The room itself was rather tastefully decorated in browns and deep reds with heavy brocade fabrics mixed with top-grain leather. It was a very masculine space with lamps and card tables set out about the room. Several tables were occupied with men playing whist. Many of them gave her interested glances, but none of them bothered to question her presence. The wide double doors that separated this room from the next were thrown open to reveal that room to be more crowded and livelier. Men cheered, and dice clinked together, while several people called out bets.
When she reached the doorway, she could barely see any of the tables for the crowd of men around them. Smoke hung heavy in the air, cloying at her lungs as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Had she not been trying to make a point to Rothschild, she would have turned around then and there. It was foolish to gamble on a game she knew nothing about, but she wasn’t here to win, simply to prove that she was not duchess material.
She steeled herself for rejection and took a step into the room. “Blast and damn, Crenshaw!” The angry but muffled words brought her up short. Her heart jolted in her chest as she stepped back out of the room, looking for the source of the voice. It must be coming from another room off the card salon. The door was cracked open, so she crept closer cautiously.
“Do not complain to me about how things are moving too slowly.” The voice belonged to Farthington; she was certain of it even though she couldn’t see him. His voice was a deep baritone that was difficult to confuse with someone else’s. “I have received your proposal. I can do no more until you do your part.”
She stifled a gasp of shock with her hand. They had to be discussing the Indian railway proposal. She had helped her father draft it herself. One of her afternoons out of the home had been to Farthington’s secretary to gather preliminary information on the Indian labor and materials market, which she had then stayed up late into the night to compile into a comprehensive report. From that she had drafted an initial proposal that detailed Crenshaw Iron’s strengths along with their readily available assets. The more in-depth planning would come once this initial proposal was reviewed and passed on to the next phase. Assuming it made it that far.
Her father spoke too low for her to hear, but she could see half of the back of his head as he sat across the table from Farthington. Several other men were present, fabric rustled, and one cleared his throat, but she could not see them through the crack between the door and the frame.
“Yes, yes, all of that has been made clear to me,” Farthington replied. “You must understand that I cannot present the proposal until you do your part.”
Again her father’s voice was low and calm, but she thought she made out the words these things take time.
“Yes, well, time is our enemy. Rest assured that we are very clear on your position and your ability. The issue, which I thought I had made very clear to you, is that we cannot open this market up to simply anyone. If your firm were to secure a contract without suitable justification, I would be swimming in harassment as others tried to secure the same favor. No, we cannot have that.” He sliced his hand through the air for emphasis. “The proposal cannot go further until a betrothal is announced.”
She brought her hand up to cover her mouth, and a sick feeling twisted in her stomach. The expansion of Crenshaw Iron Works hinged on her marriage to the duke. A marriage she did not want and had no intention of committing herself to. She had naively hoped that by drawing out the courting phase they might secure the contract without an eventual marriage.
As if he had heard her naivete, Farthington laughed. “I trust your honor, but I am afraid we need to see more progress on that front before we can move forward.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach to help contain the helpless anger and fear that whirled inside her. She trembled with it. If she dared to let go of herself, it might somehow tear her apart from the inside. A sob half escaped her, drawing glances from one of the tables. Holding it in, she hurried out of the salon and back into the long corridor lined with portraits. At the end, a set of terrace doors had been opened to the night, so she headed toward them, needing to get away from everyone. Unfortunately, the corridor passed right by the dice game room, and a man stepped out as she passed.
“Miss Crenshaw?” It was Lord Ware. “By God, are you hurt? Has someone harmed you?” He rushed after her and glanced behind, looking for the perpetrator that had sent her seeking refuge outside.
“No, I am unharmed. I simply need some air.” She did her best to keep her composure, but she knew she failed when he didn’t look a bit less concerned.
He glanced toward the terrace. “You should not be out there alone.” It was dark, but there were gas lamps. She had seen them flickering from the windows of the ballroom on the first floor. “I shall accompany you.”
God save her from men who thought she needed them. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but that would likely only make him more suspicious. At the very least it would make things take longer, and with every fiber of her being she needed to be out of this house and have a moment of peace.
Balls were not for her, she decided. Terrible things happened at them.
“As you please,” she said and swept past him, although he kept pace with her.
The mansion off Park Street was huge, nearly taking up a block, so the garden was larger than the Ashcroft garden. It stretched the length of the house with several walking paths circling the space. She immediately headed away from the noise of the ball into the far corner near the brick wall.
“Where in hell do you think you are taking her?”
The voice belonged to Rothschild. She whirled to see him coming out of another set of terrace doors, walking toward Lord Ware. Both his tone and his stance were menacing. His hands were in fists at his side as if he were prepared to fight the poor viscount on the spot. For his part, Lord Ware stood his ground, but he glanced to her with eyes so wide the whites were clearly visible around the irises. “Miss Crenshaw wished to come outside. I was merely assuring her safety.”
“This isn’t one of your bare-knuckle brawls, Rothschild. Lord Ware saw that I was in distress and came to my aid.”
Rothschild’s gaze swept over her from top to bottom and back again, as if he was searching for the source of her distress. He might as well have checked her over with his hands for how breathless his examination left her. She whirled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest as she reached for the anger boiling beneath the surface. He was the reason she was in this mess. She had no business being so attracted to him. He wore the same damned black-and-white evening suit as every man here, so why did the way his coat stretched over the solid breadth of his shoulders look so appealing to her?
“Thank you for your help, Ware.” His tone made it clear this was not true gratitude. “You may leave us.”
August rolled her eyes. Just once she wanted someone to not jump at his orders.
To his credit, Lord Ware did not move immediately. “Miss Crenshaw?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rothschild’s jaw clenched tight. Lord Ware fidgeted. To put him out of his misery, she said, “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Ware. I will be fine.”
He gave her a nod and walked stiffly back inside. Rothschild waited until he had passed through the doorway to come over to her, stopping before her. “What has happened? Are you distressed?”
Refusing to meet his gaze, she hurried around him to follow the path through the rhododendrons. The last person she wanted to talk to was him.
“You are limping.”
“Leave me alone.”
She knew he wouldn’t, and his shoes crunching on the stone told her as much. She did not dare go too far into the garden with the library incident from the last ball fresh on her mind. Instead, she stopped at the turn in the path, far enough away that some of the noise was deafened, but close enough not to appear too indecen
t. She hoped.
“Here. You must be cold.”
She hadn’t realized how cold she was until his tailcoat, still warm with his body heat, enveloped her shoulders. The warmth felt so good and welcome that she wanted to accept it, but the need to never accept anything from him won out. She shrugged out of it, and it would have fallen had he not been faster and caught it. The absence of warmth made the chill air even that much more apparent. With him close, the night filled with delightful notes of lemon and bergamot. Her rebellious body savored it, reaching for more of it all while she continued to face away from him.
There was a moment of silence and then, “Will you tell me what has you upset?” His voice was filled with concern.
“As if you don’t know.” She refused to look at him, but she wanted to see his expression so badly that she glanced briefly over her shoulder. He had looked down, his hands dropping to his sides. The one holding the coat appeared to have a new scab on a knuckle, leaving her wondering if he had participated in another fighting match. In only his shirtsleeves and vest, he somehow appeared even more handsome. When he looked up, she jerked her gaze away.
“I came every day, but you were never at home.”
“Someone else might take the hint.”
“Why will you not see me?” Soft amusement had replaced the concern in his voice.
“Are you really so daft as that?” She swung around to look at him.
He smiled, and she couldn’t help but fixate on the attractive curve of his lips. It forced her to remember the almost-kiss in her drawing room when she had nearly agreed to allow him to court her for appearances before her mother had spilled the truth all over both of them.
“The things you say to me are outrageous. I like you all the more for them.”
“You like that I insult you?”
He gave a soft laugh. “No. I like that you are honest with me. Your honesty is one of the things that drew me to you.”
Having not expected that bit of flattery, she looked down. Was it even flattery? When most men flattered her, it was always about appearances or other superficial things. That she was prepared for. This took her by surprise. Was it wrong to like it?
“Something happened inside. Will you tell me?” After a brief pause, he added, “Please.”
She hated that the entreaty made her open her mouth. Perhaps it was also because he still stood in his shirtsleeves instead of shrugging into his tailcoat, not caring that anyone might come upon them. His brows pulled together in gentle concern as he waited. “I overheard my father and Lord Farthington talking.”
“Ah, the railway.”
“You know about that?”
“Of course.”
It should not surprise her at all. “Lord Farthington is refusing to allow our proposal to move forward unless a betrothal is announced.”
He was silent as his eyes skimmed over her face. “Is that really so very shocking?” he finally asked, his voice free of judgment.
“I suppose not.” Lord Farthington had implied as much at the meeting in Papa’s study. It was simply a shock to hear it out loud and put so plainly at that. All of a sudden she was overcome by the weight of failure. She had thought of nothing since this whole betrothal business began but how to get out of it. All of it had been for naught. She had never failed at something so spectacularly in her life.
“Have you given any thought to coming to Charrington Manor?”
She hadn’t even remembered that he had asked her until this very moment. “Why?”
“It would be good if you could see exactly what you would be agreeing to.”
“Why does it matter? Aren’t I obliged to marry you regardless of what I see there?”
He took a deep breath, his gaze fixing on hers so intently that she struggled to draw in anything more than a shallow breath. When he looked at her like that, as if he really saw her, something inside her threatened to crack open. It frightened her, because she didn’t know what would become of her when it did.
“No,” he said softly. “No, you do not have to accept.”
“Easy words to say when you do not have as much at stake.” A slash of pain crossed his face, and she wished to call the words back. He had good reasons for wanting this marriage; she understood that now even if she couldn’t accept it. “I only meant the railway and the deal with Parliament.”
“If you refuse me, then I likely cannot help with Farthington. I can, however, help to bring you other opportunities. For one, the new Royal Albert Dock. There are approvals and licenses being held up in government now as we speak. I can make certain that Crenshaw Iron Works is given the contract for the steel if you’re willing to set up an office here.”
Papa would not be happy about the railway. He would be furious, but if she could offer him something else, it might be enough. When Maxwell arrived, she would talk it over with him, and perhaps together they could help Papa see reason. It wasn’t as if losing the railway would cost the company money.
“Why would you do this?” The chill seeped through her skin, and she found herself rubbing her arms. He draped the coat over her shoulders, and she did not refuse him this time.
“Because I want you to give us a chance.” He paused and seemed to come to a resolution. “Come for a week.”
“And if we find we don’t suit?”
The corner of his mouth turned upward. “You know that we suit, August.”
She did know. His eyes had softened as they settled on her. She was no more exposed to him than she was to anyone else at this ball, but somehow his gaze saw more. The telltale whisper of butterfly wings moved in her belly. Swallowing, she said, “I will agree to come for a week, if you will agree to withdraw your offer at the conclusion of that week. Tell Papa that you cannot go through with it.”
“Come for a week, and if you still believe that you will hate marriage to me, then I will withdraw my offer.”
She gasped before she could stop herself, hardly able to believe that it could be so simple. Elation made her smile, but he interrupted her premature celebration.
“On one condition.”
She frowned. Of course there was a condition. He needed more wealth than Job, so he would not be willing to part with her so easily. “What is it?”
“You let me kiss you.”
It was a strangely benign request for such a major concession. “What? Here?”
He smiled again, shaking his head. “At Charrington Manor. I get to kiss you when I want to.”
“Absolutely not. I would not put it past you to have us conveniently get caught. Besides, why would you want to kiss a woman who wants absolutely nothing to do with you?”
“You might not want to marry me, but you do enjoy kissing me, whether you admit it to me or not.”
“Fine. You can kiss me once a day at a time and place of my choosing. And that’s it. One kiss only.”
His gaze had settled on her mouth, setting her senses rioting in pleasant agitation. Why did he have to be the one man she desired? It wasn’t fair.
“I agree,” he said.
She nodded, feeling more in control than she had since first meeting him. “Good. Then I will come to Charrington Manor.”
Rising on her toes, she took Rothschild by his biceps and kissed his cheek. He stood still, letting her. His arms were so strong and warm under her hands that she did not let him go immediately. “Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this.”
His jaw ticked as his gaze lit on her mouth. He was undoubtedly hoping for another kind of kiss from her, but there was no way she was repeating the library incident again. That kiss had gone much further than she had intended, and she still didn’t know how it had happened. She had no faith in her ability to control another one.
“You’re so certain you’ll still reject me,” he said, his voice a soft rasp.
“Not yet, but I would have no choice but to perform my duty and marry eventually. Do you not think you would marry eventually, as well?”
“I have years before I plan to marry. My brother is given his freedom to wait; I prefer the same. My life is full with my work for now.”
He appeared thoughtful as he shrugged back into the tailcoat before asking, “Now that we have settled things, can we please stop this pretense of flirting with every man at the ball?”
She smiled. “How do you know about that? You haven’t been here.”
“I arrived over an hour ago. Long enough to see you cavorting with Lord Smith, and Lord Hadley, and Lord Bunting, and Lord Dillingham, and—”
“That’s enough. Yes, I see your point.” She could also see that he was jealous. His eyes had gone all fierce and hooded again, just like they had in the library. It was terrible, but she very much liked when he looked at her that way. As if he could eat her up and make her enjoy every moment of it. “I will not have to flirt anymore now to make you leave off.”
“You were flirting to make me withdraw my offer?” He sounded incredulous as he gave a mirthless laugh and took a step toward her. “You were wrong. It only made me want you more.”
Self-preservation made a flicker of fear ignite within her, but it was accompanied with a healthy dose of what she was mortified to realize she could only describe as lust. She took a step back, and for some reason a laugh tumbled from her throat. “You stay away from me.” Her voice shook along with the hand she put out to ward him off. “We will not have a repeat of what happened in the library.”
“I rather liked what happened in the library.”
His voice held a bit of a soft growl, and he did not stop at all as he advanced on her. Her heart beat low and deep in her belly. How could he reduce her to this without even touching her? It didn’t make any sense. She was as needy for him as she had been after his kisses, and he hadn’t even touched her.
The Heiress Gets a Duke Page 18