by Alexa Aston
They returned to the library, which they had visited earlier, and Mia took a seat. She tried to keep a bland expression on her face as the men talked numbers. It horrified her how expensive the house would be, even after Hudson named his final offer, but he didn’t seem to flinch as they shook hands on the deal.
“Have your man draw up the papers. I’d like to sign them tomorrow,” he told Lord Bromwell.
The solicitors consulted their calendars and named three o’clock tomorrow afternoon as the time to come together and finalize the sale.
She walked out with Hudson and Mr. Davidson, who said, “You are a ruthless negotiator, Mr. St. Clair. Remind me if I have need of a large purchase to bring you in to speak for me.”
They laughed and Hudson said, “I signed the agreement this morning regarding your inventions, Mia. That they are to remain your property and under your control and you have exclusive rights to sell them as you wish. Would you have time to accompany Mr. Davidson to his office now and sign yourself?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“Good.” He drew her aside. “I have some business to attend to. I may be out rather late. Don’t wait up for me.”
“All right,” she said, wondering what kind of business would keep him out past bedtime.
“I do expect to find you in bed, though,” he said, a glint in his eye. “I’ll try not to wake you. Unless I do,” he added huskily.
They parted, with her riding in the carriage driven by George with Mr. Davidson accompanying her.
“Your husband drives a hard bargain, Mrs. St. Clair. I don’t know of many men who could have secured such a price for that size of a house, much less one in fashionable Mayfair.”
Mia suppressed a giggle, thinking of how skilled a negotiator her husband was in bed.
“He is a very astute businessman,” she said.
They arrived at Davidson’s offices and she accompanied him inside. His secretary fetched the documents and Mia signed where the solicitor indicated. He kept one copy and she retained the other two, one for herself and one for Hudson.
“It was incredibly generous of Mr. St. Clair to allow you to retain the rights to your machines and allow you to sell them without him receiving any of the proceeds,” Davidson noted.
“He is very fair,” she agreed. “He’s told me he is wealthy enough that he doesn’t need anything from me.”
“Only marriage,” Mr. Davidson quipped.
The way the solicitor said it gave her pause. “You do realize I didn’t bring a dowry into the marriage.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. And Mr. St. Clair certainly had made his own fortune before he met you. Thanks to the terms of his grandmother’s will, though, he added to that substantially.”
“I know she bequeathed Meadowbrook to him. We spent our honeymoon there.”
“The dowager duchess left him the estate and a considerable amount of income. It’s a good thing you wed when you did,” he chuckled. “Time had almost run out.”
A chill swept through her. “How much time was left?” she asked lightly.
“Mr. St. Clair had sixty days from the time the will was read.” The solicitor thought a moment. “I believe that was the beginning of March when that occurred. You wed in mid-April, so he still had a couple of weeks to fulfill the requirements.”
She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. “It’s a good thing we did so he could claim his inheritance.” She placed the contracts inside her reticule, fighting a wave of nausea. “I must be going.”
“Thank you for returning with me,” he said. “I’ll see you out.”
“No need, Mr. Davidson. Thank you.”
Mia moved through the offices and out the door, the cold of spring sweeping through her though the day was mild.
“Home, Mrs. St. Clair?” George asked as he opened the carriage door.
“Yes.”
She climbed inside and sat, an emptiness filling her.
She thought Hudson had come around the warehouse so often because he was interested in her. Attracted to her. That he wanted to know more about her. She’d believed he’d cared for her—when all she’d been was a means to an end. None of the girls making their come-outs would have given him the time of day.
Except for the biggest wallflower of the Season.
Had he deliberately danced with her that first night, knowing it would ruin her chances of making a match with another gentleman? Had he swept in then, rescuing her from the vicious rumors swirling about her?
He’d never uttered a word about love. She hadn’t minded—until now.
No wonder he’d been so generous, allowing her to keep the rights to her inventions. He’d gained a fortune and an estate by marrying her before his deadline passed. He could afford to be charitable. An ache deep within her began. It spread, eating away at her.
Mia loved a man who didn’t love her. One who had used her to gain what was most important to him. All the trust she’d had in him flew out the window. She’d been a pawn in a scheme she hadn’t been party to.
He’d given her freedom by marrying her. It was now time to give him freedom to do as he pleased. She would take her earnings and live off them. She didn’t need someone so dishonest in her life, cozying up to her, pretending to like her, telling her what she wanted to hear. Mia felt like a cheap whore, one who had serviced a man and given him what he wanted.
When they arrived home, she knew what she had to do. Staying here was no longer an option. She asked George to wait because she had some things he would need to move to the carriage and deliver elsewhere. With that, Mia went upstairs to pack her belongings, the dream of a life with the man she loved crushed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hudson pushed aside happy thoughts of living with Mia in their new London home as he concentrated on destroying Lord Morrison for her. He’d spent time at two banks before he’d met her to tour the Bromwell townhouse and after he departed, he made several more stops. These were in unsavory places, the gaming hells that Morrison frequented. Hudson bought up every marker with Morrison’s name upon it. He also planned to purchase two companies in which Morrison had invested heavily. He would see the prices driven down so that the viscount would never realize a profit. Then he would call in the gaming markers and watch the man crumble. Morrison had stripped Mia of everything but the clothes on her back. Hudson planned to return the favor.
He still hadn’t decided how to handle the demise of the Pleasure Palace. The thought of children being used in such a way sickened him. He would need to find a place for each child—if they let him. Many of them wouldn’t trust a stranger and more than likely would return to the streets. If he could save a few, though, it would be worth it. He wondered if Laurel’s orphanage could provide a home for these children.
By the time he’d finished his rounds, it was almost ten that evening. Though he longed to go home and hold his beautiful wife in his arms, he waited to see if Morrison would show up. He’d learned that no ball was scheduled for tonight, only card parties and routs and one musicale. At ten-thirty, he saw Morrison emerge from a hackney cab and enter Rigby’s. Hudson waited a few minutes and then followed the viscount inside.
He still didn’t understand the appeal the hells had. The gentlemen who played in them had money for the most part. Hudson supposed some came for the thrill of fortunes being won or lost on the turn of a card or the toss of the dice. Others would seek pleasure upstairs if whores were available. At least Luke had schooled him well and Hudson was familiar with these places.
He spied Morrison at a card table and made his way there, slipping into an empty seat opposite the viscount. Only one other player sat at the table, an earl Hudson knew who enjoyed gambling and drinking. He already looked deep into his cups.
“Viscount Morrison,” Hudson said, nodding his head.
“St. Clair,” Morrison said begrudgingly.
“What’s wrong? Afraid to be seen with a bastard who’s now a relative by marriage?
” he taunted.
“Exactly. You should go back to whatever hole you crawled from and take that cousin of mine with you.”
“You mean your brilliant, beautiful cousin?”
The dealer said, “I need to get a new deck, gentlemen. I’ll return shortly.”
The earl snorted and rested his head on the playing table. Snoring sounded immediately.
“If you call those ridiculous machines of hers brilliant, you are a fool.”
“I believe you are the fool for having burned Mia’s machines,” he retorted.
“Oh, you heard about that?” Morrison shrugged. “They were taking up space. Lady Morrison and I have grand plans for Morris Park. Getting rid of that junk was the first step.”
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“Don’t go quoting English proverbs at me, St. Clair. It’s tiresome.”
“The St. Clairs have purchased one of Mia’s steam engines. We will use it in a railway in which we are developing.”
“What?”
Hudson enjoyed the astonishment on the man’s face.
“You heard me. Mia has developed numerous machines. Her inventions will put her in the history books. Mark my words, Morrison. Her devices are in our warehouse now, along with countless notebooks containing her ideas. I have provided her the resources to develop her devices. She will become wealthy in her own right—while you will wallow in the mire of your excessive debt.”
The viscount winced. “What do you know of my debt?”
Hudson flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “A great deal, actually. You are looking at the man who owns all of your gambling markers.”
Morrison shot to his feet. “What?” he shouted.
Play ceased at the various tables as people became interested in their conversation.
“You heard me,” Hudson said, his voice low, causing bystanders to turn back to their play. “I have purchased your markers and will call them in. Soon. Be prepared.”
“How . . . why . . .” Morrison sputtered.
“How is relatively easy. I paid for them when you couldn’t. Why is a better question.” He calmly studied his enemy. “You stripped Mia of everything she had. I plan to do the same to you.”
Morrison slid back into his chair, panic on his face. “You can’t do that, St. Clair.”
His gaze was steady as he looked at the man who’d been so cruel to Mia. “I can. I will. You won’t know the time or place when I’ll call them in.”
“I have other investments,” the viscount said stubbornly.
Hudson named the two companies, causing the viscount to visibly blanch. “Those companies do not seem healthy to me. I fear you’re going to quickly lose whatever money you—or Lady Morrison—sank into them.”
The dealer returned and opened the new deck, shuffling it. He apologized for the delay in the Vingt-et-un game.
“Are you going to play, Morrison?” Hudson asked. “Will you let me witness you slide further into debt?”
The viscount tugged on his cravat. “I’m feeling especially lucky tonight.” He glanced at the dealer. “Go ahead.”
The dealer shook the sleeping earl but could not wake him.
“We can play without him,” Hudson said.
Hudson and Morrison received their cards and placed their bets. He looked at what he and the dealer had and then asked for an additional card. Morrison asked for one card. Then another. Sweat beaded on his brow. The dealer called and the men turned over their cards. Hudson had nineteen. Morrison had twenty-three, the dealer seventeen. They continued for several rounds, Morrison digging deeper into debt as the earl awakened and joined in the game.
Then the viscount wagered an outrageous amount on a single hand. If he won, he would recoup all his losses for the night. By now, numerous players had quit their own games of faro and hazard and strolled to watch Morrison crash—or rise from the ashes as a phoenix.
With a flourish, the viscount turned his cards over. His hand beat Hudson’s and the sleepy earl’s, as well as two other players who had joined in during the past hour. Anticipation hung in the air as the crowd waited to see what the house held. When the dealer revealed his final card, a loud gasp filled the room. No one moved. No one spoke.
Finally, the losing viscount stood shakily. “I’m tired of this game.”
“You’re finished, Lord Morrison,” Hudson said. “You don’t know where or when I will come for you. But know this—I will be coming.”
He watched the viscount leave before collecting his own winnings. He gave the dealer a generous tip and left the gaming hell, returning to his carriage. It had been a long day and he was ready for it to be over. He might not even need to purchase the two companies Morrison was involved in. After tonight’s losses, Hudson doubted the viscount could recover, especially with no income coming in from Morris Park and all the work being done there.
When he reached home, he stopped for a brandy before going upstairs. It was late and he knew he shouldn’t wake Mia. He would, though. He couldn’t seem to get enough of his wife. He thought about her constantly when they weren’t together. Everything he did, he did with her in mind. Pleasing her—both in and out of bed—seemed to be his only goal in life. He enjoyed their conversations immensely. She was his equal in intelligence, if not his superior, with her vast knowledge of science and mathematics. His wife was also fast becoming his equal in bed. Their nightly experiments had become the center of his world.
Mia had become the center of his world.
As Hudson mounted the stairs, he stopped. No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Yet he knew his mind had finally caught up to the truth held in his heart.
He had fallen in love with her.
He could only think of his present and imagine his future if she were in it. She made him laugh. She challenged him. She understood him. Hudson wanted to be a better man for her and because of her.
Should he tell her he loved her?
They had gone into this marriage with the thought it would be one of convenience, one void of passion and the usual marital expectations in the bedroom. That had quickly changed and he was glad for it every minute of each day. But love? If he said the words to her—if he told her he loved her—it would change their lives forever.
Hudson realized it didn’t matter. Mia had changed him. Telling her he loved her was the most natural thing in the world because it was true. He wanted no hidden words between them. No lies by omission. Then guilt filled him. He had almost told her of Cor’s will in the carriage that day as they traveled to Meadowbrook for their honeymoon. Something had stopped him, though. They were newlyweds and he feared knowing the terms of Cor’s will might hurt Mia. He realized he should have told her before now.
With resolve, he continued to their bedchamber. He would awaken her and tell her of the will. And that he loved her. He would spend all night showing her how much he did, with his body and his words.
He entered the dark chamber, untying his cravat and dragging it from his neck. He undressed quickly and slid underneath the bedclothes, reaching for Mia.
She wasn’t there.
Hudson sat up, puzzled. He had told her he would be late. Had she waited up for him downstairs and fallen asleep? Or decided to sleep elsewhere?
He rose and fumbled until he found a candle and lit it. He held it up, not seeing her asleep in the chair nearby. He searched the house and found no trace of her. The blood rushed loudly in his ears as panic set in. He raced back upstairs and flung open the wardrobe. Her clothes were gone.
Mia was gone.
*
Hudson hadn’t slept. He’d been up all night, trying to figure out what would have made Mia leave without a word. He’d discovered a copy of the signed contract, remembering he’d sent her to Davidson’s office. It struck him like a punch to his gut.
Davidson—or someone in the solicitor’s office—had revealed to Mia the terms of his grandmother’s will.
She must have be
en crushed learning something so harsh. He didn’t know how he would make it up to her but he was determined to do so.
He knew she wouldn’t have gone to any of his family. While all the female St. Clairs would have rallied around her, Mia wouldn’t have wanted them to take sides against him, their blood relative. He doubted she would have turned to her aunt and uncle. Trentham would have taken her in without an ill word but her aunt might have held the marriage against her, reminding her niece how she’d thought it had been a mistake to marry so far beneath her.
Wherever she was now, Hudson knew where she would turn up.
The warehouse.
He paced the house as a caged tiger, waiting until dawn. Mia usually left for the warehouse at seven since she’d adopted his habit of rising early. Going to the stables, he began saddling his horse.
“Good morning, Mr. St. Clair. You’re up especially early today,” said George. “Will Mrs. St. Clair be leaving earlier for work than usual?”
The former valet took in Hudson’s disheveled appearance but didn’t remark upon it.
“No,” he said curtly. “You won’t be needed today, George.”
“Have you had a spat? Is it because she’s so messy and you’re very neat?”
Hudson thought of how he constantly went around picking up things after Mia and straightening items. Tears stung his eyes.
“No, George,” he confessed. “It’s much worse. I didn’t tell her something I should have before we wed. Now, it’s caught up to me. She’s . . . gone.”
“I see.” The servant hesitated and then said, “Whatever it is, Mr. St. Clair, you can work it out. You’ve been the best thing that’s happened to Mrs. St. Clair. Ever. I know. I watched her grow up. She needs you, sir, and from the looks of it, you need her, too.”
“I love her,” he said simply.
“Then go fight for her,” George told him. “You know where she’ll be.”
Hudson nodded and finished saddling his horse. He led it from the stables and mounted it, riding quickly through the city as it began waking to a new day.