Mr. Sharpe regarded her from beneath lowered brows as she slowly removed her bonnet, her muff, and her gloves. “I haven’t much time to spare you, ma’am. I have a dinner engagement at six.”
“Do you?” Sophie placed her belongings on the empty chair beside her, unable to conceal a flash of chagrin. Who in the world dined at six?
“Promptly at six,” he said.
“Hmm.” She believed him, but only just. “It seems that, when it comes to you, I have uniformly bad timing.”
“I can’t imagine this will take long.”
Well, that certainly told her. He expected her to be quick and to the point. Not only did he have better things to do, he had more important people to do them with. More important than her, anyway.
“You’re not making this easy, Mr. Sharpe.”
“And what is this, Miss Appersett? Apart from being entirely irregular.”
Sophie frowned. She’d long desired him to show some emotion, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. “I beg your pardon, sir. Are you angry with me?”
His expression hardened at the very suggestion. “You’ve taken me by surprise, ma’am. And you’ve put me in a devil of a position.”
“My apologies. I didn’t realize—”
“Didn’t you?”
“I believed I was being discreet.”
“On Fleet Street? In broad daylight?”
Sophie privately conceded his point. Perhaps she should have worn a veil? She’d considered it, naturally, but when standing in front of the pier glass in her bedroom, it had seemed altogether too dramatic a choice. She hadn’t wanted to look like she was engaging in some pantomime of a Gothic novel.
“I’ve instructed Murray to call for a hansom to take you home. It should arrive directly. If you have something important to say to me, I suggest you do so within” —he withdrew his pocket watch from his waistcoat and gave it a cursory glance— “the next five minutes.”
Her frown deepened. “That was my intention.” She certainly hadn’t traveled all the way to Fleet Street to bombard her former beau with garden-variety chitter-chatter. “Although…I’m afraid it’s rather complicated.”
“Shall I simplify the matter? You’re clearly here as a matter of duty. I might have predicted as much.” His mouth curved into a humorless smile. “You’re nothing if not a dutiful daughter.”
“I hope I am, sir, but I don’t see—”
“I gather your parents aren’t pleased that our…association…has come to an end.”
She didn’t deny it.
“And they’ve instructed you to repair the breach, have they?” He moved as if to rise.
Sophie anticipated him, standing in a rustle of starched petticoats. She wasn’t about to let any man loom over her and read her a lecture, least of all Mr. Edward Sharpe.
“Let me set your mind at ease, ma’am.” He stood to his full and not inconsiderable height. “There’s nothing between us to repair. There never was.”
She swallowed back an acute spasm of disappointment. “In other words—”
“In other words, Miss Appersett, I was as amenable to putting an end to our courtship as you were.” He came out from behind his desk, moving as if to escort her to the door. “If you require me to explain such to your parents, I’d be delighted to do so. Now, if you would be so kind as to gather your things—”
“You’re wrong. My parents didn’t instruct me to make amends with you. Quite the opposite. They may not be happy with my decision to end our courtship, but they fully support it.”
“Ah.”
“It’s the truth. Whatever their failings, my mother and father would never force me to marry a gentleman I didn’t like.”
Mr. Sharpe went still. He gave her a look that was hard to read. “You have me at a disadvantage, ma’am. I don’t recall having asked you to marry me.”
Sophie blushed to the roots of her hair. She opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, but the words, once summoned, wouldn’t come. Something in his face stopped her. It was just a flicker. She might well have imagined it. Nevertheless…
She took a step toward him, brows knitting with concern. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”
He failed to conceal a flinch before turning back to his desk. He straightened a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening. “You assume a great deal.”