He looked down at the signet ring gleaming on his right hand, the symbol of his past mistakes, and realized that Beatrice was different from any other woman he’d known.
Especially Monique.
Don’t leave me, Wickham. I swear I’ll die without you.
His jaw tautened as he thought of Monique’s suffocating passion, the quicksand of their relationship. Since her death a decade ago, he’d been wary of emotional dealings with women. From then on, he’d made it crystal clear that all he had to offer was a good time between the bedsheets. If a woman showed signs of expecting or wanting more, he ended things.
Yet with Beatrice,hewas the one with expectations. He wanted a future with her and would do everything in his power to make her happy. At the same time, he knew her sense of self did not depend upon him; his failure would not destroy her. That knowledge came as a relief and freed him to examine the deeper yearnings he’d long ignored.
After years of wondering if he would find that special connection—if, indeed, he had the capacity for it—he now had the answer. In the words of his brother Richard, he “just knew it.” He had found his lass, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He thought he had a fairly decent chance of convincing her to take a risk on him.
But first he would have to protect her and prove himself worthy of being her mate.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of McGillivray’s red-brick office, and Wick wasn’t surprised to see the factory owner waiting at the entrance to greet him. Of medium height, McGillivray was a stocky, balding man whose bold brass buttons matched his forceful personality. He radiated impatience, from his tapping foot to his twitching moustache.
Behind him stood five other factory owners, dark-suited replicas of him. They were like a pack of wolves led by their most aggressive member. As united as they appeared, one had the sense that they would turn on one another at the first show of weakness.
Wick alighted, and McGillivray stepped forward, clearing his throat importantly.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Murray.” He extended his hand.
Wick took it. The handshake was more akin to a bone-crunching contest than a greeting, but he gave as good as he got.
“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” he said.
“On the contrary, the Coalition and I were honored to receive your missive.” McGillivray’s hard gaze glinted with ambition...enough to drive him to try to scare Bea off her land? “We hope you bring good news.”
Determined to keep his lass safe, Wick said evenly, “We’ll discuss it inside.”
19
“It wasn’tnecessary for you to be present, Your Grace,” Beatrice said. “Nothing is going to happen to me in my own home.”
She and the Duke of Knighton were standing in her drawing room, which had been recently vacated by her tenants. She’d called an informal gathering to address a number of concerns.
First, she’d thanked the farmers for their bravery in fighting the barn fire. Rumors were swirling about arson, and she’d confirmed that the fire might have been caused intentionally, although the motive was unclear. She’d urged everyone to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters or activities on the estate and to report them to her immediately. Above all, they were to put their personal safety first.
She’d also told her tenants that she would bear all the costs for the new barn as well as for the supply of hay she would purchase to see their livestock through the winter.
Then, taking a breath, she’d informed them of Wick’s true identity.
Pandemonium had broken loose.
If it hadn’t been for the years of trust she’d cultivated with her farmers, Bea was certain the reaction would have been much worse. As it was, she’d had to confront Mr. Ellerby’s anger and his wife’s fear. Sweet Sarah Haller’s blue eyes had brimmed over, tears spilling down her porcelain cheeks. Bea had let everyone have their say, and when the room had quieted at last, she’d delivered words from her heart.
Camden Manor has been a refuge not only for you but me. I value this estate and your good will more than you can know,she’d said with steadfast sincerity.You have my word that, as long as I draw breath, no railway will be built unless your homes and mine can be preserved.
“You handled that situation with finesse, my lady,” Knighton said. “I don’t know many females who could have managed a mob so adroitly.”
“They aren’t a mob. They’re my tenants and friends,” she replied.
Yet she knew that her speech wouldn’t mollify them for long. She wished Wick could have been present: he had a way of smoothing things over and winning people to his cause. She knew he’d written his principle surveyor and engineer, Mr. Norton, and was awaiting the reply. For the sake of her people’s morale—not to mention her relationship with Wick—Bea prayed that Mr. Norton would be able to provide a solution.
“When money and survival are at stake, friendship may become a luxury that few can afford,” Knighton said.
She lifted her brows. “That is rather cold of you, Your Grace.”
The duke’s broad shoulders moved up and down without disturbing the crisp lines of his charcoal jacket. “Where I come from, that is merely a fact of life.”
