Page 18 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Too soon, she was finished and she returned her journal to the basket. He found himself not wanting their time to end. ‘What do you aim to do with your findings?’

She let out a sigh. ‘Like I told you earlier, my goal is to present my research to the London Scientific Society one day. I’ve even heard of a specific contingent of scientists studying abroad. What a dream that would be!’

‘Does the Society have an interest in shells?’

‘The Society has an interest in many things.’

If the stuffy scientists were exposed to her enthusiasm, he had no doubt they would be interested in her work.

She pushed her basket aside. ‘And you?’ she asked. ‘I told you about my goals. I know you are a politician, but I know nothing about your bill.’

He was surprised she’d asked about it. ‘The bill is to limit child labor in London’s cotton mills.’

A glimmer lit her eyes. ‘A good endeavor. But if I am to be honest, I would not expect you to take an interest in child labor or sponsor a bill to address it.’

His curiosity was piqued. Her mind was unpredictable to him. Did she truly think it a worthy bill or that it was somehow self-serving? ‘Why?’

‘I thought you would say your bill would somehow benefit wealthy landowners or those who owned a certain number of acres in the country.’

His lips quirked. ‘In other words, you believed it would benefit those that do not need it.’

She gave him a sheepish look. ‘Guilty. However, a bill to reduce child labor intrigues me.’ She shifted an inch closer to him on the blanket. ‘How did you get interested in it?’

He hesitated. An ocean breeze cooled his face and ruffled his hair. He didn’t know whether it was the beach or Nora sitting close to him that made him want to tell her more. ‘I read newspapers and pamphlets about the harsh conditions of child labor as a young man.’

She pursed her lips. ‘That’s it?’

Tell her. He took a deep breath of briny ocean air. ‘One day, when I was about fifteen, I was travelling with my parents in their fancy crested coach through London. Our driver shouted and our carriage came to an abrupt halt. I lifted the tasseled shade to look outside. Commotion ensued. Then I saw it. Or I saw her. A young girl, who could not have been more than eight, was on a cart cradling her arm, crying, and screaming in pain. Her hand had been severed off. Blood was everywhere. An accident had occurred at one of the cotton mills where she’d worked.’

Nora gasped and placed a hand across her mouth.

The pit of his stomach churned at the memory. ‘The horror of the scene struck me. To make matters worse, a man driving a brewer’s cart shouted for the girl’s cart to get out of the way so he could pass. It was heartless. It was then that my mother grabbed my hand from across the leather bench. I remember her words clearly. “My son, you will one day have position and much wealth. Use it wisely.”’

Nora lowered her hand. ‘She must have been a special mother.’

The ironic thing was that his mother had never been overly affectionate, but thinking back he’d always known she loved him. ‘For days afterwards, I scoured the papers for any information about the young girl. Then, I found it.’

‘What happened?’ Nora’s eyes were wide with interest.

‘She died from blood loss.’

‘That’s terrible!’

He let out a harsh breath. The image of the girl’s face was something he’d carried with him for years, along with his mother’s words. ‘That’s why I’m sponsoring the bill. It could save lives. There will be many who oppose it. The cotton mills hold power and immense wealth. That’s why no hint of scandal must reach London.’

She nodded slowly. ‘It won’t, remember? We are to marry.’

He was surprised he’d shared as much as he had with her. It truly must be the sun, the sand and the ocean. The words about his past had come easier outdoors than if he’d spoken them in a stuffy drawing room. Then there was Nora herself. Her allure had drawn him from the start. But now, here, with the ocean breeze and the fresh air, he still longed to lie back on the blanket and finish what she’d started when she’d slipped into his room.

‘You are looking at me funny,’ she said.

Funny? He was looking at her lips. Full. Kissable. Lovely.

‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

Her voice was whisper soft. ‘Like you want to kiss me.’

‘Perhaps I do.’