Courtney Milan (54 page)

S
IMON’S HEAD WAS STILL POUNDING
by the time he entered the corporation’s office on Thursday morning. His train had arrived in London late on the previous night, and he’d not been able to sleep until just before dawn. He’d managed a few hours. He could have stayed in bed for days.

But there was nothing to be done for it. He had an appointment with Ridgeway, and if he had to beg the man, he’d beg. Which was why he found himself half tripping over his feet, scarcely awake, and wishing he could be anywhere else. Ridgeway had already arrived. He sat on a bench opposite Simon in the receiving room, arms folded, legs crossed, a glower on his face.

“You always thought you were the clever one,” Ridgeway said. “So. What is it you have to say—”

He squinted up at Simon’s face, and a look of revulsion passed over him.

Simon had no idea how he appeared. He hadn’t cared to look at himself in the mirror. He was sure his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

“Out late last night?” the other man asked caustically.

“Obvious, is it?”

“It must have been quite the celebration.” There was always something angry about the man’s tone—understandably so, as Simon had threatened his profitability. But today, that cranky note seemed all the more heightened. And when he talked of celebration, he hadn’t seemed to mean it sarcastically.

Simon was just beginning to wonder what Ridgeway meant by that when a door opened down the hall, and the company secretary stepped out, followed by Andrew Fortas. Simon stood, but Mr. Teller didn’t look for him. Instead, he turned back into the room, speaking to someone Simon couldn’t quite see. It didn’t make sense; he’d supposed that Ridgeway would already have transferred his shares. If he had, who was that in Teller’s office?

“I’ll get the gentlemen, then?” he heard Teller ask. Fortas went back into the room.

An indistinct response came in reply, and then Teller turned and motioned to the two men. Simon stood and walked toward him, all the more confused. He was scarcely aware of Ridgeway following behind him.

When he turned into the room, his whirling confusion came to a standstill. All emotion seemed to wash from him, leaving him a vessel empty of everything except stunned surprise.

“This,” Mr. Teller was saying, “is Mr. Bagswin, and his client, Mrs. Croswell. Mrs. Croswell, Mr. Bagswin—these are the other main shareholders of Long Northern, Mr. Davenant and Mr. Ridgeway.”

Simon swallowed. “Ginny,” he said. “I mean—Mrs. Croswell. What the devil are you doing here?”

The secretary frowned at his language.

But a small, sad smile played across Ginny’s lips. She looked down and examined her gloves. She seemed quite proper at the moment: respectable, and altogether demure. That, more than anything, convinced him that something was afoot.

“Well.” She brushed some unseen piece of dirt from her gloves and raised her eyes to his. “As you know, Mr. Davenant, I am newly widowed. Having liquidated most of the assets left to me by my husband, and then some—”

He made a choking sound.

“I
did
tell you of that,” she said innocently. “In fact, you remarked on it yourself. Well, never mind. Having liquidated the assets left by my husband, it seemed prudent to invest. I have always had an interest in railways. And so my solicitor, Mr. Bagswin—”

“
Your
solicitor,” Simon repeated stupidly.

“
My
solicitor,” she repeated, “purchased one hundred and thirteen shares of the Long Northern Railway on my behalf.”

“Oh, you little minx,” he said, startled. “
You
bought my company?”

“Come, Mr. Davenant. You cannot be angry with me. I did tell you when you arrived at my house that you were already checkmated. It is not my fault that you didn’t believe me.”

Angry? It wasn’t anger that made his hands shake. He was just beginning to be able to think, to understand what this all meant. Ridgeway hadn’t wrested control of his company from him. She’d bought enough shares to prevent his ever obtaining a majority. Simon wasn’t ruined.

And that made no sense. “Those shares were purchased before I went to Chester-on-Woolsey. How—why—”

“It was really quite simple.” She looked away from him. “I told you I was still a Barrett—given to mad, foolish financial gestures. I’ve been following your company quite closely. I knew what Mr. Ridgeway was doing. I have a horror of poverty.” She raised her eyes, dark and liquid, to his. “How, then, could I see you in it?”

It took him a moment to comprehend what she had said. Without hope of return, she had sold everything she had to keep him safe. He found himself blinking furiously. Dust. There was too much dust in this damned office.

He crossed the room, ignoring her solicitor and his secretary, and knelt before her.

“You ridiculous creature,” he said. “You—you—”

Her hand ruffled his hair. “The word you are looking for is ‘darling,’” she supplied.

“Yes, that.” He took her hands in his and clasped them hard. He was almost afraid to look up, scared that if he did, he would discover it all to be a lie. He pressed his lips to her palm. “And this one,” he whispered into her fingers. “Sweetest.”

He was dimly aware of her solicitor, gathering everyone up and herding them outside. The door closed and they were alone.

“I’m not certain you deserve it,” Ginny said.

“I’m certain I don’t.”

She smiled at that, but he hadn’t intended it as a jest. He finally understood the truth of it. He’d wanted her—desperately—but his had been a selfish love. He’d wanted her more than he’d wanted to make her happy. All these years, he’d foolishly imagined that he’d loved her better simply because he’d loved her louder.

She’d been right. It wasn’t a thing to fix. There was nothing he could
do
to make it better. It was a question of who he had to become. Obtaining right-of-ways and the approval of Parliament seemed easy next to this.

He raised his head. “I never wanted to spend all those years yearning for you. But every time I tried to fit some other woman in my heart, I failed. There was no room for anyone else. You were already there.”

Her hands compressed around his, and her eyes shone. “Idiot,” she said with a little sniffle. “You’re going to make me cry. I wasn’t supposed to
cry
in your corporate office. I had planned to savor my victory.”

“Savor as much as you like. I’m on my knees.” He set his hand against her cheek and rubbed away a tear.

A woman didn’t save a man’s fortune and then lean into his touch without feeling a certain amount of affection. If he wanted, he could have her now for the price of an abject apology. A mere twelve hours ago, he would have grabbed at the chance and not let go. He would have pulled out his special license—somehow, it was still stowed safely in his coat pocket—and suggested they head for the nearest bed, diverting only long enough to get the vicar’s approval.

But he didn’t want her to marry the person who would do that to her.

He couldn’t bear it if Ginny married a man who took her love for granted, who saw her sacrifice as nothing more than proof that he could grab an advantage. That person would hurt her, and hurt her again.

He’d left her crying once. He wasn’t going to let it happen a second time.

“Ginny,” he said. “I want to ask you a question. A very important question.”

She nodded and straightened expectantly.

He adjusted her hands in his, and looked up into her face. “Ginny,” he repeated, “will you do me the very great honor of…”

She had begun to smile. “Of?”

He let out a deep breath. “Of letting me prove that I’m worthy of you.”

Chapter Seven

Another small town, five weeks later

T
ODAY WAS THE FIRST DAY
that Simon had seen Ginny in colors.

She stood almost fifteen feet in the air on a scaffold erected for the occasion, the full yellow skirts of her day gown rippling behind her in the breeze. One of the white ribbons that ringed her fitted sleeve had come untied; it flapped merrily in the wind, in cheery counterpoint to the murmur of the crowd.

Even from twenty feet away, she drew his eye. And it wasn’t just Simon who looked at her. The crowd was massed in the hundreds, and not a one of them was gawking at the steam engine that she was about to christen. They were all watching her.

And no wonder. The sun glinted off her dark hair, framed by her straw bonnet. The rays twinkled against the bottle of champagne that she held over her head. She smiled, and the entire throng seemed to hold its breath alongside Simon.

She was beautiful, lovely, charming, and the wealthy partial owner of the newest direct line to London.

And that was only what one could glean from the surface.

“I hereby declare this line open,” she said. She didn’t speak loudly, but her voice carried over the waiting masses. She smashed the bottle atop the train, and cheers washed over them. Behind them, the engineer gave a long blast of the whistle.

“God,” Andrew Fortas said beside Simon, with a shake of his head. “That woman.”

“That woman,” Simon agreed happily.

One of the many men who was nearby offered her a hand as she descended the scaffolding. No; not just
one
; four of them held out hands, practically falling over themselves to help her.

“Was that your idea or hers?” Fortas demanded.

Simon looked up. “The champagne was my idea. The rest of this was hers.”

“She’s a holy terror.”

This, Simon suspected, was as close to a compliment as Fortas would ever deliver.

“I know,” Simon said.

She had clambered down to the ground. He couldn’t see anything of her in the milling crowd—nothing except the bobbing silk flowers that adorned her bonnet. But he could mark her passage: The crowd grew dense around her, and people turned to look at her.

He almost felt sorry for the other men—thinking that Ginny was nothing more than a sweet, kind, lovely, wealthy woman. They didn’t know her strength. They didn’t know her stubbornness. And they certainly didn’t know how dangerous it could be when she smiled. By some obscene miracle, Simon had been given the power to make her smile.

He was never going to take it for granted again.

“She’s having you on,” Fortas grumbled. “It’s been weeks, now. How long are you going to have to court her?”

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her. Ten yards distant, but still surrounded by others.

“If I’m lucky,” Simon said, “the rest of my life. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

G
INNY COULD TELL
the instant that Simon joined the ring of admirers that surrounded her. He didn’t glower at the other men. He didn’t threaten them. He even greeted two of them by name and exchanged pleasantries. Nothing that he did signaled to the other men that he was in possession of her heart.

It was what she did. She could feel herself turn toward him like a lily seeking the sun, opening up in a broad smile.

He stood a few yards away, adjusting his cuffs. As he did so, the little diamond-eyed beetles winked at her, as if the sun were reflecting a secret between just the two of them.