“Good morning, Evan.” Her voice was low but heavy with meaning.
Evan instead of Rothschild. The intimacy of his given name had warmth settling in his chest. He searched her face for some sign of regret or pain, but he only found awe. He felt the same. It was as if they had stumbled upon a secret they had both only begun to suspect existed and it had far surpassed expectation.
“Good morning.” His own voice was low and raspy, naked in a way he had never felt with her or anyone.
She laughed, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip to stifle it. He laughed, suddenly aware that neither of them knew how to proceed with this newfound intimacy. But his hands knew just how to touch her. They curved around her hips and settled at the small of her back, and her own hands moved up his shoulders so that her fingers could twist in the hair at the back of his head.
She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Whether she meant it to be a light kiss or not, it took over them both, fanning the flames between them as if they had not had sex only hours before. He kissed her until they both had to pause for air, and then he only let her go a fraction of an inch. “I missed you.”
She nodded, her nose brushing his, and she kissed him again, a tinge of desperation taking shape. “I know. Me too.”
“’Tis a bloody shame that I have to leave. I want to take you upstairs and bar the door and keep you there for at least a week.”
She laughed again, but a pretty blush stole over her features. Her gaze turned mischievous as she said, “I think I would like that very much.”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, this time more gently. “I shall call on you when I can. Your father has already mentioned a marriage contract in the works. I suspect he will send it over soon after you return to London. Have you seen it?”
“Not yet, but I will before he sends it.”
“Send me a message if there is anything within it that you find objectionable. I want us to be in complete agreement before we sign.”
She nodded.
“You do believe that?” He did not want to do a single thing that would take away the acceptance and affection he saw blooming in her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Good. Once everything is finalized, we can announce the betrothal. The rest is up to you. We can marry whenever and wherever you want.”
“Shh.” Her fingers covered his lips, and he could not resist placing a kiss on her fingertips. “I simply wanted a moment alone with you before you leave. We can discuss the details and contracts later.”
Taking her hand, he kissed her palm and then her wrist, giving silent thanks that this woman would be his soon.
“I can’t help but be afraid that . . .”
A momentary tremor of unease crossed her features. “Afraid of what?” he asked.
“That with our return to London, everything will . . . go back to how it was.”
He smiled. “That is because I was an arse in London. I will endeavor to put that behind me.”
She smiled back before becoming somber again. “I, too, was a bit irresponsible.”
“But now we know what we can have with a little understanding and perseverance,” he teased.
“True.”
“Our future together will be what we make of it.”
The mischief returned to her eyes. “Then it will certainly include more nights like last night.” Her hand moved down his chest, intent on reaching the very evident erection that she could likely feel through the layers of their clothes.
“And days,” he said, lifting her against him and eliciting a giggle from her as he swung around to sit her on his desk.
Kissing her, he made short work of moving his hand under her skirt, half considering if they had time to do more, when a sound from the door had him spinning around, shielding August from the intruder.
Elizabeth stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and a knowing scowl on her face. “Mother sent me to find you. She says if you do not leave now you will miss your train.” He opened his mouth, but she spoke before he could. “It would be rude in the extreme to make an entire train wait for you.”
“What is the point of inheriting a dukedom if one cannot indulge oneself at times?”
Elizabeth laughed, August raised a brow, and he had a startlingly clear vision of his future. For the first time in his life the view was beautiful. “Leave us so that I can finish saying goodbye to my betrothed.”
* * *
* * *
Another storm came through after Evan left, so instead of leaving early they stayed the entire week, while repairs were made farther downtrack. August didn’t mind, because, despite its faults, she was coming to see the charm in the old pile of stones. She had found herself wandering through the rooms and viewing them with an eye that was becoming increasingly proprietary. She made checklists in her mind of the refurbishments that would need to be addressed first and even talked to Mr. Hughes about the roof so that he could begin to gather figures for its much-needed replacement.
Each night found her making her way to Evan’s bedroom. She wandered through his dressing room to run her fingertips over the varied fabrics and textures hanging in his armoires. They were very masculine fabrics, heavy and thick. She sat on his bed and smelled him there, and imagined that they shared this bed together. Those thoughts always made her feel heated and alive and excited to see him again. Not one part of her regretted what had happened between them in the library.
The feeling of unease, however, had not left her. It stayed with her through the nights in his bedroom and the train ride home. She told herself that it was because she had begun to look at her family differently. Her parents had been willing to force her to marry Evan at the expense of her own needs and wants, and she still did not know how to reconcile that with what she thought she knew about them. But there was more.
August did not know how to identify this new person she would become. Duchess of Rothschild. It was a stranger’s name.
These thoughts consumed her when she walked into the townhome on Grosvenor Square. Before taking off her gloves, she hurried to the silver tray on a side table that held correspondence. A quick flip through the various invitations and notes revealed nothing from Evan. Disappointment swelled inside her.
“Maxwell!” Violet’s surprised voice rang out as Max hurried down the stairs to greet them. He was dressed as if he had spent the day out.
“Maxwell?” August and her mother echoed.
Violet stopped halfway through tugging off her gloves and threw herself into his arms. “How long have you been here?”
“I arrived yesterday.” He greeted each of them in turn, catching August’s eye with a question in his. “I was told that everyone was spending a week at the Duke of Rothschild’s estate. How was it?” His gaze then went to August’s hand, which was absent a betrothal ring.
“Both dreadful and marvelous if you can believe that,” said Mother. “The place is practically falling down around them, but it’s so huge. And filled with Rembrandts and Titians and, my God, I think some of the furniture is Georgian, possibly even older.” She held a hand to her chest.
“Calm yourself, Millie. You’ll give yourself apoplexy,” Papa teased. “We have El Greco, Titian, and van Dyck at home, along with, and I cannot say enough how important this next point is, indoor plumbing.” He laughed loudly at his own jest.
“Of course, dear. I am simply beside myself with joy.” Her gaze narrowed in mock frustration as she turned her attention to Max. “I suppose I don’t need to ask what brings you to London.” She hugged him and kissed him on each cheek. “I’m afraid to say that your father is right about the lack of plumbing. I’ve been waiting days to freshen up properly. Give me an hour and then I want to hear all about your crossing. I trust it was uneventful?”
Max nodded. “Very uneventful, Mother.”
<
br /> “Good. I am happy to report that our time here has not been uneventful.” She raised a knowing brow at August. “We are expecting good news any day now.” With those promising words, she left them and retreated to her bedroom upstairs.
“Is there no news, then?” asked Max. “No betrothal?”
She started to reply, but Papa beat her to it. “Sadly, not yet.” He gave her a telling glance that seemed to imply the lack of a formal betrothal was her fault. August had not shared with him the extent of her personal discussion with Evan. “Although the duke has indicated a willingness to begin negotiations, which is promising. I am having a contract sent over today.”
“Then I have come in time,” Max said with resolve and pressed a reassuring hand to her back, his dark eyes flickering with censure.
His tone caught Papa’s attention. “So you have come to save your sister from marriage?”
“I expressed as much in my telegrams. We are Crenshaws, for Christ’s sake. We do not have to sell our daughters and sisters for coin or prestige.”
“No one is selling anyone. We are the ones paying him.” Papa gave them an antagonistic grin.
“Yes, I gathered as much,” Max replied.
Aware that the tension was rising in the front hall and the servants had disappeared, Papa huffed out a final breath and smoothed a hand down his lapel. “I find that I, too, need a few moments to refresh myself. We will continue this discussion in my study. Say a half hour?”
Max gave him a nod of deference, and they watched him in silence as he walked up the stairs and then disappeared down the corridor. “What the hell has happened? Are you all right?” Max turned to her and asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Come, let’s sit in the drawing room and talk.” August led her sister and brother to the drawing room and discreetly closed the door behind them.
“It’s been so awful,” Violet began. “First me, and now poor August.” She gave August a pitying glance before launching into the entire torrid history of their parents’ matchmaking scheme.
August sat in a chair facing them both and fidgeted. She felt badly that Max had come all this way for her to tell him that she now believed that she did want to marry Evan. But she did like Evan. She liked him a lot. Was that enough for marriage?
It was a good start. Besides, how could she go back to the way life was before this marriage business? How could she trust her parents ever again, especially Papa? Unable to keep still, she rose and paced to the window.
“It seems this duke returned to London with the impression that you were going to marry him. Is that right?” Max asked after Violet had finished the story.
“We spoke privately before he left, and I agreed to his proposal. It’s not official until he and Papa sign the contract.”
“And you are certain this is what you want to do?”
“I feel great affection for Evan, and I do think that we could make a happy life together.” Extremely happy, if she was being completely forthright. Now that she had finally seen past the veil of nobility to the real man, she was certain that he was the right choice. She was less certain that she was ready to make that choice right now. “Besides, even if I said no, things could not go back to how they were. Papa has already said that he will not allow me to continue my work with Crenshaw Iron.”
Max rose to stand before her. “He won’t get away with that. I have rights in that company. He cannot cut you out that way, not without my say-so.”
“I know, but that’s not really the issue here, is it? He said what he said, and there’s no going back from that.” She broke off when her throat closed and turned quickly to face the window when tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. She had never been one to show her emotions easily, but especially not in front of Max or Papa. To show weakness was against everything the Crenshaws stood for.
It was a surprise when Max put his hands on her shoulders. “This is your life, August. Your future. You get to decide. I will stand by whatever you choose.”
She nodded and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’ve already chosen. I choose Evan.”
“Perhaps it is a good thing he was not to be found at Sterling House yesterday.”
August whirled to stare at him. He had a faint smile on his face. “You went to Sterling House?”
“I arrived and no one was home. Reginald explained that you had been delayed, so I decided to pay a call and size this Rothschild up for myself.”
“Thank God he was not there. I appreciate you coming, and I’m sorry that I pulled you away, but it appears I don’t need you to go to battle for me after all.”
Max grinned. “Yes, you do. I’ll have a look at that contract before it’s sent over, and if you do end up marrying this fortune-hunting bastard, I’ll have a nice long chat with him first.”
She smiled and hugged him. “Thank you for coming, but that won’t be necessary. I can manage him fine on my own.”
“I have no doubt of that,” said Max.
Chapter 21
But the future must be met, however stern and iron it be.
Elizabeth Gaskell
Several days after his return to London, Evan stepped into his solicitor’s office. Clark came to his feet immediately.
“Your Grace” fell from his lips as he resettled the spectacles on his face. A clerk who had been taking dictation also rose, dropping his pen in the process.
Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the leaded glass windows, casting a dreary glow over the confined space. Stacks of crates lined the wall beneath the windows. Books and parchments were piled on the floor on one side of the large desk in the center of the room and on the cabinets that lined the back wall. The desk itself, however, appeared neat and organized.
“It was not my intention to catch you unaware. I received your note at the club and, since the matter was of some urgency, decided to call instead of driving over to Sterling House to wait for you there.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. Excellent suggestion. I would never have presumed to set a meeting here, but you are quite right, it is much more expedient.” Perhaps without realizing it, Clark’s gaze took in the messy office.
The clerk who had shown Evan in hovered in the doorway behind him. His voice cracked a little when he spoke. “Tea, my l—er, Your Grace?”
“No, thank you.” Turning his attention back to Clark and the overstuffed office, he said, “It appears you have been busy.” Evan had only been here once before when he had hired the man. That visit had been much the same with the genuflection of the clerks surprised by the presence of a duke in their midst, but the office had been nearly sparse then.
Clark indicated that the clerk taking dictation should leave them. The young man, who could not have been any older than Clark himself, presented them with his front as he backed out of the room in a nearly comical display of deference before closing the door.
“What have you told them about me?” Evan asked as he took the vacated chair.
Clark smiled and took his seat behind the desk. “I think your reputation says it all, Your Grace.”
Evan smiled, reminded of why he had hired the man. Clark had been the only one to speak to him plainly after the initial show of respect.
“I must thank you,” Clark continued and waved a hand toward the papers filling his office. “My fledgling practice has nearly tripled in large part due to your recommendations.”
“Due to your competence, you mean.”
Clark lowered his gaze in humility. “Nevertheless, thank you. My association with you and Montague has certainly enhanced things.” He rose and opened one of the cabinets on the wall behind him. Taking out a box filled with papers, he brought them back to his desk.
His gaze all but pasted to the box, Evan asked, “I assume this meeting is because you have further confirmation?” When he had arrived back in
London from Charrington Manor, Clark had met with him at the club with the news that a man claiming to be in the employ of George Sterling, the Duke of Rothschild, had been found in Pleasant Ridge, Montana Territory.
Clark nodded and resumed his seat. “Yes, it’s Lichfield. He originally used an assumed name, but our investigator was able to find papers in his rooms that proved him to be Gordon Lichfield.”
Evan let out a breath and felt a strange sense of relief wash over him. None of that was a surprise, but it was confirmation that his instincts had been correct. “I assume any funds he took were gone.”
Clark gave a funny little laugh and withdrew a sheaf of paper from the box. “Well, that is the interesting bit. You see, it appears that we have uncovered so much more than stolen funds.”
Evan leaned forward, fully engrossed now. “How much more?”
“Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I found it rather unbelievable myself. I had to authenticate the information with the registrar of the territory and then had the solicitor in New York authenticate it to make absolutely certain there was no question of . . . well . . . authenticity. I still can hardly bring myself to bel—”
“Spit it out, man!”
“Yes, yes.” Clark shook his head and then nodded as he picked up a yellow paper with printed words. It appeared to be a telegram. “Your Grace, it seems that your father is—was—a major shareholder in the Pleasant Ridge Mining Company, which has operations based in Montana Territory. The shares never appeared in any of the documents pertaining to your father’s estate. I believe we can safely assume that is because Lichfield did his best to make certain there was no trace of them. To be honest, I am not certain your father was aware of the value of the claim. From New York, we know that his signature appears on several documents pertaining to the company. I can also confirm that a bank draft was issued in the amount of the cost of the initial shares several years ago. It was recorded in the ledger as funds for capital improvements. I made a visit to the bank myself to research the purchase and have proof of the draft from the bank here.”
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