Meanwhile, however, he had a trip to set in motion. He wouldn’t have to do any of the planning, of course; that was what his staff, including his secretary, was for. But he had to be present, to ensure that the servants planning the trip knew he was observing things so would be unhappy if the plans were not perfect.
So why was he so frustrated?
Because the moment he’d thought of it he hadn’t been able to step outside into his carriage and head to his destination. That delay in order to guarantee a flawless journey had never bothered him before, but now? When he was anticipating the chance to be with her, alone?
Now that irked him, nearly as much as stupid people did. Which he was finding, to his annoyance, were most of the people on his staff.
Because how could they not know he wished to be on his way now, if not sooner? That he had things, terribly important things, on his mind that required that he—and she—leave the house?
Even she was irking him because she insisted on making the proper preparations, not just dashing off with him, hopefully leaving most of her clothing behind.
Not that that was practical, of course. And he did have to grudgingly admire her ability to plan while also maintaining his correspondence, her daughter’s frequent whining that she wasn’t going, too, and Hawkins double-checking every minute detail of what would be needed.
“Hadlow.” It was clear, from her tone, that this was not the first time she’d spoken his name.
He glared at her from across the desk. The thought crossed his mind that if he were hoping to embark on more than a few kisses with her, perhaps he should be pleasant, but then he realized that she already knew what he was like, and she wouldn’t be fooled. What’s more, perhaps she wouldn’t like the pleasant him. Because she would know it wasn’t the truth about him, and she’d know why he had changed, and she’d mistrust him.
He didn’t blame her. So he resolved to be just as unpleasant and abrupt as he normally was, not that he really knew how to act any differently. And it felt oddly right and comfortable to make that choice when he knew full well he could choose to do something else. It was as though he wanted to really be himself, as opposed to just being irritated, around her. And he had noticed, surprisingly, that he had the ability to be polite when he wanted to. He had just never wanted to before. It was all due to her.
“What do you want, Cheltam?” He waved his hand at the massive amount of papers currently lying haphazardly on his desk. “Isn’t it enough that you have brought a lumberyard’s worth of paper into the house? Do you need my advice for what to do with it?” He gave a long, sweeping look at the surface of his desk. “I’d say burn it.”
She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath, but she looked amused more than annoyed. Not that he was relieved, of course, that she hadn’t taken offense at his words; he was just grateful he wouldn’t have to deal with a prickly secretary, especially on the verge of embarking on this type of journey.
“If you recall, those are not my papers.” She leaned forward and squinted at the pile, then plucked one sheet from the stack. “This one is. I apologize that it had the temerity to get in your way.”
And then she looked at him, one eyebrow raised as though daring him to say something to get her back up even more.
He wanted to. His throat itched with it, the urge to snap at her, knowing that she could handle it, unlike all the other people he usually resisted the urge to snap at. But more than that, he discovered to his surprise, he wanted her to actually like being with him, not just swept away with the skill of his kissing or whatever made her so unbend when they were alone together.
So he laughed, an odd sound coming from him, he knew himself. He rarely laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done more than emit a mild chuckle.
But this—this was a full laugh, a laughter born not only out of what she had said to him, but what he was anticipating doing, and soon, and his general enjoyment of her company.
And after a moment, she joined in, leaning back in her chair, letting her head fall back, her mouth open, her eyes closed.
He had never seen anything quite so joyous and delicious in his entire life.
Dear God, when were they leaving on the journey, anyway?
Hadlow had been as grumpy as Edwina had ever seen him today. Since that night, the second kiss night, she’d felt as though they were altering their treatment of each other—not just in that way, although that way was quite pleasant—but in their burgeoning . . . was it friendship? She’d heard him laugh, which she didn’t think she had heard before, and he seemed to welcome her teasing.
But not today.
“I said I do not require more than two footmen,” he said in a growl.
Thankfully he was speaking to Hawkins, not her, but that just meant she felt sympathetic, and yet could do or say nothing; she knew the duke would not welcome her interference, and Hawkins himself would be horrified.
“But Your Grace, what if one of the footmen becomes ill?”
Edwina straightened in her chair, lowering her gaze down to the top of the desk by instinct. She didn’t know if the duke was capable of shouting Hawkins out of the door with just his voice, but she didn’t want to be borne away as well because she hadn’t taken precautions.
He truly was an imperious man, wasn’t he? But that was just he, she knew enough by now.
“If one of the men becomes ill,” the duke said slowly, drawing out each word through gritted teeth, “then we will make do with one healthy footman and one who perhaps needs to rest. We are taking two coaches, are we not?” he said, turning to Edwina.
She nodded and consulted her notebook. “One for you to travel in, and the other for the luggage and me.”
“You may go, Hawkins,” he said after a moment. Hawkins bowed and left, not without shooting a concerned glance at Edwina.
She wished she could tell him she, at least, wasn’t afraid of the duke, even when he was as irascible as this. She had to admit she found it rather amusing, although she knew well enough not to smile or laugh or anything. But to see him being so—so autocratic and petulant, just like Gertrude when she wanted something terribly badly—well, it made her want to grin. Knowing that he might be a duke, and wealthy beyond all measure, and handsome and commanding as well, but he was still a human, with human emotions, and some of his emotions were less admirable than others—she had to say she found it almost endearing.
That she would never share with him.
“You’ll be traveling in the carriage with me,” he said in a low tone.
Now she did feel something, but it wasn’t fear; it was a frisson of interest, of excitement.
“And why would I do that?” she replied. Who knew she would like poking the bear—in this case, the bearish duke—as much as she did?
“Because we can work while we travel.” He’d stood as he spoke, and he began to make his way over to her side of the desk, a distinct gleam in his eye.
Uh-oh.
“But it isn’t entirely respectable for us to share a carriage. Alone,” she said, swallowing as she thought about it, although she wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable any of that would be in a carriage, not to mention what if a horse threw a shoe or that suddenly ill footman got suddenly ill, and they had to disembark all of a sudden, only she wasn’t precisely gowned properly, and he was even grumpier because he’d been interrupted in the middle, and everyone would know, and—
“It is entirely respectable.” He walked closer so he was looming over her chair. “You are my secretary, I am your employer, and I require that you stay in my presence so that when I need you to take notes I need not stop the carriage and transfer you just to listen to me.”
Put that way, it sounded entirely reaso—No, no it didn’t, but it did sound like him.
“Perhaps you might have some thoughts on that part of the engine,” she said, lowering her gaze to the floor and holding her breath.
“What part is that, Cheltam?” He was still stan
ding over her; she could see his shoes right there, closely followed by his legs, and then all those other parts of him.
She lifted her head quickly and stared him in the face. “The eccentric crank,” she said in a soft voice, her lips curving into a smile as she spoke.
And then she froze as she saw how his expression flattened, how his eyes narrowed and he suddenly looked almost . . . mean. But in an odd way—or maybe not so odd, since she knew precisely why she felt that way—it made her breathe a little faster, and her whole body feel as though it was shooting fireworks or something equally dramatic, even though she knew perfectly well she was still just sitting in her chair, looking up at him.
“You are saying I am an eccentric crank, then, Cheltam?” he said in a misleadingly soft voice.
His tone made her shiver. In a good way.
The knock at the door came just as she was wondering just how she could prolong this delicious torture of both of them, of their words sparking in the air like two swords in a duel.
The duke nearly snarled. “Enter,” he said, then strode to stand in front of his bookcase, his back to the door.
Abrupt as usual. And yet she couldn’t blame him for his reaction; she rather felt like snarling herself.
Hawkins opened the door and glanced at the duke’s back, then looked at Edwina. “Mrs. Cheltam, there is someone here to see you.”
She saw the duke twist around, as though to ask who dared to visit his employee, but didn’t say anything.
“If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, dipping the briefest of curtseys, just enough not to horrify Hawkins, and walked out of the room.
“I’ve put the gentleman into the second salon, Mrs. Cheltam.” Hawkins cleared his throat. “He said his name was Mr. Cheltam, he is not—” and he let the words hang in the air, as though saying “your husband” was something he couldn’t possibly commit to saying.
“No, Mr. Hawkins, he is not.” Thankfully. “I believe it is my brother-in-law; we encountered him the other day when the duke went to the exhibit.”
What was he doing here, though? It wasn’t as though there was any pretense of closeness between them. She didn’t think she’d ever have to see him again, not until she’d run into him.
She knew she didn’t like him, and that the feeling was mutual. He had belittled her work on George’s financial affairs, and then had been even more belligerent toward her when it was apparent his efforts were not producing the same results as hers had.
She had to say, she much preferred the duke’s method of dealing with a female. Or a male, for that matter. He simply didn’t care, he didn’t judge anyone in advance based on their gender. He seemed to consider people idiots until they proved themselves otherwise, but he didn’t discriminate—anybody could be an idiot in his eyes, neither more nor less.
It was egalitarian if also incredibly arrogant and condescending.
So it was with some trepidation she stepped inside the room after Hawkins opened the door for her.
He stood when she entered, an expression she was unaccustomed to on his face. Of course—it was nearly friendly. She didn’t think she’d ever really seen him smile before, at least not directed her way. It was disconcerting, and made her even more anxious about why he was here. It couldn’t be about Gertrude, could it?
“Good afternoon, Edwina,” he said.
“Good afternoon.” She didn’t sit; she didn’t want him to convince himself this was a social call. It wasn’t as though this was her house, anyway.
“Yes, well, it was a pleasure to see you the other day. I know George would want me to make certain you were doing well, and it seems”—and at this he spread his arms out to indicate the room—“that you are.”
She decided not to remind him they were in the duke’s home, not hers. That she did not have a home, not after he’d mismanaged all of George’s money so she was forced to vacate her home.
If she were the duke, she would remind him of all those things. But then again, if she were the duke, she’d have wealth and houses to spare, so she wouldn’t have had to endure marriage at all.
Perhaps that was why he wasn’t married yet? Although why she was concerning herself with that question when her unpleasant brother-in-law was standing right in front of her was also concerning. Two concerns heaped on top of each other.
“Gertrude and I are doing well, yes.” She hoped that would satisfy whatever odd impulse he’d had in paying a visit in the first place.
“Yes, I am glad of that, and that is—you see, Edwina, I have an opportunity,” he began, and her chest began to tighten, hoping his words weren’t leading where she clearly knew they were, “and if it were known that the Duke of Hadlow was an investor, and thought highly of the project, it would be a marvelous boost for the endeavor.”
It would, wouldn’t it? Too bad she had no intention of furthering any of Robert’s schemes.
“I wish you every success with it, Robert,” she said, and she saw his face tighten, his smile diminish, as he appeared to anticipate what she was about to say—but really, why would he possibly think she’d agree anyway, given their history?—he was more of an idiot than she had thought, “but the duke is my employer, and it would not be appropriate for me to suggest he invest in your venture.”
“You never could see a good thing when it was right in front of your face,” he said, his tone low and vindictive.
Keep yourself calm, Edwina, she told herself. It would be altogether satisfying to tell him just what she thought of him, and how his brother had left her, and what she thought of him sniffing around now, but it wouldn’t serve anything.
And—“see a good thing”? Could he possibly be referring to his brother, her late husband? Or, more likely, the work he’d done to ruin their finances. The rage surged inside her, and she wished she could just be honest. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps the duke was correct about being honest—it would definitely produce immediate results, in this case at least.
But she couldn’t afford to. She wasn’t a duke, she wasn’t a man, and he wouldn’t listen anyway. “Thank you for visiting.” She walked to one of the small tables, the one holding the bell. She picked it up with trembling hands and rang it.
The door opened a few moments later, only it wasn’t Hawkins.
Now she really felt anxious.
The duke glanced from her face to Robert’s, his keen gaze no doubt taking in every detail—her likely pale face, that she was standing, that Robert looked angry, that her hands were twisting together.
He closed the door and walked in, standing just in front and to the side of Edwina, as though to shield her. It made her feel comforted, even though the only thing Robert could threaten her with was removing Gertrude from her care, and she knew he couldn’t be bothered to do that, no matter how many schemes he had.
“We met the other day.” It wasn’t a question. And it was delivered in a sharp, flat tone that made Robert visibly squirm.
Was it wrong that that made Edwina secretly pleased? Probably. But she didn’t care, not when it meant that finally, finally Robert was being made to feel as inadequate as he’d tried to make her feel. But not succeeded. It was typical that only a man could accomplish that, since Robert wouldn’t have paid attention to a woman.
“Yes, Your Grace, we did,” Robert said, a slight stammer to his words. “And,” he continued, and Edwina wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and beg him not to continue because she might dislike her brother-in-law, but she didn’t want to see him verbally demolished, as she knew he would be, “I was telling Edwina, my poor brother’s widow, about an opportunity I’ve been entrusted with finding investors for, and I understand you are a savvy businessman with an eye for a good chance to make money.”
She wanted to wince even more when she heard his sycophantic words and tone.
“And what is this investment?” the duke replied.
He spoke in a mild tone of voice, which only made Edwina grow even more anxious. Alt
hough what would be the worst that happened? The duke would verbally flatten Robert, Robert would continue to dislike her, and he would go away, knowing she had the duke’s support.
Sometimes it took facing your worst fears to recognize that they weren’t so bad after all. Now she almost looked forward to the verbal flattening.
“If I may, Your Grace,” Robert said, and he drew forward a satchel that had been strapped onto his back, presumably, since she hadn’t seen it before. He rustled in the bag for a few moments, the silence growing increasingly deafening, until he withdrew a sheaf of papers and waved them in triumph.
Was her life to now be defined in pieces of paper?
“If you could take a look,” he began, thrusting the papers toward the duke, who just looked down his nose at them.
“I think not. You can summarize, certainly,” he said in his most supercilious tone.
That is, she suspected it might be his most supercilious. Although he might have even more within his ducal repertoire.
She never wanted to experience the entirety of his ducal repertoire.
“Well, there are opportunities in the Far East, places where they grow tea leaves, but they are not as dear as they are in China. These countries don’t know what they have, and you can hire workers to pick the tea for pennies a day, and then export it here, and sell the tea at higher prices since it comes from more exotic places than does our usual tea.”
Even to Edwina the scheme sounded ridiculous. Now she was definitely looking forward to hearing the duke’s demolishment of it.
“So you and your fellow investors believe that English tea drinkers will want to drink tea from places other than China? And that they will pay more for the privilege?”
“Precisely,” Robert replied, beaming at the duke with approval.
“No.”
“Pardon?” Robert blinked at the duke, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d said. Edwina could join him, having expected some sort of blistering set-down, not a simple word.
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