Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) by Kristin Holt

difficulty.
    “I need you because I don’t understand them .” His chest heaved with rising emotion. “Something is dreadfully wrong, and I can’t see it. Short of erasing my upbringing and growing up among our workers, I see one possible way to bridge the gap.”
    “Wives with working class experience.”
    “Yes. Adam and I need brides who could help us comprehend our employees.” He found the extended eye contact far more intimate than he’d known possible. “Can you do that? Can you help me?”
    For the first time since the conversation began, she seemed hesitant to speak.
    Desperation increased. “I need you.”
    “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes,” this time louder. “I’m your wife, and I’ll do everything I possibly can.”
    “Good.” Already, tension waned. He held her hand, drew a fortifying breath, and clung to her confidence. “I’m trusting you with highly sensitive information. I’m trusting you with our family business… and there is much you need to know.”
    She nodded. Steady. Certain.
    “More importantly, there is much you must not disclose in any way. If the miners so much as suspect—” The thought of what they might do…
    He swallowed the pain, refusing to borrow trouble. He had enough as it was.
    Somehow, he found the words and told her everything.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     

     
    “Come,” Richard said after some time to Lessie. “Let me show you the house.” He helped her to her feet and led her through the doorway into the sitting room with its bay window and marble-framed fireplace.
    She admired the furnishings, the polished hardwood floors, and cleanliness…
    But when he showed her the full bathroom across the hall, she clapped a hand over her mouth… in shock? In pleasure? He’d seen this room many a time, had soaked in that bathtub daily. He was far more interested in absorbing her facial reactions.
    But daylight was fading, and the north-facing window didn’t shed enough light, so he turned on the gas lighting.
    She followed him inside, trailed her fingertips over the faucet taps at the sink, the highly polished paneling surrounding the inset tub.
    “Perhaps you’d like to enjoy a bath tonight,” he suggested. “Soak away the day’s tension.”
    “I’d like that.”
    This, this… beautiful, fiery, brilliant creature was his wife .
    And he rather liked the idea, the headway they’d made toward developing some sort of foundation.
    And the thought of having something very special with this woman— his wife— sent a rush of heated blood through him, making his too-tight collar dampen with sweat and his hands shake.
    Embarrassing, that. He was a grown man. Twenty-seven years of age.
    But he liked pleasing her. Too much.
    “There’s more.” He took her hand, led her further into the house. “My office.”
    He watched her scan the square room, the huge double desk in the center. Masculine chairs at opposite sides. “Mine,” he indicated, “and Adam’s.”
    “Ah.”
    “This room is likely meant for a guest room, or perhaps an older couple’s bedroom when the stairs to the second floor become too daunting. Perhaps it will become our bedroom when we’re old.”
    Her grip on his hand tightened a bit and he couldn’t help but smile. The thought of growing old with this woman sounded mighty fine to him.
    “This room is boring. Come with me.” He tugged her along behind him into the other doorway into the sitting room. The fireplace made up the dividing wall along the center of the house, one passage in and out of this main room on either side. “The dining room.”
    She trailed fingertips along the stately curve of a chair at the table. Apparent admiration, but what did he know of his wife’s preferences?
    “If you don’t care for my furniture choices, you’re welcome to make different purchases.”
    He couldn’t believe he’d offered to allow her to redo, redecorate, spend more money. The house had been professionally decorated,