“Fine,” he repeated. “I . . . I apologize for the kiss—er, kisses. I cannot . . . I cannot say what came over me.” This was a lie; he knew exactly what had come over him. Another reason to agree to her terms. He was afraid of what had come over him.
Without warning, she spoke again. “I want to be absolutely sure we intend the same thing.” She said the words with measured calm, staring out the workshop window. “Are you saying there is no prospect of a future between us? An authentic future? When you return to England?”
Cassin felt himself begin to sweat. He was not saying that, and he could not say that; likewise, he could not say the opposite. “An ‘authentic future’ was never discussed as part of the deal,” he said.
“Neither was detached sex, but you brought it up, didn’t you?” She spun around. “You’ll have to forgive me. I am a decisive person; I always have been. And I want to be sure I understand. About what you want.”
I want you,he thought, surprising himself.Beneath me in my bed.Braced before me against the wall.On the floor before the fire.
If he also meant “opposite me at dinner” or “walking beside me on the grounds of Caldera,” he could not allow himself to dwell on these. How could he assume, when there was so much left to do? Barbadoes, guano, her life in Belgravia. It was impossible to say what exactly, precisely, their prospects might be in two years or five years or even next week.
“I am saying that I have no idea,” he said. “We don’t have an accurate idea of how long it will take to mine the guano. And any calamity may befall us while we do it. I may see and do things that will change me forever, make me unsuitable, or miserable, or . . . I don’t know . . . one-legged.”
She wrinkled her nose, and he said, “It happens.”
He went on, “Youmay see and do things. You may despise London and move to France or Italy or the far side of the moon. Or you may adore London so much you never wish to be anywhere else. We cannot say.” He paused and she looked down at her hands.
“And,” he finished, “at the risk of overburdening you with my family obligations, the threat from my uncle becomes more pressing with each passing day. His letters reach me even here, in Surrey. He challenges my leadership and mocks my authority. My mother writes from Yorkshire that he turns up at Caldera, rallying the tenants to his side.”
“I . . . I’m sorry,” she said simply.
“Yes. How sorry we both are, but can you see why I dare not speculate about a future until I sort out my present obstacles? A lunatic uncle and starving tenants?”
She raised her head and nodded. Her eyes were bright.
Softly, he finished, “This is why I meant to dwell only in what we could enjoy right now. It was indulgent of me to consider it, but”—he blew out a puff of air—“you test the limits of my self-control.”
She nodded again, more to herself this time, and turned away, gathering up a stack of fabric. Her face was suddenly detached and determined and closed.
“I’ve asked and you’ve answered,” she said briskly. “I’m grateful for your honesty, truly. If nothing else, it allows us to move on. I’ve a list of logistical considerations that we must sort out in order to get a quick wedding underway as soon as possible.”
She paused and looked at him, and their eyes locked. Could she really cast aside the heart-pounding torrent of the last twenty minutes with so little reaction? One minute she was straddling him on the workbench, and now they would sort out logistics?
He searched her eyes for anger or resentment.
She stared back levelly, her eyes flat. She blinked and smoothed the fabric in her hand. Swollen lips and wild hair were the only indication of their passion.
God, that hair, he thought, wanting urgently to reach out and sink his hands into it.
“How can we best acquaint your partners with my friends?” she asked. “I would be remiss if I did not pursue potential for them as well as for myself.”
Cassin swiped a hand across his mouth. “Oh yes. The friends. By chance would these partners be called Miss Tessa St. Croix and Miss Sabine Noble?”
She straightened. “Yes, but how did you—”
“Stoker and Joseph have already sought them out.”
“They’ve what?”
Cassin shrugged. “Not called on them, but they have . . . looked in on them, shall we say. From afar.”
Her eyes went wide, and he looked away. “I apologize for their . . . er, assertiveness. I was as surprised as you by their speed. Perhaps I underestimated how eager they are to get the guano expedition underway. I . . . ” He started again. “They have compelled me.”
He paused now, considering this.They have compelled me.It was the newest reason in a long list of reasons he’d said yes to Willow’s arrangement. Stoker and Joseph wanted so urgently for the guano plot to succeed. He came to the partnership with so little else, and £60,000 was significant.
“But I’d not even uttered their names,” she said.
“It was not difficult to learn of your closest friends when we asked in town. It so happens that the villagers are more familiar with ‘Lady Willow’ than the never-before-known ‘W. J. Hunnicut.’ And how happy they’ve been to tell us about her two friends. My partners were intrigued, to say the least.”
