She swallowed. “Joseph, then. Sir, this is a big decision. I have more than my own future to consider.” Her mind screamed at her Tell him no! Was she to enter another marriage that was little more than a business alliance?
A few days ago she would have accepted him with only small hesitation. But held in Lord Carbrooke’s arms, a part of her had awoken that she hadn’t been aware of before.
Mr. Stephenson’s was a sensible solution, even a superb one. She would be respected, the wife of a wealthy man, her future assured. Why would she not want that?
Because she did not want Joseph Stephenson, that was why. If only the roles were reversed! Then all her problems would melt away.
Wait—she’d met Lord Carbrooke once, and shared one kiss with him. She’d known Joseph Stephenson for years. How could she say that?
“What has driven you to this decision, sir?”
He tilted his head on one side and considered her as if looking at her for the first time. “I have admired you for some time, madam, but I have not been ready to marry. I am, I fear, settled in my ways. However, recently I have become aware that I must make provision for my future. My heir by blood is my sister’s son, but he is a frippery fellow. I would far rather have a son I can rear myself. You have proven your fertility, and you are a woman of good sense.”
Such a compliment, how could she resist? She could not say no outright to Mr. Stephenson—Joseph. He was still her landlord.
Annie smiled in what she hoped was a shy but hopeful way. “I would need time, sir, to consider such a momentous decision.”
A crease appeared between his brows and he waved a hand dismissively. “What is there to think about? I’m offering you a magnificent opportunity. How could you even think about turning me down?”
She got to her feet. “I cannot begin to explain how flattered I am, but I would require a little time to let the notion settle in my mind.”
His brow cleared. “Ah. Maidenly modesty, or rather, matronly modesty.” She smiled faintly at his thin sally. “Very well, madam. But perhaps something on account?”
She could not avoid his arms. Reluctantly she stepped forward and lifted her face for his kiss.
Dry and passionless at first, until he ground his lips against hers, pushing so hard he nearly split her skin. In default of that, she opened her mouth and let him stick his tongue inside. He shoved deep, right to the back of her throat, the kiss becoming messy quickly. He tasted of tobacco, and something sweet she didn’t want to process.
Her hands tightened on his sleeves, then relaxed as she forced herself to accept what he gave her. Her neck hurt from being tilted at an uncomfortable angle, and she wondered when he would be done.
At last, after what seemed like an age, he lifted his head. He stepped back, after a quick glance at her bosom, which was decently covered by her kerchief. If he pulled that away, she’d leave.
Her head was reeling. Her husband had kept his encounters gentle and with the minimum of contact. He was clean and neat in his habits, but from the odor emanating from Joseph’s body, he was not quite so fastidious. If she married him she would have to put up with that, maybe even share a bed with the man.
She forced the memory of the kiss she’d shared with the earl out of her head.
He kept his arms around her. He was smiling, as if he’d won. “You will accustom yourself to a younger man.” Age wasn’t the problem, but if she told him that, she’d probably infuriate him. Stephenson was nearly fifty. She knew from the records in the Guild. “You deserve to be looked after,” he said, sending a sense of doom through her. That was not what she wanted. “I don’t want my husband’s legacy to die.”
He nodded. “I can ensure that does not happen. It is not your husband’s business I wish for, but his widow.”
She had intended to register her name. What would happen to her? She knew without asking. She’d become an accessory, an adjunct. If she married Stephenson—Joseph—she would be relegated to the role of wife, the person who ran the household, the mother of his children. While some women were successful, and became useful partners to their husbands, Annie was not made for that. In truth, she had run the business as much as her husband before his death. John was capable of staring into space for days, lost in one of his moods. Businesses could not run on that. Matilda ran the household and she did it very well indeed. Enjoyed it, too.
What would happen to Matilda? She had no personal fortune, or barely enough to keep her fed.
She stepped back and brushed her skirt, keeping her gaze lowered, as if modestly overcome. “You flatter me, sir, but I do need time to consider how to manage this sudden change in fortune.”
“Have I not yet dissipated your maidenly modesty? Why not let me do it?” His gentle tones were almost as terrifying as his usual cold, hard demeanor. They sounded exactly as determined. Joseph ignored other people’s wishes routinely, utterly convinced of his own rightness.