The Art of Seduction (Kings of Industry)

by Eileen Richards

  “There is nothing to start!” She crossed her arms. “I believe I saw Lady Hamilton and her daughter in your father’s box at the theatre. Lady Cassandra Hamilton is very beautiful.”

  Langston took a step back. “She is. My father wishes me to marry her.”

  “You should. She is the right kind of woman for you to marry as the next Duke of Stafford.”

  Langston stiffened at her words and fought the urge to contradict her, knowing in his heart there would only be one woman that was the right kind for him. She met his eyes, not looking away as she used to do when she wasn’t being truthful. She believed this. No amount of convincing would change her mind.

  “I expect we’ll see an announcement very soon,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I wish you much happiness with Lady Cassandra.”

  He was at a loss as to what to say to her next. He’d just opened a vein and she was cool and collected. Or so he thought until he looked at her tightly clenched hands.

  “It’s very late, my lord. You should return to your guests and I must assist Mother.”

  He bowed. “I will leave you then.”

  “Thank you for seeing us home.”

  He walked to the entrance and retrieved his hat. His hand clenched on the doorknob as he paused, turning back to her. “This isn’t over between us, Beth.”

  Her smile was sad. ‘Yes, my lord, it is.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, Beth threw herself into her work. How had her life suddenly become so complicated? Oh yes. Lord Langston was back. What was it about this man that stirred up trouble and made her question her decisions? She was content. She was happy. Or she would be when she figured out a way to take care of Mr. Jones. The debt weighed upon her mind day and night. The fact that Mother didn’t seem to care, drove her into madness. Did she not see the danger?

  “You are going to sand a hole right into that wood, Beth, if you aren’t careful,” Sally said from behind her.

  She kept sanding. “It has to be smooth before I can make it look like marble.”

  “Love, no one will be able to tell from the audience.”

  Beth stopped and closed her eyes at Sally’s gentle chiding. She plopped down onto the cold floor. “You are right, as usual.” She tossed aside the piece of sandpaper and dusted off her hands.

  “Want to talk about what happened last night? I saw you there during the first act, but then you were gone.”

  Beth looked up at Sally. “You were brilliant.”

  Sally held out her hand to Beth. “I cannot talk to you while you sit on the floor.”

  Beth allowed herself to be pulled to a standing position. She brushed the dust from sanding from her skirts. “Is that better?”

  “Yes, now why did you leave, if you loved the play so much? I was looking forward to spending time with you afterwards.”

  Beth followed Sally to a set of chairs in the corner of the large set room. Sally looked lovely today in a morning dress of soft blue. Beth was dressed in her old brown wool with an apron. Paint stained the apron and her hands were rough and dirty from working on the smaller pieces of the set. “Lord Langston came to the box. But you already know that if you spoke with Mr. St. Clair last night.”

  Sally wouldn’t meet her gaze. “He might have mentioned meeting my dearest friend after the play.”

  Beth grinned at her. “He’s very handsome, your Mr. St. Clair.”

  “He spoke highly of you as well, Beth,” Sally said with a smile. “How did he put it? Oh yes, any girl with enough bottom to stand up to Langston has earned his respect.”

  Beth met Sally’s laughing eyes. “It was a great deal more difficult to see him than I thought. Of course, Mother just made things worse. She complained through the first act until I was ready to scream, then demanded we leave before intermission. I had stepped out to find Mr. Carter to bring the carriage around when Langston was there. When he volunteered to see us home, mother jumped onto the request as if God himself had delivered the message.”

  Sally chuckled. “I imagine she did. She wants you settled.”

  “She wants a wealthy man to save us from being poor. I understand her missing her old life, but we cannot go back.” Beth couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice. “My mother still harps on the fact I let a marquis escape from my clutches.”

  “Honestly, if he were chasing me instead of St. Clair, I might have to give thought to the idea of becoming his mistress. The man will be a duke someday.”

  “Sally!”

  Sally winked at her. “How bad could it be allowing a man like that to see you home? Beth, you had to feel something. You loved him once.”

  Beth looked down at her lap and picked at the dried paint on her apron. “I cannot live in the past, Sally. That road only leads to regret and I cannot regret it. That time was too precious to me. But our paths are different now. I’m happy with my life.”

  Sally studied her for a long moment. “How did your mother handle having Langston at her beck and call.”

  “She still believes I can land him as if he were a fish to reel in.”

  Sally laughed. “He is a very pretty fish, Beth. You could do worse.”

  Beth glared at her friend. “He can’t marry me. I’m a painter in a theatre. His father will never allow it. Society would shun us. It would be a disaster in the making. Our connection was years ago, when we were young, stupid, really. I cannot expect him to honor it.”

  Sally leaned forward ready to speak when one of the workmen came into the large warehouse and shouted her name.

  “Miss Bishop? Letter for you.”

  Beth glanced at Sally as she rose and met the workman. She glanced at the letter, her name written in a bold masculine scrawl across the front. She slid her finger under the seal as she walked back to Sally. She scanned the contents and folded it up again. “The man does not take no for an answer.”

  Sally grinned as she rose from the chair. “I take it that note is from Lord Langston.”

  “I’ve been summoned to the Royal Academy.” Beth let the letter drop from her shaking hand.

  Sally bent and picked up the letter. She scanned through the contents quickly, then smiled. “This is excellent. Langston wants to see you. I rather like his determination, though he is somewhat high handed.”

  Beth plopped down in a chair. “I can’t do this. I can’t let him break my heart once more.”

  Sally squeezed her hand. “Our hearts are flexible, Beth. He obviously cares or he wouldn’t reach out.”

  “It’s guilt.”

  “What has he to feel guilty about?”

  Beth met Sally’s questioning gaze with a knowing one of her own. It was Sally’s turn to plop into the chair.

  “Does your mother know?” Sally whispered.

  Beth laughed. “You act as if the loss of my virginity is some state secret. No, Mother doesn’t know. No one knows but Langston and now you. You cannot tell a soul.”

  “That bastard! To leave you like that after... after...”

  “Sally, it wasn’t like that. His mother was ill. He had no choice but to go to her.”

  “What if you were with child?”

  Beth closed her eyes. There were so many things that could have gone wrong but didn’t. “It was a blessing that things worked out as they did. His mother needed him. My father needed me. My mother needed me. She still does.”

  “Beth, what about you? What about what you need?”

  Beth pasted a smile on her face. “What I need is not important right now.” She took the letter from Sally and folded it back up then tucked it into her pocket. “I should get back to work.”

  “You are going to see him, aren’t you?”

  Beth shook her head. “What would be the point?”

  “I don’t know? Reconcile? Let him help you?”

  Beth shook her head, sadness filling the corners of her heart. “I can’t change the past and neither can Langston.”

  “But it might mean that the p
ainting will be in the exhibition. It’s your dream.”

  “Dreams are for children, Sally. We both know that.”

  Beth walked back to where she was working and picked up the sandpaper. She rubbed the paper over the raw wood, then felt the wood with her hand to test the smoothness. The repetitive motions soothed her. She heard Sally walk out of the cavernous storage room leaving her alone.

  She was getting used to being alone, which was probably a good thing. She was only twenty-five. She had a great many days ahead of her that she’d spend alone.

  “Miss Bishop, may I have a word?”

  Randal Alderman. She’d not been looking forward to this conversation. She placed the sand paper on the floor and rose. “Good morning, sir.”

  Mr. Alderman stepped closer. He was a handsome man, a bit rough around the edges, but kind. Why couldn’t she fall madly in love with someone steady like him? No, she had to grasp for someone so far above her as to be impossible.

  “You disappeared last night after the first act.”

  There was a note of censure in his tone. Beth felt her face heat. She had not thought to let him know that they were leaving. She had not thought of anything after Langston appeared. “I’m so sorry not to leave a note for you. It was so kind of you to give us the tickets. The play was magnificent, but Mother fell ill and we needed to leave.”

  “One of the footman said you were seen leaving in the company of another gentleman, the Marquis of Langston.”

  “He is an old friend of my father’s. He was paying his respects to my mother. He volunteered to see us home. I didn’t want to disturb you during the play, knowing how busy you’d be.”

  He pulled on his waistcoat, his cheeks pink. “Next time, Miss Bishop, please notify me if you wish to free up the box. I could have put someone else there for the remainder of the play.”

  Beth’s lips parted at the cold, sharp tone of his voice. She watched as he turned and stomped out of the room. Good God, her life had been chaos since Langston stepped back into it. One chance meeting and everything was whirling out of control. One kiss and she was ready to fall back into the man’s arms again and forget propriety, forget her place. She would not let Langston do this to her again.

  She would not go to Somerset House. Who cared if he was a powerful man? A marquis? What right did he have to summon her as if she were a servant or worse? No, she might not move through polite society any longer, she may work for her bread, but she still deserved respect and a man who demanded that a young lady call upon him alone did not respect her.

  The Marquis of Langston could wait at the Royal Academy for her until the Thames froze over. It would be that long before she attended him alone.

  With renewed resolve and a good dose of righteous anger, she turned back to her work with a vengeance, sanding the wood until her arm hurt.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael ran his hand once again through his hair as the footsteps on the wooden stairs outside his studio in the Royal Academy of Arts turned out to be someone other than the one person he waited for— Beth Bishop. The request went to the theatre before noon and she had yet to arrive. It would be just like her to refuse to see him, especially after he made a fool of himself last night.

  Content, the stubborn woman actually used the word ‘content’ to describe her life. She lived in Holborn, for God’s sake.

  Langston had never felt content in his entire life. He’d come close when dealing with the mess his father had made of the estate. The days of labor had been good for him.

  “She’s not coming, Langston. You can’t summon a woman like you would your footman or a maid.” St. Clair said as he sprawled in one of the few wooden chairs in the room. He had stopped by just before tea time to drag him to the club. “My arse is numb, my back hurts. I say we go to the club.”

  “Go ahead if, you wish. I think I will walk over to the theatre. Perhaps Miss Bishop couldn’t leave her work.” He’d never dealt with anyone, other than St. Clair, who actually worked for a living. Not that St. Clair did much work these days. He’d made enough blunt to hire people to do it for him.

  “You’ve got it bad, my lord. Take the carriage.”

  “It’s just a few blocks and the carriage is too noticeable. I don’t need the gossips talking about me and a certain actress.”

  “And you think that strolling down to Catherine Street on foot is going to quell the gossips?”

  Michael glared at him, then looked away. Maybe the carriage was a better idea. If she wasn’t at the theatre, he could easily go to her house. Lady Bishop would welcome him in with open arms and Beth would have no choice but to see him. “Why aren’t you there courting your favorite actress?”

  “The woman is leading me by the nose,” St. Clair grumbled. “I’ve never had so much trouble getting a woman into my bed. Usually they jump at the chance.”

  Michael leaned back. “Have to admire a woman who wants you to play by her rules.”

  “Like Miss Bishop?”

  Michael laughed. “Exactly. Why can’t we be drawn to biddable girls? Why is it we want the ones who are difficult?”

  “Because it’s a challenge to win the difficult woman over. Neither of us want what is easy,” St. Clair said.

  The smile left his face. “She is far from easy and made that perfectly clear last night.”

  St. Clair sat up. “What did happen last night?”

  Langston focused on the doorway as he thought through what had happened last night. “I poured out my heart, she pushed away. It’s typical behavior for Miss Bishop.”

  “Women like to be pursued, Langston, though in Miss Morgan’s case, I’ve never met a woman so ambitious.”

  Michael snorted. “Beth is independent. She has been running her father’s household since she was old enough to do the household accounts. She’s always been in charge. Now there is this drive for her work. It’s important to her.”

  “You say that as if it’s a difficult concept, Langston. I happen to love work. It’s fulfilling. Your lot has just forgotten.” St. Clair stood and paced. “Miss Bishop is a great talent. I plan to buy that painting,” St. Clair said.

  He studied St. Clair for a long time. The ease of manner distracted from the intelligence that was Jonathan St. Clair. Then there was the haunted expression he wore occasionally. “The painting reminds you of your sister, doesn’t it?”

  St. Clair brushed him off. “It’s a damn good piece of art. It is an investment. I’m rather glad Miss Bishop stumbled upon you that day.”

  Michael let the truth of what St. Clair said wash over him. She hadn’t wanted to see him. She hadn’t expected to see him. “Should I even pursue this?”

  “Only you can decide that,” St. Clair said. “I hate matters of the heart. They are damned difficult. Give me a something to build, brick by brick, watching it take shape. These things make sense to me.”

  Langston laughed. “You will never make sense of women as you would your plans for your hotel. It’s just not going to happen.”

  “It’s a damned shame,” St. Clair shrugged. “Life would be so much easier, wouldn’t it?”

  Michael chuckled as he glanced up at the clock. “I’m going to walk over to the theatre and see Miss Bishop home.”

  St. Clair picked up his hat. “Shall I see you at the club later?”

  “Perhaps.”

  St. Clair shook his head. “You have it bad.”

  Michael stood as the door closed behind St. Clair. He did have it bad. He needed to see Beth. The need was so strong, almost to the point of obsession but not quite. He picked up his own hat and made his way down the stairs to the courtyard around Somerset House. It was almost the end of the day and the sidewalks were crowded. Carriages and horse carts filled the streets. He stepped over something uncertain as he took a side street to the Drury Lane Theatre where the side door was located, assuming that the employees of the theatre exited there.

  This longing to see Beth pulled at him like a magnet. Mich
ael couldn’t let it go. There was a reason they were thrown together again, just like there was a reason he searched for her.

  He turned the corner to the back of the theatre and stopped in his tracks. Beth had just left and was walking toward him, her head down, lost in thought when a man intercepted her by grabbing her arm tightly. She looked up at the squat man and paled, then tried to pull away. Michael moved toward her. “Miss Bishop, I’m sorry I’m late in seeing you home.”

  He kept his tone light as if walking her home was normal. The man glared at him. He was rough looking in an ill-fitting brown coat and a cap pulled over his bald head. His eyes were black and mean. Michael looked down at Beth as he reached her side. He tucked her arm under his. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m just checking on my investment, sir. Nothing more.”

  Michael felt Beth tremble against him. She griped his arm tightly.

  “The agreement for the repayment was a month, sir. Threatening me at my place of work will not make that happen any faster,” Beth said, her voice shaky.

  Anger and a strong urge of protection welled up and over inside Michael. “See here, sir. I’ll not have you threatening this lady.”

  “This ain’t none of your business, sir.”

  “I’m the Marquis of Langston and I’m making it my business.”

  The man sneered. “Don’t make no matter. She’ll pay or else.”

  Beth squeezed his arm to get his attention. “Leave it, my lord.”

  “Be gone now. You have no more business here.” Michael said.

  The man took the hint and left them with a glare at Beth. Michael stood there beside her for a few minutes to allow her to collect herself. “Care to tell me what that was about?”

  “Not if I do not have to, my lord.”

  “Enough with the toadying. Call me Langston or Michael.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. “We’ve been friends for so long, there’s no need for formality, Beth.”

  “You are a marquis and I work in the theatre. There is every reason for formality, sir.”