He raised a brow, his mouth tilting in a sardonic smile. “Jerry’s? Indeed I have.”
So what if he knew Jerry’s? That could mean he passed by some time, not that he lived there. To persist would appear foolish, and probably annoy him, which was counter-productive to her ambitions. So she lowered her gaze, which unfortunately meant she was staring at altogether the wrong place. His waistcoat covered his privates, of course, but his thighs were firm and she’d wager he needed no padding to round out his stockings.
When she jerked her gaze away it was to find him watching, a knowing smile on his face. A curl of heat tingled up her spine.
He folded his arms. “Tell me why I should do—what you want me to do?”
Did he know of her inconvenient attraction to him? “It is for my business, sir.”
“Which is?”
“I own a company making silver wire, sir,” she said. “It is prosperous, and something the industry needs in constant supply.”
He frowned. “Why?”
Was he being disingenuous? She would give him the benefit of the doubt and explain. Where she came from, everyone took the requirements for granted. If they made something, there was a market for it. But perhaps someone as grand as he was had never thought about the matter. “The decoration on the edge of cutlery is silver wire, decorated and applied. Thick silver wire may be beaten out for rings and jewelry. It can be flattened to use in other forms, napkin rings and suchlike. We supply the industry, not the public. We make silver wire in plain and in simple decorations. I would like to do more.”
That should take care of the explanation. She rather thought he was testing her. “I will have my name at the Goldsmith’s Hall as a maker soon. However I need larger premises to deal with increased demand. Without it I will not be able to develop the business. My property is on a rent, and now I have the wherewithal, I would far rather have a lease. The house you own is a couple of streets away from where I currently trade, and it is larger than the one I currently reside in.”
He regarded her with eyes that held warmth. Or was that her imagination? “Where is your husband? Or are you a single lady?”
She chose to interpret his impertinent question as one regarding her competence and capability. “Sir, I am not the only woman running a business in the city. We need men to help us with official matters, but we manage well enough.” She needed to stop babbling and answer his question. “I am a widow, sir. My husband died three years ago.”
The lids drooped over his eyes, concealing his expression. “My sympathies, madam.”
“Thank you.” She kept her face clear. She would not have him accuse her of being an emotional woman. The attitude prevailed in certain quarters, but thank the Lord, there were others who did not think that way. “I have two young children to provide for.” She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. She had not meant to appeal to his better nature. Of all things she despised women who used their femininity to achieve their objectives.
“I see. And how desperately do you need this property?”
His question put her in a conundrum. Should she admit this was her second line of inquiry? That her first choice would be to expand the premises she already had?
Then he would be bound to say no. But she was disinclined to lie to him. “It would be exceedingly advantageous to me, and would enable me to grow the business. My present property doesn’t have the space I will need.” Not to mention the needs of two rapidly growing children. With the house next door, it would be more than adequate, but she wouldn’t mention that part.
Another notion struck her. “You knew I was married before you came in. Why did you ask me just now?”
He gave a lazy shrug and took a pace nearer to her. Or was he walking toward the decanters that were neatly lined up on a side table? “I wanted to know if you were single, ma’am. Married couples separate and I have no mind to insert myself in the middle of a marital dispute.”
This close, the stubble on his jaw was more apparent, and the heat of his body. He became less earl, more man. He stood barely six inches away from her.
“Why should my married status matter?”
“Oh, it matters,” he murmured, his voice lower in tone and pitch. “How set are you on having my old house?”
“You really lived there?” The house was a large one by her standards. Nowhere near as grand as this place, but it would comfortably contain a well-to-do family. The aristocracy tended to congregate in the gracious streets and squares of Mayfair. Few ventured as far east as Bunhill Street.
“You would make your home in the house?”