Page 96 of A Convenient Fiction

Her bosom rose and fell with equal parts relief and disappointment. She didn’t know what she wanted him to do—or not to do. Her emotions were in a tangle. “You must think me an absolute ninny.”

“I think you charming.” He reached out and very softly brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Charming. Beautiful. Brave beyond measure.”

“Not brave. I’m quivering with nerves. And my face must be as red as a tomato.”

His fingers traced the edge of her jaw. “Your blushes enthrall me.”

She trembled at his touch. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I suppose because there’s not much that can inspire them.”

“You inspire them. And with some regularity, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

His half smile briefly spread into a full one. “Is that it? No wonder I’m so fond of them.”

“Alex—”

“Right, no more teasing.” His hand dropped from her face. “You want to know about Weatherwax.”

The solicitor’s name was as effective as a douse of cold water. Laura sobered instantly. “Yes, though I’ve been trying not to dwell on it. On losing so much of what I promised Teddy—and what I promised you.”

His humorous expression faded. “What do you mean?”

“I told you we had a farm in Dorset, and a factory in London. Properties that could be made to turn a profit—and quickly. I’d hoped that if you saw there was at least the prospect of wealth, you might be persuaded that you could make a life here. But now…”

“You believe me entirely motivated by money?”

“Not entirely, no. But I know it holds some attraction for you. Far more than my poor self.”

“Your poor self?” A sudden laugh rumbled in his chest. “God help me if you ever come to realize the power you hold over me.”

She ignored the compliment in his words. She didn’t dare trust it. “Am I wrong? Now that there’s no fortune to be had—”

“Your property in France is still intact. Weatherwax claims he’s been leasing the land to another perfumer.”

Her brows knit. “That’s something, at least. The crops will have been tended, but in what state is the distillery? Neglected, I daresay. Left to rust and ruin.”

“Probably,” Alex acknowledged. “Which isn’t to say it has no value.”

She plucked at a stray thread on the counterpane. “When my father was alive, our income was derived almost exclusively from the farm in Dorset. Papa supplemented it with earnings from the flower crops in France, it’s true, but the property there was always more of a fancy than a sound business decision. I’ve never even seen the place.”

“You could.”

Her gaze jerked to his. “Do you mean to suggest—”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She had ample justification for not leaving her family, but for some reason those justifications didn’t roll from her tongue as easily as they usually did. She struggled for the right words. “Because I have responsibilities here. My aunt, and Teddy, and—”

“I’ve spoken to Teddy.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“We’ve had a thorough discussion on the subject of Weatherwax and Hayes’s Perfumes.”

Her throat constricted. She was tempted to leap up and rush to her brother’s side. “What on earth were you thinking? It’s my job to—”

“Teddy’s fine.” Alex circled her wrist with his fingers. It was a gesture that seemed designed to both comfort and gently restrain. “He was glad to hear it first. Glad to have an opportunity to make some decisions for himself—and for the family. He wants to be the man of the house, you know. It brings him no pleasure to be coddled like a child.”