Help privileged men get richer and more powerful? She shook her head. There was enough of that already. “I want to fulfill my potential, not someone else’s. I’m tired of being employed. I want to be the manager, not the managed.”
Sampson inclined his head. He might not know the intricacies of being a woman, but he intimately knew the difficulties of being Black. Whilst slavery had technically always been illegal on England’s shores, Britain had yet to abolish the horrid practice throughout its territories. They both had family members they would never see again, cousins and ancestors they would never know at all.
If being free meant owning a gaming hell for Sampson, he would accept without question whatever Unity needed, in order to feel like her own person. To be in charge of herself, subject to nobody’s whims but her own.
A cry rose from a Hazard table. After an exchange of coins, the gentlemen put down their dice and came up to the bar for fresh ales.
Sampson poured with practiced efficiency and slid the frothy ales across the counter to the men. “Downing, Bost, Grenville.”
Unity placed her brandy glass on the bar. “I’m for the whist table.”
“Wait.” Sampson motioned her toward the storage pantry they’d often used to have a quick word in privacy.
As soon as they were out of earshot from the men at the bar, Unity raised her brows. “Are you going to lecture me?”
“I don’t want to lecture,” Sampson said softly, his dark brown eyes unsettlingly astute. “I want to help. You don’t have to wear your feet to the bone chasing after dreams, Unity.”
She scoffed. “I should repose on a chaise longue and allow the dreams to come to me?”
“It’s an option.” His eyes clouded, then cleared. “Marry me. I already have a successful business. We’ve managed it together before. We can do it again. I’ll buy you that chaise longue, and you can ‘repose’ whenever you like.”
Not again. Unity looked away.
Sampson was a good man. A great friend. He would make a wonderful husband... to someone else.
She liked him too much to saddle him with a bride who didn’t love him, not in that way. A wife who would resent him for convincing her to give up her dreams in order to help him build his.
“I thank you for your kind offer,” she said quietly. “It is not what I am looking for at this time.”
He tilted his head. “Whatareyou looking for?”
Autonomy, freedom, financial independence. Those had been her aims for so long, the words usually spilled from her tongue without any conscious thought.
She was startled to discover a new word had crept onto the list.
Love.
She wantedlove. Her achievements would be lonely without someone to share them with. She wanted someone who challenged her and believed in her. Someone who didn’t want to save her or fix her or do her a favor.
To Unity, Sampson’s gaming hell would always remind her of the worst moments of her life. When she had nowhere else to go because her cousin had turned her out. She had been eaten alive by betrayal and fear and hatred. Meanwhile, her cousin Roger was actively trying to drive Sampson out of business, so she’d funneled all that rage into making this gaming hell outshine anything her cousin had ever touched.
It worked. They won. But this place would always be Sampson’s. Unity’s emotions about her time here were too raw and ugly to let her stay for long.
Sampson deserved to fall in love with someone who could fully appreciate him for the beautiful soul that he was.
“You know I’d be a dreadful wife to you.”
His lips quirked. “I’ve made my peace with that.”
“You shouldn’t have to. One of the advantages to not being ton is that we get to choose. Don’t settle for anything less than a love match, Sampson.”
His brown eyes widened in obvious surprise. “I’ve never heard you talk about love. I didn’t think it figured into your plans.”
“I didn’t either,” she admitted. “Maybe I’m growing.”
“Maybe you grew a long time ago and are only just now letting go of who you used to be.” He angled his head. “Or maybe you’ve already fallen in love with someone.”
“I’m too busy for love at the moment.” She patted the bag at her side. “I’ve got a thick journal brimming with the plans I’m making for my future assembly rooms, and I—”
