What the Hart Wants (Headstrong Harts Book 1)

by Emily Royal

  “You’ve discussed me with Miss Hart?” Fraser asked.

  “Naturally,” came the reply. “Did you think I’d place my sister’s wellbeing in the hands of a man about whom I know nothing? Rest assured, Your Grace, had Delilah given me cause to believe you were a scoundrel, our discussion today would have taken place at dawn, not three in the afternoon.”

  Fraser’s cheeks warmed under Hart’s scrutiny as he tightened his grip on Fraser’s hand. Had Miss Hart told her brother what they had done in Scotland? They had returned over a fortnight ago, yet the memory of her cries of ecstasy still dominated his dreams. His manhood twitched at the image of her on the bed, her willing body spread out for him like an offering, and he averted his gaze lest her brother read the wicked thoughts in his mind.

  Then Hart released his hand.

  “I trust there are no hard feelings,” he said. “It’s a business decision. What say you join me at home tonight, and perhaps you can bring along some of that whisky of yours? I may not wish to become an investor, but that doesn’t mean I cannot become a customer.”

  “I’d be delighted.” Fraser’s blood warmed at the prospect of seeing her again.

  “The ladies will be dining out, so we’ll have the house to ourselves,” Hart said. “Just an informal evening with friends. You already know Sir Thomas, of course.”

  Sir Thomas—dear lord! The last man Fraser wanted was to spend an evening engaging in small talk with his rival.

  He caught his breath. Since when had he viewed Sir Thomas as a rival?

  Chapter Twenty

  Well, this was awkward…

  Fraser wrinkled his nose at the sickly-sweet sherry under the watchful gaze of his host and the other guest. Were it not for the early hour, Fraser would have cut through the niceties of polite conversation and asked Hart to open the whisky flask he’d brought and be done with it.

  Judging by the expression on his face, Sir Thomas was just as delighted—or not—to see Fraser. After issuing the slightest of bows, the man had crossed the parlor in his rather affected little walk—almost as if he were relieving himself in his breeches—and took the seat next to Hart as if to affirm his greater relationship with the man.

  Sir Thomas was beginning to reveal himself as something of a shadow of their host, obviously trying to ingratiate Hart by mirroring him in all aspects. Each time Hart crossed and uncrossed his legs, the baronet repeated the gesture. When Sir Thomas scratched his left nostril, almost immediately after Hart had done so, Fraser had to cough to suppress the snort of laughter.

  “Is something the matter?” Sir Thomas asked.

  “Not at all,” Fraser replied. “I’m finding our conversation most insightful. It’s a wonder more business isn’t conducted in private homes rather than in clubs. A man in his home is less likely to conceal the truth.”

  “Are you accusing Hart of being deceitful when conducting business?” Sir Thomas asked, nodding toward their host. But other than casting the baronet a sharp glance, Hart said nothing.

  “No, you misunderstand me,” Fraser laughed. “I’m just saying I’d prefer to discuss business in the comfort of my home, where matters can be discussed less formally.”

  “Is that why you’re wasting all your cash on that mausoleum?” Sir Thomas asked. “So you can conduct your business in it?”

  Hart frowned at Sir Thomas, then he addressed Fraser. “Are the renovations finished?”

  “Almost,” Fraser said. “I should be able to move in next week. It’ll be a relief to save on the rent on my lodgings, and it strikes me as efficient use of resources to live and conduct my business in the same building.”

  “But not a good marriage prospect,” Sir Thomas said.

  “How so?” Fraser asked.

  “No future wife would relish her home being taken over by offices and clerks,” he said. “Ladies value their privacy and should be kept away from matters of business. What say you, Hart? You wouldn’t want your sister—any of your sisters—to live in such an environment?”

  Could the man be any more transparent?

  Hart said nothing, but Sir Thomas rattled on.

  “You have an extraordinary approach to business,” he said. “A businessman must follow established procedures to succeed. Hart, would you not agree?”

  “Perhaps,” Hart said. “But I’d argue that undue restriction stunts innovation.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “I think,” Fraser said, “our host is saying that in order to evolve, a man must challenge the laws he’s expected to adhere to.”

  Sir Thomas shook his head. “The world would disagree with you.”

  “That doesn’t mean it can’t be done,” Fraser said. “Consider Edward Jenner, the perfect example of a case where challenging the boundaries of expectation has greatly improved the world.”

  Confusion clouded Sir Thomas’s expression, but Hart nodded in agreement. “He was a fellow countryman of yours, was he not?”

  “Aye,” Fraser said. “I followed his work with interest and read his obituary in the papers earlier this year. He was derided by the clergy for being ungodly because he tested his vaccine on a child. Yet, that test has saved more lives than any of us could ever hope to do.”

  “I’ve never heard of the man,” Sir Thomas said. “Was he a friend of yours?”

  “He studied at St. Andrews some ten years before me,” Fraser said, “but I’d argue that he’s a friend to every man, woman, and child, who has been prevented from catching smallpox.”

  “Quite so,” Hart said.

  Sir Thomas glanced at Hart, then nodded vigorously. “Oh, that Edward Jenner! Of course, yes, exactly so, indeed. A very fine man.”

  The temptation to indulge in a little sport was too great.

  “I see you’re a perceptive man, Sir Thomas,” Fraser said. “I’d be interested to hear your opinion on some of my own initiatives. In particular, with regards to the provision of benefits to employees in addition to their wage.”

  “Such as?”

  “The right to medical care, for one,” Fraser said, “and an annuity for life when they’re no longer capable of working.”

  Sir Thomas hesitated and glanced at their host. “I’d be interested to hear what Hart has to say.”

  “Naturally,” Fraser replied, “but I’m sure we’d both like to hear what you have to say first. Mr. Pelham was telling me in Whites only last week that you’d told him how invaluable you were to Hart and that he viewed you as a great proficient.”

  Hart raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  Sir Thomas colored. “Present company excepted, Hart, but Pelham’s a typical example of a commoner trying to impress a duke. He must have exaggerated for your benefit, Molineux.”

  Hart leaned back, seemingly unaffected by Sir Thomas’s insult about commoners. Fraser doubted whether Hart or Pelham, for that matter, could ever be accused of exaggeration.

  Or sycophancy. Sir Thomas had revealed an aversion to the working man. Why, then, had he befriended Hart and followed the man around like a gundog?

  There must be only one reason. Delilah—and, more to the point, her not insubstantial dowry. Sir Thomas’s love of cash, of which Hart had plenty, surpassed his dislike of the lower classes.

  Before Fraser could respond, a footman entered, brandishing a silver salver bearing a single card. He approached Hart, who picked up the card and read it.

  “Forgive me, gentleman, I must take my leave,” he said. “Supper must wait. Please excuse me, it’s a matter of urgency.” Hart’s expression changed to one of satisfaction, and for a moment, Fraser caught a flash of cold triumph in his eyes. Most likely, a business rival was about to be crushed.

  He rose from his seat, issued a bow, then exited the room, the footman in his wake.

  Sir Thomas gestured toward the decanter. “Another sherry?” he asked. “I could ring the bell for someone to serve us.”

  “No, thank you,” Fraser said. “Now our host has left, I
should go.”

  “Quite so.”

  Fraser rose and stretched out his hand. Sir Thomas took it, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  “I wish you every success in your business ventures, Sir Thomas,” Fraser said, “unless, of course, we emerge as business rivals.”

  “If we find ourselves in pursuit of the same assets, I believe I’ll emerge the victor,” Sir Thomas said.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Sir Thomas tightened his grip, pulled Fraser close, and lowered his voice.

  “You must think me a fool,” he said.

  “Of course not.”

  “Perhaps you believe your barbaric Scottish ways are more likely to secure the spoils.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Fraser said.

  “Yes, you do.” Sir Thomas’s face twisted into a scowl. “Shall I tell you what I think?”

  “If you must,” Fraser said.

  “You should leave her alone.”

  “Who?”

  Sir Thomas let out a huff. “Don’t be a fool!” he said. “Leave Miss Hart alone and stop pestering her.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was pestering anybody,” Fraser said. “Miss Hart knows her own mind. If she found my company abhorrent, I’d be the first to know.”

  “She doesn’t always know what’s best for her,” Sir Thomas said. “Women are easily persuaded, which is why you were able to spirit her away to some godforsaken wilderness with none to protect her.”

  “She had a chaperone all the time she was in Scotland,” Fraser said. “Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

  “Then why did she return so downhearted?” Sir Thomas asked. “What did you do to her when you had her in your clutches?”

  Fraser laughed. “I believe she rather enjoyed being in my—as you put it—clutches, very much. At least it sounded like she did.”

  Sir Thomas’s face turned red. “Why, you damned bloody savage!” he cried. “You come here with your uncouth ways and fanciful ideas. Mark my words, you’ll sing a different tune when the mob turns on you. As for Miss Hart, she’s mine, and if you’ve defiled her, I’ll bloody well…”

  “Stop!” a female voice shrieked.

  Both men turned.

  Lilah stood in the doorway, hands fisted at her sides, her face flushed.

  “How dare you discuss me!” she cried.

  How much had she overheard?

  “Miss Hart,” Fraser said, “Forgive me, but…”

  She silenced him by raising her hand. “I was speaking to Sir Thomas. Did I hear aright, sir, that you believe me incapable of knowing my own mind?”

  “Delilah…” Sir Thomas protested, but she interrupted him.

  “How dare you address me with such familiarity!” she cried. “Please leave.”

  “Delilah, please listen to reason. I have your best interests at heart.” He gestured toward Fraser. “This man is a savage whose intentions are dishonorable. He has no claim over you, whereas I…”

  “That’s enough!” she said. “If you won’t be told, I’ll summon the servants and have you thrown out.”

  “I think you should honor the lady’s request,” Fraser said, “unless you wish to see my savagery unleashed.”

  “But I’m Mr. Hart’s guest,” Sir Thomas said, “and he’s my particular friend.”

  “And do you know what else he is?” Fraser asked, raising his hands.

  “What?”

  Fraser smiled. “Not here.”

  Sir Thomas stepped back. “You can go to the devil,” he said, then he addressed Miss Hart.

  “Dearest, Delilah,” he said. “I care about you. I…”

  “You only care about yourself,” she interrupted. “Just go, Tommie Tiptoes.”

  His face darkened into a scowl, then he issued a bow and left. Shortly after, Fraser heard the front doors open and close.

  “I thought he’d never go. Miss Hart, I’m sorry you had to hear what I said to him. I meant no disrespect.”

  She bit her lip and looked away. Had her visit to Scotland made her so unhappy? He thought she’d enjoyed herself. Ma had liked her very much, and she’d seen impressed by the distillery. And her lessons…

  Her distress was so thick, he could almost taste it. And another sensation, an unwelcome one, threatened to engulf him. The urge to ease her pain. Not just today but forever.

  The raw, base lust he’d first harbored for her had been refined, distilled, then left to mature inside his heart until it revealed the truth.

  He loved her.

  He loved her passion for life, her advocacy for the downtrodden. But most of all, he loved how she was made for him. She responded to the call of the wilderness in his Highland home as if she belonged there. She was his Highland queen, the one woman who could fulfill him.

  The urge to claim her completely had besieged him ever since he’d returned to London. And he could deny it no more.

  A tear spilled onto her cheek, and he brushed it aside.

  “Where’s my terrier?”

  A ghost of a smile played on her lips.

  “That’s better, lass.”

  “Forgive me,” she said, “and forgive Sir Thomas. He spoke out of turn.”

  She gestured toward the door and gave him a watery smile. “Forgive me, I must be going. Dorothea and I have a dinner engagement, but stay if you wish, until Dexter returns.”

  “No, I must go,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Her smile disappeared, and he reached for her hand.

  “Miss Hart, did Sir Thomas speak the truth? Did your visit to my home make you unhappy?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “It was as I expected.”

  “My own expectations have undergone a transformation since we returned,” he said.

  “How so?”

  He shook his head. “Now’s not the time to discuss it.”

  “Then, when?” Her lips lifted into a smile. “You owe me one more lesson, I believe.”

  “And what will I get in return?” he asked. “Will you show me the poems you wrote while you were in the Highlands?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “Did you show them to that fool?”

  “Sir Thomas?” She shook her head. “No. They’re a little too—personal. Besides, he has little understanding of beauty.”

  “I’m sure he’s remarked on your beauty many times.”

  She let out a laugh. “Shame on you, sir, if you think to flatter me. True beauty is far superior to mere aesthetics. If I were faced with such superficiality in a suitor, I’d douse his ardor with a bucketful of ice down his breeches.”

  “There’s my wee terrier.”

  She gave him a smile which, this time, reached her eyes, and his insides tightened with longing.

  “I’m afraid there’s no time to show my poems to you now,” she said.

  “Perhaps you could call on me at my lodgings.”

  “At Clayton House?”

  He shook his head. “The refurbishments are not complete. I’m lodging in Curzon Street, so as not to be disturbed by the work. Are you able to visit on Saturday? I can send my carriage to collect you at four.”

  “I can walk.”

  “I know you can, lass, but I ask you to indulge me.”

  “Very well.”

  He drew her to him, and she tipped her face up. He lowered his lips to hers and flicked his tongue out, tracing the seam of her mouth. Willingly, she parted her lips, and he slipped his tongue inside.

  The sensations sent a firebolt through him, and he hardened in his breeches.

  “Delilah!” a female voice called in the distance, and she pulled free, her mouth swollen from his kiss.

  She called out. “Coming, Thea!”

  “I should go,” he said.

  “Until Saturday.”

  Saturday. That gave him four days to prepare for the day his life was going to change.

  The day he declared his love for Delilah Hart, an
d offered her his heart and his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The carriage drew to a halt in Curzon Street. Lilah stepped out and looked around, but there was nobody about to recognize her. Though she might declare she cared nothing for propriety, she did care about her family’s reputation. She owed it to her brother to behave appropriately by not gallivanting around London unchaperoned.

  Thea was too old for marriage, and Daisy was a forbidden topic in the Hart household. So Dexter’s hopes were pinned on Lilah to marry a title.

  Sir Thomas might only be a baronet, but he was the only unmarried, titled man to have shown any inclination toward wanting Dexter as a brother-in-law.

  But Lilah found herself wanting another.

  She ascended the steps to the townhouse, and the door swung inward to reveal a liveried footman.

  “The master awaits you in the drawing room.”

  He led her inside into a large room overlooking the street. Fraser stood by the window, his back to her. The light of the setting sun caught in his hair, giving it a warm glow.

  “Miss Hart, Your Grace,” the footman said.

  “Very good, Stevenson. Now leave us.”

  He turned, and her heart fluttered.

  A soft smile curved on his mouth as if he understood her body’s desires.

  “Miss Hart.”

  His voice, a low growl, resonated through her, and she moved toward him.

  “Your Grace.”

  “I think we can dispense with the formalities, lass.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”

  Large fingers curled around her wrist, and he pulled her close.

  “I believe you have something to yield to me today,” he whispered.

  “Do I?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

  “Aye, lass,” he said, “something which you have entrusted to my eyes only. Something intimate.”

  His tongue curled over the final word as if savoring the taste of it, and she blushed at the memory of intimacies they’d already shared.

  His smile broadened, and he shook his head.

  “I mustn’t tease you,” he said, “though I find myself enjoying the effect.”

  “Must you be so cruel to one who’s in your power?”