“Of course, Lady Sheridan.”
London grabs an unused ledger book she found in the office and picks up her shawl. “Time to get to work,” she grins at Mary’s look of surprise at her words and hastens from the room.
Declan is standing in the entry admiring the way the light streams through the stained-glass double doors. The parquet wood floors shine, bouncing multicolored beams around the grand entry. It occurs to him that the simplest things are bringing him joy. He’s seeing the world around him in a new light and there is no doubt in his mind that it’s because of his wife. He grins, my wife, he thinks.
“My Lord, can I help you find something?” The housekeeper asks from the hallway.
“Yes, Mrs. West, I was looking for the newspaper.”
“Of course, your wife has it in the gazebo.”
“Oh,” Declan frowns, “Why?”
“Lady Sheridan has breakfast in the gazebo every morning with the paper while she works. Would you like to join her this morning?” Mrs. West suggests.
“While she works?” he frowns. “Thank you, I think I will go see what my wife’s up to.” He turns and strides from the room.
“This should be interesting,” Mrs. West murmurs with a chuckle.
Declan walks down the path leading from the back of the house to the gazebo. It's cold this time of year to be in the gazebo, but it's heated. He can just make out the top of it through the maze. He smiles, remembering the past two weeks. London has a quick mind. It didn’t take long to realize she was letting him win at chess. Her beauty is undeniable, but her wit and intellect have captivated him.
London sits in the gazebo sipping on her morning coffee, with the newspaper spread out in front of her. Ignorance is bliss, he thinks, as she is oblivious to his presence. She is reading, circling, and writing in what looks like a ledger book. Declan frowns in confusion. What could she possibly find so fascinating?
Her light blonde hair is twisted up, revealing her neck, and he’s awfully tempted to taste the curve and see how she reacts. Stepping up behind her, he bends close enough for her to feel his breath, “Good Morning, Lady Sheridan.”
London screams, tossing her ledger and almost spilling her coffee on the paper.
“Declan!”
He laughs and picks up the book from the ground as she jumps up. Looking frantic, she quickly tries to straighten the paper. “I'm so sorry, Declan, I thought you were at your shop, I didn't know…”
“London stop…” he demands. His eyes narrow on her, noting the blush, the trembling hands, and the way she is attempting to block the table with her body.
She is shocked by the command in his voice and does as he asks. He holds out the book and watches as she takes it from him and sighs in relief.
“What has you in such a state?” he tries to step around her, but she blocks him.
“Nothing, I was simply reading,” she stops speaking when she realizes how close he is to her.
“You smell amazing,” Declan murmurs, and his eyes drop to her lips.
London retreats, bumping into the table, “Thank you,” she turns to the table and grabs the paper to straighten it, but his hands drop on her shoulders.
“What are you up to, Wife?”
“I don’t know what you mean?” she whispers.
“Hmph, something has you in a state. I was told you were working,” he glances over her shoulder at the paper and stares at the financial section. She has circled multiple things, and his eyes fly open wide. “What is all of this?”
London turns in his arms, “I can explain,” she tries to say.
“May I see your ledger?” he asks, interrupting her. Her eyes narrow, she lifts her chin defiantly.
“It’s private,” she hedges.
“We don’t keep secrets from each other, Lady Sheridan,” he stares at her, with his hand out, waiting in silence, until she hands it over.
“That's not exactly true,” she murmurs. At his look of confusion, she continues, “What do you do all day in this workshop of yours, I’ve yet to see it?” She sits heavily and waits for him to shame her.
“Good point,” he replies as he flips through her ledger and glances at the paper, putting it together and remembering her comments on investments.
“How… what… London, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing illegal, Declan.” Glancing into his handsome face, she decides to trust him. “I have a mind for the stock market. I learned to trade from my father. It's how I made enough money to buy your shares.” She stops talking and glances nervously at him, wondering how he's going to react.
Amazement is painted on his features. “Women aren't allowed to trade, London. How do you manage to get around that?” he sits beside her. She anxiously straightens the paper and cleans up the table, as she explains. Declan covers her hand with his, stilling the apprehensive motion.
“That's not accurate. Women don't trade openly because of the attacks. I avoid that by using a pseudonym.”
“London,” she squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of her name. “Look at me,” he demands.
“Just get on with it,” she whispers and drops her face to her hands.
“I think you're extraordinary, and the more time I spend with you, the more captivated I become.” London lifts her head slowly and stares at him in astonishment.
“What?” she gasps.
“London, you have a brilliant mind. I'm supposed to be a businessman, and I can't make heads or tails of the financial part of my business. Come with me,” he stands and holds out his hand.
Instantly she grips his strong, calloused hand and follows him through the maze. “Grandfather had these gardens installed. They remind him of England.”
