprised, nor did she smirk victoriously as she entered the building. He’d known she wouldn’t—not unless he goaded her. As long as he’d known Lydia, she’d been sweet, kind, and exhibited perfect manners.
Hell, she’d practically been raised to be a countess—his, to be specific.
It hadn’t been discussed openly, especially after the fire that swept through Heart Place, killing her parents when Lydia and her twin sister were only four and leaving Blackheart to take over the dukedom.
It wasn’t long after the fire that his own father passed.
But before that, there had been an unspoken understanding between their parents that he’d marry the oldest twin. He could have dispelled it, but, as Lydia had grown from a child into a young woman, he’d become more and more fond of the idea.
He swallowed hard, disgusted with himself for missing the friendships they’d all formed in the wake of their personal tragedies.
Friendships that were nothing more than ashes now.
Jeremy stared up at the ceiling, some thirty feet above them, and then swept his gaze around the empty warehouse. Fluttering sounds had him noticing the white droppings on the floor. Of course, her orphanage was already filling up with all manner of feathered friends.
Wonderful.
“The open space allows for all sorts of possibilities.”
Her enthusiasm was unmistakable in how she all but danced into the empty area. Watching her, bittersweet longing creptover him—the memory of watching her dance under other circumstances. At one of the village country dances, and then later, with her brother at her come out.
Jeremy had been unable to request a dance for himself, as he’d already been in mourning. But she’d known he’d been watching, and she’d caught his eye as she twirled around and sent him a dazzling smile.
He shouldn’t have attended at all but he hadn’t been able to help himself.Because she asked me to be there.
“The kitchen will be built in the back,” she announced, then pointed toward a staircase. “Classrooms and sleeping chambers upstairs.”
“What do you intend to use this massive area for?”
