Page 5 of The Time for Love
The accusation took him by surprise, and before he could mask his reaction, he’d narrowed his eyes back. “If you’d actually read my letters, you would know that I want to buy the steelworks as a going concern to act as the central cog in my portfolio of steel industries, which rather obviously means with its reputation intact. Damaging Carmichael Steelworks’ reputation is the very last thing I would do.”
She held his gaze, but her own grew uncertain. Then huffily, she stated, “I did read your letters. That’s why I haven’t yet replied.”
She swung on her heel and stalked off down the shed.
For a second, he watched her walk away, taking in the distracting sway of her hips, then, lips compressing, went after her. “What do you mean?”
He had a sister and many female cousins; he knew better than to imagine he, a mere male, could unravel the workings of a female mind. Lengthening his stride, he caught up with her. “Why did reading my letters stop you from replying?”
She was glancing around, nodding to men as they looked up, smiled, and touched their caps to her. Given the overwhelming noise of the furnaces and the continuingthump-whumpfrom the forge, although she and he had to shout, they could converse with little real chance of being overheard. “I found the ideas you outlined interesting.Notyour offer. As I said, I have no interest in selling the steelworks. My father founded the business and bequeathed it to me. Keeping the works running is in my blood, and I have no interest whatsoever in giving up my legacy.”
“But you were interested?”
“In the concept. In your approach to future expansion.” Briefly, she met his eyes. “Thank you for giving me some new notions to ponder, but I’m not going to sell Carmichael Steelworks. Not to you or to anyone else.”
“I see.” He rather thought he did, and somewhat to his surprise, what he saw wasn’t disheartening. Not in the least.
Apparently alerted by something in his tone, she threw him a suspicious look, then presumably reverting to ignoring him, she marched on, progressing farther down the shed while running her eyes over the activity occurring all around.
The men clearly knew what they were doing. Some were subforemen, in charge of one area or another. Most of the workers looked up with a brief smile or nod; many took note of Martin, but he detected curiosity rather than hostility in their gazes.
The molten steel tapped from the second converter was being ferried down the shed, and she and he fell in behind four men transferring two of the huge cauldrons of molten metal to the casting area, which lay across the rear of the shed. The central dividing wall ended some thirty yards from the rear wall, and the casting troughs were neatly arranged across the ends of both halves of the massive shed.
Several of the subforemen came up to speak with his hostess. Martin shamelessly eavesdropped as the men asked what the steel from the latest pour—the one from the second converter, which, at that very moment, was being tipped into molds—was destined to make, and she explained the particular properties of the alloy the steelworks had been commissioned to produce. “The plate will form part of the Atlas Works’ supply to the government for the latest batch of naval vessels. We—none of us—have been told which type of ship the plate is destined for.”
Martin pricked up his ears at that.
From the casting area, he strolled beside her into the other half of the shed. Steam hammers thudded and pounded, and the resultant sheets were fed into rolling mills to be pressed to the required thickness. Again, she stopped to speak with various workers.
Again, Martin listened and, again, was impressed. Not only by the detailed and experienced knowledge she demonstrated of every aspect of the steelmaking process but even more by the transparent respect she commanded from each and every man. Most notable of all, not one iota of resistance did they evince to a woman being in charge.
The observations left him rethinking his offer on several counts.
When she continued on, he fell in alongside her.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” she muttered, “I’m ignoring you. So why are you still here?”
He felt her gaze fleetingly touch his face, but kept his eyes directed forward. “I told you. I don’t give up, and frankly”—he glanced around—“Carmichael Steelworks is proving to be everything I’d hoped it would be.” With a tip of his head, he added, “Indeed, it’s proving to be a great deal more.”
Sophy told herself she wasn’t any green girl to be bamboozled by a smooth tongue, yet she heard the sincerity in his voice—both over not giving up and also about his appreciation of the works.
She truly didn’t want to be curious—or at least not let her curiosity show—yet she heard herself ask, “What had you hoped for?”
“For a steelworks that has the potential to operate as the critical link between my other steel-based businesses.” His gaze flicked her way, and he slowed his stroll, and she matched his pace; she wanted to hear what more he might say.
“I have a foundry to produce pig iron, and I’ve set it on course to ramp up output, which needs to be made into steel. On the other side of the equation, I have a knife factory outside London and a part share in another here in Sheffield, and I own a wire and cable factory in Nottingham, all of which require steel. More, I want to acquire a steelworks with an interest in producing different grades of steel. Steel with specific properties or rather to better match the properties of steel to the use to which it will be put. Stiffer cable or more malleable cable. That sort of thing. I believe there are lots of uses for steel that have yet to be properly developed. And there are other types of steel-based manufacturing I would like to explore.”
Listening to him reminded her of why she hadn’t written to refuse his offer—because the picture he conjured was fascinating and rather intriguing, at least to her. She focused on another aspect of his approach that had tweaked her curiosity. “You knew I was female, yet you wrote asking for a meeting to discuss your offer.”
The look he threw her was faintly wary. “Yes… And here I am.”
“Indeed.” And refusing to be dismissed.
Hearing his ideas in person had rendered his proposal even more attractive, yet she couldn’t help but wonder if she was being influenced by considerations that had nothing to do with business.
She frowned. She was actually considering discussing matters further with him, yet she needed to remember that the odd accidents that had plagued the works started just after she’d received his third letter, and now he’d turned up right on the heels of yet another odd happening, another potential “accident.”
An odd whistling caught her attention.
