Read Online Seven Nights to Forever by Evangeline Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Evangeline Collins
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vanquish the emptiness. He curled his left hand into a fist, savoring the memory of her small, warm hand in his.
His mind began to wander down a path it should not take when the clop of hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels passing the warehouse broke the silence.
No, he should not go to Rubicon’s again.
One time. That had been the bargain he had made with himself. And one time it would remain, regardless of how tempting the lure.
He focused again on the document before him, but it refused to hold his attention. Maybe another would do the trick. He shuffled through the stack, pausing on each document as he did so, debating the interestingness of its contents before moving on to the next.
Why had he never realized just how . . . boring his work was? Manifests and contracts, bills of sale and reports on foreign ports, ship repair lists and captains’ logs from recent voyages. The epitome of dull.
Letting out a disgusted huff, he pushed back from his desk and grabbed a ledger from the shelf. Perhaps the accounts would hold his attention. The tally at the bottom of the latest entry would hold most any man’s attention and certainly garner a decent amount of jealousy. It was the only good thing to come thus far from his marriage. The only success he could claim.
He considered himself a driven fellow, one who strove for success and who took his responsibilities seriously. His father spent his days working, tending to his various business interests and continuing to fill the family’s ridiculously large coffers, so naturally as a boy James had envisioned himself following in his father’s footsteps. But James doubted even his father could have produced this result over such a short number of years. It took an iron will to be anywhere but at home, and with no place else to go, to be able to produce these staggering results. Hell, if he kept up this pace, he would likely surpass the King’s bank account soon enough.
Did he want to keep up this pace? Did he truly need more money? His sigh filled the room, the sound backed with a weariness that could not be disguised. He had more money than he could ever reasonably spend in three lifetimes, so no, he didn’t need any more. His office . . . He took pride in what he’d built, but he wasn’t so fond of it that he would choose it to the exclusion of all else. If given the choice, he’d much rather not be here at ten in the evening, when all the other souls who labored in his warehouse and in the surrounding buildings had long since gone home to relax and unwind, to enjoy themselves, and for the lucky ones, to spend a few precious hours with someone whose eyes would light with joy at the mere sight of them and would not wish them to an early grave.
He’d much rather be . . .
He glanced over his shoulder to the squat cabinet behind him. It held a pair of trousers, a shirt, cravat, his shaving kit, and the door to the safe hidden in the wall. A safe that contained a couple thousand pounds, more than enough for—
Giving his head a sharp shake, he turned back to the ledger. But before he knew it, he was glancing over his shoulder again. One more visit to see Rose wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? Amelia had had scores of lovers, whereas he had never taken one. Had not, until last night, pressed his lips to a woman’s since he had said his vows three years ago. But it was more than Amelia’s dictates and the unfortunate fact that he was a married man that were responsible for his celibacy. If he only wanted a quick tryst, it could be accomplished easily enough and word of it would never reach Amelia’s ears. He passed many taverns on the route home, had occasionally stopped at The Black Dog for a bite to eat, and, on most every visit, the pretty young barmaid had let him know in no uncertain terms that she was more than willing to spread her legs for him.
But quick, meaningless trysts simply weren’t in his nature. Twenty-five years of age, and he could count the
His mind began to wander down a path it should not take when the clop of hooves and the rattle of carriage wheels passing the warehouse broke the silence.
No, he should not go to Rubicon’s again.
One time. That had been the bargain he had made with himself. And one time it would remain, regardless of how tempting the lure.
He focused again on the document before him, but it refused to hold his attention. Maybe another would do the trick. He shuffled through the stack, pausing on each document as he did so, debating the interestingness of its contents before moving on to the next.
Why had he never realized just how . . . boring his work was? Manifests and contracts, bills of sale and reports on foreign ports, ship repair lists and captains’ logs from recent voyages. The epitome of dull.
Letting out a disgusted huff, he pushed back from his desk and grabbed a ledger from the shelf. Perhaps the accounts would hold his attention. The tally at the bottom of the latest entry would hold most any man’s attention and certainly garner a decent amount of jealousy. It was the only good thing to come thus far from his marriage. The only success he could claim.
He considered himself a driven fellow, one who strove for success and who took his responsibilities seriously. His father spent his days working, tending to his various business interests and continuing to fill the family’s ridiculously large coffers, so naturally as a boy James had envisioned himself following in his father’s footsteps. But James doubted even his father could have produced this result over such a short number of years. It took an iron will to be anywhere but at home, and with no place else to go, to be able to produce these staggering results. Hell, if he kept up this pace, he would likely surpass the King’s bank account soon enough.
Did he want to keep up this pace? Did he truly need more money? His sigh filled the room, the sound backed with a weariness that could not be disguised. He had more money than he could ever reasonably spend in three lifetimes, so no, he didn’t need any more. His office . . . He took pride in what he’d built, but he wasn’t so fond of it that he would choose it to the exclusion of all else. If given the choice, he’d much rather not be here at ten in the evening, when all the other souls who labored in his warehouse and in the surrounding buildings had long since gone home to relax and unwind, to enjoy themselves, and for the lucky ones, to spend a few precious hours with someone whose eyes would light with joy at the mere sight of them and would not wish them to an early grave.
He’d much rather be . . .
He glanced over his shoulder to the squat cabinet behind him. It held a pair of trousers, a shirt, cravat, his shaving kit, and the door to the safe hidden in the wall. A safe that contained a couple thousand pounds, more than enough for—
Giving his head a sharp shake, he turned back to the ledger. But before he knew it, he was glancing over his shoulder again. One more visit to see Rose wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? Amelia had had scores of lovers, whereas he had never taken one. Had not, until last night, pressed his lips to a woman’s since he had said his vows three years ago. But it was more than Amelia’s dictates and the unfortunate fact that he was a married man that were responsible for his celibacy. If he only wanted a quick tryst, it could be accomplished easily enough and word of it would never reach Amelia’s ears. He passed many taverns on the route home, had occasionally stopped at The Black Dog for a bite to eat, and, on most every visit, the pretty young barmaid had let him know in no uncertain terms that she was more than willing to spread her legs for him.
But quick, meaningless trysts simply weren’t in his nature. Twenty-five years of age, and he could count the
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