Page 38 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

L ucy shifted in the leather seat, trying to ease the discomfort between her thighs.

“Sore?” Harry looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Hmm.” She was indeed sore, which he well knew. Muscles Lucy hadn’t even known she possessed ached, no matter her position.

“Use your words, Lucy. I want to hear them. I know you can scream.” His voice lowered. “Pant. Moan?—”

Her cheeks heated. “You would be—sore too,” she interrupted without any hint of her lisp. “If you had a tree trunk placed forcefully…” She waved between her thighs, too embarrassed to say the word she’d used last night in the heat of passion.

“A tree trunk?” A peal of laughter escaped Harry, making his eyes shine. “Goodness, Lucy. What a compliment for my cock,” he whispered. “Naughty girl.”

Her pulse fluttered about. The soreness between her thighs morphed into something entirely inappropriate, given they were traveling.

Harry had taken her more than once before they’d departed London, and honestly, she barely remembered anything other than the intensity of her pleasure and screaming into a mound of pillows.

She’d been horrified Bartle might hear her.

Harry, on the other hand, was entirely pleased with himself. It seemed numbers wasn’t the only thing he excelled at. Lucy might have fainted at some point.

His hand trailed over her knee. “Are you well, Lucy?” Harry drew a circle with one finger. “Should we stop so you can walk a bit? We were on the train for some time.”

She shook her head. “Not necessary. I am well.”

More than well. She was away from Father and Dufton.

Had experienced the most incredible pleasure of her life—and it had been with Harry.

True, he had married her for revenge and a piece of property, not affection but Lucy wouldn’t think of that at present.

He’d admitted to having always wanted her, and desire was as good a basis as any for a marriage.

I can’t believe he desires me.

Lucy wanted to touch his cheek and press her mouth to his, though she wasn’t quite brave enough yet to do so.

“If we need to stop, just tell me.” He turned the paper around to an article and pointed. “What do you think of this, Mrs. Estwood?”

She took the paper from his hand, quickly scanning the article for the pertinent points, something she’d learned to do from Father because he was often impatient with her.

Just recite the facts, Lucy. I don’t care to hear your opinion on the matter.

Forcibly pushing aside her father’s words, she read through the article.

“This is about the Thames tunnel. The one designed by Mr. Brunel.” Lucy went over everything she knew about the engineering feat, though the project had been bogged down several times.

Father had sniffed at investing with Brunel, claiming the tunnel would never come to fruition.

Another thing he’d been wrong about. “You invested in the tunnel, didn’t you? ” Lucy looked at her husband.

“Did I?”

Her gaze returned to the article, rereading the second paragraph.

“No, not the tunnel, exactly.” Her finger tapped on the newspaper.

“Rather, the shield used to dig it out.” Her brow wrinkled, trying to imagine what the shield might look like.

“Brunel’s tunneling device. That is what you invested in, or rather, the process to craft it. ”

“Clever, aren’t you, Mrs. Estwood?”

A lovely shiver trailed up her spine. She liked the sound of her new name. Adored that Harry asked her opinion. “I think I’m correct,” her voice was soft but above a whisper. “Am I not?”

“Partially. I did invest with Brunel on the tunnel, though I’m not sure I’ll ever see a return between the collapses, the flooding, and the methane gas.

The overages alone have cost a fortune. But the tunneling shield is worth exploring in a mining capacity.

I admire his vision. I believe in it. Pipes, braces and railway track aren’t terribly exciting.

Mines. Tunnels. Bridges.” He shrugged. “Nor the devices and materials used to create them. Rope, for example. Twine.”

“Rope?”

“An investment I overlooked, given my obsession with the aforementioned tunnels, railways, and the like. Blythe’s suggestion to convert an old textile mill into a rope factory is paying huge dividends.

Not…flashy, mind you. Rope is rather dull.

Depends on the use, I suppose.” Harry traced a finger around her wrist, eyes darkening.

Her thighs pushed together at the sudden pulse between them. Father might be correct. Perhaps Lucy would become a harlot like her mother. Physical relations, at least with Harry, were vastly appealing. “Dull but always necessary.” She pressed her lips together, hearing a hint of the lisp.

“Ah, Lucy.” Harry reached over and gently ran the tip of one finger over her bottom lip. “Try to keep your mind on business at present. Naughty girl. Now you’ve got me considering what sort of knot I might use.”

“I—that,” she stuttered back, unable to reply because now all she could think of was what Harry would do if he restrained her with a length of rope. Pressing his mouth to all the places he wished on her body. While Lucy was unable to stop him.

Oh. Dear.

And the way he was looking at her was…somewhat lecherous in nature, which only made things worse.

Lucy breathed in. Slowly. Lisping about would spoil the moment. As would swooning.

“You base your investments on what you believe will happen in ten years,” she finally said, regaining her composure.

“Hmm.” His gaze lingered on her mouth. “You have the mouth of a courtesan.”

Lucy swallowed. He was trying to distract her. “Or twenty years. Bessemer will have an answer to how to convert pig iron to steel eventually. You’ve never told me how you knew about Marsden.” She’d meant to ask him earlier, but it hadn’t seemed the right time.

“A survey was done by Joshua Marsden long ago, which I accidentally stumbled across.”

Harry did nothing accidentally.

“The findings weren’t absolute, given the limitations at the time, and he made several assumptions about the land, though he didn’t act on them. Instead, he attached the land to your mother and eventually you. He sensed Marsden would be worth a great deal.”

Lucy thought it had probably been around the time Mama had wed Father. “Joshua didn’t pursue the survey because he didn’t trust my father. And with good reason.”

“Smart man,” Harry said. “The iron ore to be found at Marsden is one of the largest deposits in England. I suspect the entire area is full of such wealth, but no one realizes it just yet. But they will. That part of Yorkshire, the Cleveland Hills, will be overrun once people start digging about.”

“You’ve had another survey done.”

Harry put a finger to his lips. “Don’t bandy that about, Mrs. Estwood.

It’s possible the survey might not have been conducted in an entirely legal fashion because I had no claim on the land at the time.

Dufton must have caught wind of it.” Ice flashed across his features before disappearing once more.

“Given his sudden acquaintance with your father. At any rate, it will take at least a decade for Bessemer to perfect his process to make steel. But in the meantime, there is a great deal of demand for pig iron and wrought iron.” He nodded to the article once more.

“The Thames Tunnel is for pedestrians at present, but soon there will need to be additional ways to move product into London.”

“A railway through the tunnel, you mean.” Lucy could well imagine.

The way the railways were expanding all over England, it made sense that eventually, someone would place a set of tracks through the tunnel, now that it was finished.

Her husband had likely already taken steps to be part of such a plan.

Brilliant.

“That is how I became acquainted with Dufton,” he said, regarding her carefully, as if searching for some sign Lucy meant to betray him. Harry’s suspicions of her hadn’t faded completely. Perhaps they never would, which was troublesome.

“He shares my opinion of railways,” Harry continued.

“And other matters, though his interest isn’t easily discerned, given his title.

Earls don’t generally dig around in blast furnaces or enjoy smelting iron, though as you once mentioned, he owns an ironworks or two.

Lord Dufton,” he emphasized the title, “can see the way things will go. Most gentlemen do not.”

Would he never let this go?

“My father cares a great deal about titles and breeding. But I do not share his opinion. As you have surely ascertained.” She slapped the newspaper back into his hands. Annoyed.

Turning her gaze to the passing scenery outside the window, Lucy wished for an entire plate of biscuits to throw at his head.