The Secrets Of Lord Lynford. Bronwyn Scott

most certainly did. But she could not be one of them. It was for that very reason she’d been so careful of her own reputation for five long years. ‘I fear I have given you a most inaccurate impression of myself. I apologise, sincerely. I must go. Immediately.’ Eliza tried to step around him, but all the height and breadth she’d appreciated about him earlier worked to her disadvantage. He was not a man easily evaded. She should have left when she had the chance. She should not have lingered in the garden, tempting fate. She’d come out thinking to put some distance between herself and those dark eyes. But the garden hadn’t been far enough.

      He moved, subtly positioning his body to block her departure, a hand at her arm in gentle restraint, his voice soft in the darkness. ‘When will I see you again?’ It was ‘will’ with him, not ‘may’. Lynford wasn’t the sort of man to beg for a woman’s attention. He went forward confidently, assuming the attention would be given. Will. The potency of that one word sent a frisson of warm heat down her spine. His dark gaze held hers, intent on an answer—her answer. Despite his confident assumptions, he was allowing that decision to be all hers.

      ‘I don’t think that would be wise. Business and pleasure should not mix.’ She could not relent on this or she would come to regret it. An affair could ruin her and everything she’d worked for. The shareholders in the mines would no doubt love to discover a sin to hold against her.

      ‘Not wise for whom, Mrs Blaxland?’ The back of his hand traced a gentle path along the curve of her jaw. ‘You are merely a patron of the school I sponsor. I don’t see any apparent conflict of interest.’

      ‘Not wise for either of us.’ If she stood here and argued with him, she would lose. Sometimes the best way to win an argument was simply to leave. Eliza exercised that option now in her firmest tones, the ones she reserved for announcing decisions in the boardroom. ‘Goodnight, Lord Lynford.’ She was counting on him being gentleman enough to recognise a refusal and let her go this time, now that any ambiguity between them had been resolved.

      Eliza made it to the carriage without any interference. She shut the door behind her and waited for a sense of relief to take her. She’d guessed correctly. Lynford hadn’t followed her and it was for the best. He was probably standing in the garden, realising it at this very minute, now that the heat of the moment had passed. The kiss had been an enjoyable adventure. It had added a certain spice to the evening, but it was not to be repeated. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know the depth of her responsibilities, or that she had a child—Sophie—the true love of her life.

      If he did, he’d most certainly run. A man like Lynford, a man in his prime with wealth and a title to recommend him, was expected to wed a young woman capable of giving him his own heirs. She knew precisely the sort of bride who was worthy of a ducal heir: a sweet, young girl, who had no other interests than stocking her husband’s nursery. Lynford would want, would need, a family of his own. All dukes did. The Marquess would never seriously consider a woman with another man’s daughter clinging to her skirts and who spent her days running a mining empire, any more than she would consider him as a husband.

      She would never marry again. She had no inclination to give up her hard-won control over her future and her daughter’s. The risk was too great, even if the cost was also great. Sophie must come first, ahead of her own personal wishes for a family. Eliza had come to such a realisation early in her widowhood and it had been both a relief and a disappointment.

      It was the only thing the doting and decent Blaxland hadn’t been able to give her and the only thing she would not risk giving to herself. He’d given her security and a future, but he could not give her a family. Despite ten years of marriage, there was only to be her darling Sophie between them. Another husband, another man, younger, more virile, might provide her with those children, but she did not want to turn her responsibilities over to a husband in exchange, nor could she risk her reputation with the entanglement of a lover. The well-intentioned overture from Miles Detford years ago had shown her how even the smallest misstep could weaken her position.

      On either front, she had no business kissing the Marquess of Lynford in the academy gardens. She was the daughter of a mine owner, the widow of a mine owner. Her family came from business. Cits on all sides, including her late husband’s. Such a background wasn’t for a marquess. Eliza knew how the world worked. She could be nothing for him but a brief dalliance until whatever mystery he saw in her was solved. Men could do as they liked. But she would never outrun the stain and neither would Sophie.

      That was the lesson she told herself as her coach deposited her at the inn. But it didn’t stop her from dreaming that night of a dark-eyed man who’d called her extraordinary and kissed her body into an acute awareness of itself, who’d made her feel alive in ways she hadn’t felt for years, perhaps ever. There simply hadn’t been time or place for such realisations. There still wasn’t. Whatever that kiss had awakened had to be suppressed. That kiss could stay in her dreams, but it could go no further. In the morning she would wake up, visit the Porth Karrek mine and return to life as usual. As earth-shattering as tonight had been, it simply couldn’t be any other way for her.

      It simply couldn’t be this way. The lumber order for the tunnel timbers was excessive. Eliza sat back from the ledgers, hazarding a glance at the clock on the wall of the mine office. It was eleven already. The morning had slipped away while she’d grappled with the receipt, trying to make sense of the overabundance of ordering. She’d meant to leave for home by now and she was nowhere close to making that self-imposed departure. If she left it any later, she’d miss tea with Sophie. She’d promised she’d be back in time and she never broke a promise. But ultimately, she was the one who had to answer to the shareholders in a few weeks at the annual meeting, the one who would be accountable for this over-ordering.

      Eliza went to the window and looked down on the bustling scene below: carters pushing wheelbarrows of ore from the mine to the sorters; sorters separating the ore; her foreman, Gillie Cardy, shouting orders. The sight of her mines at work brought a certain thrill, a certain proof that she’d accomplished something. She caught Gillie’s eye and gestured for him to come up. He would know why so much lumber had been ordered.

      Gillie knocked on the door before entering, sweeping off his knit cap as he stepped inside. ‘Mrs Blaxland, how can I be of service?’ She liked Gillie. He’d been the site manager even before her husband died. He was competent and knew the mechanics of mining thoroughly, and he’d been a friendly face when she’d first taken over.

      She motioned towards the ledgers. ‘I have some questions about the lumber order.’

      Gillie chuckled and shook his head. ‘I’m no good at numbers, ma’am. I just do what I’m told. You want someone to find a lode in the mine, I’m your fella. But if you want someone to do the books, that’s not me. I know mining and not much else.’ Eliza nodded. This was yet another reason her schools were vital. People needed mathematics and reading skills no matter what their profession. Education was power and protection. Without it, people were waiting to be victims.

      ‘I’ve done the sums,’ she assured him. ‘With the amount of timber ordered we could build a tunnel twice the length.’

      He twisted the cap in his hand, looking worried. ‘The tunnel is very long, ma’am. We are tunnelling out underneath the ocean.’

      Eliza stared at him in disbelief. ‘We are not! We opted not to take the risk at this time.’ Her stomach began to turn. The board had decided at the last quarterly meeting not to go that far.

      ‘Pardon me, ma’am, but Mr Detford said we were tunnelling under the ocean.’

      Miles Detford? He ran the Wheal Karrek mine for her. She trusted Detford, counted him as friend. Miles would never go against the board’s decision or her wishes. He knew how she felt about the dangers of tunnelling beneath the ocean. Surely, there must be some mistake, that Cardy had misunderstood or that Miles Detford had been pressured by someone, because if that wasn’t the case, it meant she had misunderstood—not just the decision not to tunnel, but so