“You sell wools, Mr. Grant. Not ballroom silks.”
“Angora wool, Mrs. Knopp. For the older ladies or the ones not so plump in the pocket. For wraps against the cold and for dresses when the autumn leaves have fallen.”
She smiled, but shook her head. “Five hundred is too much.”
“For all this,” he said in an expansive gesture. “It is a bargain, and you know it.”
She blinked, looking about the room. “You would give me all of it?”
He nodded. “I would. For five hundred pounds cash. Today.”
“Today! I don’t carry that much money. Anyone who does is daft!”
True enough. “Banker’s check then. Surely you have that.”
She bit her lip, looking at the piles of bolts. Five hundred pounds was a bargain for all this. In truth, his conscience would be pricking him on the morrow for selling everything he had at such a low price. But he needed the money today, and she was his only hope.
“Are they damaged in any way?”
He stiffened. “Absolutely not!”
She looked about her slowly. Her good sense was telling her to say no. After all, five hundred pounds was a fortune. But the way she stroked the angora told a different story. She was tempted.
So he crossed to her side, stepping as close as they had been during their waltz. And he looked at her, saw the desire in her eyes, and remembered the feel of her body swaying in his.
Seduce her, his madness whispered.
He refused to do that. And yet her gaze shot to his and held. In it, he saw thoughts upon thoughts. Calculations, most likely—the rolling scroll of numbers in the brain that made one’s head ache. He knew the feeling well. And he knew if he let it continue, good sense would prevail, and he would be lost.
So he distracted her. He touched her cheek as a man might stroke his lover. He hadn’t intended it to be so intimate, but once his fingers met her cheek, his touch became a caress. His gaze slid to her lips. Her mouth was parted, an unconscious invitation. How he wanted to kiss her. How he wanted something a great deal more from her.
But he couldn’t. Not now. Probably not ever. So with a silent curse, he pulled back on his lust. Eventually, all he managed to do was moderate his words to a hoarse rasp.
“It is a good bargain,” he said. “For us both.”
You’re a fool, his madness said.
“Yes,” she whispered. For a moment, he thought she was agreeing to something else entirely. But then she elaborated—because she was a smart businesswoman—making her wishes very clear.
“Yes, Mr. Grant, I will buy everything you have for five hundred pounds.”
Idiot! You’re worth more than that!
“Sold.”
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Jade Lee has been scripting love stories since she first picked up a set of paper dolls. Ball gowns and rakish lords caught her attention early (thank you, Georgette Heyer), and her fascination with the Regency began. An author of more than forty romance novels and winner of dozens of industry awards, she finally gets to play in the best girl-heaven place of all: a bridal salon! In her new series, four women find love as they dress the most beautiful brides in England. Lee lives in Champaign, Illinois.
Jade Lee Page 17