“I didn’t know I had the power to hurt you.”
“You don’t.”
“Nothing else could have provoked you to say something so ungentlemanly.”
“We’re not in a drawing room in Mayfair, Miss Appersett.” He paused before adding gruffly, “But if I’ve offended you, I beg your pardon. Now, if you’ll gather your things. I see no reason to continue—”
“Please. Please, don’t apologize. I could do with a little plain speaking between us. Indeed, it’s the sole reason I’ve come here.” She took another step in his direction. “You see, Mr. Sharpe…I have a proposition for you.”
Ned’s gaze jerked to hers. A proposition?
What the devil?
His breath stopped at the various implications of her words. None of them were good.
He wished it were otherwise. That she’d come here for— What? To tell him she was sorry she’d ended their courtship? That she’d made a mistake? Sentimental nonsense. He’d learned long ago that there was no point indulging such thinking. No purpose in sticking his head in the sand. It was better to face reality. Even if that reality was bleak and painful and deeply disappointing. Even if that reality wounded his pride.
So, Sophia Appersett was as mercenary in her own way as her parents were. As mercenary as she’d accused him of being himself.
Did she need money? Is that what this was? A ploy to gain some manner of compensation? He hadn’t offered marriage to her, it was true, but that was no reason her father couldn’t threaten a breach of promise suit.
The very idea made his blood pump hot with outrage. Good God, but he was no untried youth to be manipulated thus.
“A proposition,” he repeated in a voice of dangerous calm.
“In a manner of speaking.”
Ned’s heart hardened into an unforgiving lump in his chest. “And the terms?”
Miss Appersett stared at him blankly. And then realization lit in her eyes. She gave a soft huff of annoyance. “Not a business proposition. A proposition about how we might deal better together. What I’m proposing is…honesty.”
His already heated blood simmered to a boil. “If you’re implying I’ve been anything less—”
“Perhaps candor would be a better word,” she said hastily.
He glowered at her. “Go on.”
“When we met in the park last Monday, I told you we had nothing at all in common. Do you remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget.”
“Yes, well, my point is that, upon reflection, I realized I’ve no way of ascertaining the truth of that statement. Not when we’ve never even talked to each other.”
“We’ve never talked to each other?” He made no effort to conceal his impatience. “And how, pray, have we been communicating these past two months if not by talking? Through smoke signals?”
“We haven’t talked. Not in any meaningful way. Indeed, I scarcely know a thing about you. Least of all why a gentleman of your disposition should ever wish to court a girl like me.”
A gentleman of his disposition.
Was that a carefully coded way of saying that he was crass? Vulgar? Unable to appreciate fine things? He stifled the urge to tell her that even a common working man could recognize quality when he saw it.
“There’s no great mystery to it,” he said. “You’re a beautiful creature.”
Miss Appersett’s lips compressed into a thin line. She didn’t look pleased by the compliment. Rather the opposite. She gathered her things from the chair by his desk. “My sister is the acknowledged beauty of the family. Far more beautiful than I.”
Ned refrained from stating the obvious. There was no comparison. How could there be? Miss Emily was a chit of barely nineteen. A vacuous, overdelicate girl—rather like a hollow porcelain ornament one might place on a mantelshelf.
Miss Appersett had a delicacy to her countenance as well, but there was nothing anemic about her beauty. There was a depth to her. A certain sensible pragmatism which—on occasion—had given way to a merry laugh or a smile of genuine warmth. He’d never been on the receiving end of such smiles, but until their ill-fated meeting in Hyde Park, he’d had every reason to hope.
No, Sophia Appersett was no porcelain figure to be placed on a shelf. He’d recognized it from the first moment he saw her. If hardship came, she wouldn’t shatter into a million useless pieces. To the lucky gentleman who won her, she’d be a friend. A partner.