by Lynn Kerstan
Peyton came to his feet and began to pace the room, hands clasped behind his back. “I have spent considerable time investigating your background, Lord Caradoc. Twenty years ago you came to London, virtually destitute. After selling off an unentailed house and a few family heirlooms, you hired tutors and secured an education. You used your title to ingratiate yourself with merchants, and with daring investments you parlayed a trifling amount of money into a fortune. You were wealthy by age twenty-eight and are fabulously rich at this moment.”
“So what?” Bryn leaned back and crossed his ankles on the table.
“Not every impoverished fifteen-year-old comes equipped with a centuries-old earldom to exploit, although many are equally intelligent and resourceful. They only need a chance, and I have set myself to provide it. It will be my life’s work, if I can find a partner. Like you, I became rich through my own efforts, but my fortune is a mere tenth of your own. It is not in my nature to start small, Caradoc. To achieve my goal, I require what you have to offer.”
“Got religion all of a sudden?” Bryn inquired coldly.
Max came back to the table and leaned over it, palms planted firmly on the waxed cherry wood. “I want something better for myself than I have found so far. In my youth I was careless, and to this day I’ve no idea how many people I hurt while indulging myself. I killed one man in a duel after he accused me of seducing his wife, which I had. I seduced a great many wives, and ruined any number of young girls. I took callow young men for everything they owned at the gaming tables and spent their money on wine and women. All this, mind you, before I turned three-and-twenty. Then Father exiled me to India, where I realized the uselessness of my former existence.”
“Laudable,” Bryn said in a drawl, although he was secretly impressed. But why was he still in this room, listening to a confession he didn’t care to hear? He looked Peyton in the eye. “For my part, I have seduced no wives nor bedded any woman not already decided on her profession. I’ve not gambled with reckless young men and have yet to drink myself to oblivion. In short, I feel no compulsion to seek redemption for my sins, as you apparently do, by funding a charity.”
Max regarded him levelly. “Did I ever suggest that? You asked about my motives, Caradoc, and I explained them. Your own will be quite different.”
“So far they elude me. What have I to gain from this endeavor?”
“That is for you to decide.” Max pushed the two stacks of papers across the table. “Take these and study them, or leave them here. If you choose to join me in this project, I would ask you to accompany me to Hampshire the day after tomorrow. There are several tracts of land I wish to examine, for the first school. I’ll pay for that transaction, and I intend to supervise the—as you put it—charitable end of the agreement. But until you see for yourself that I am a competent businessman, you will not be satisfied.”
Bryn swung his legs off the table and stood. “For some inexplicable reason, you seem to think I’ll buy into your scheme. Tell me why, or I will walk out of here and not look back.”
With a grin, Max bundled the papers into one neat stack. “To begin with, you are drawn by the challenge of giving me what I want without losing out yourself. Somewhere in this deal there must be a way to preserve your own steady income while funding the schools. You want to find it. Second, for all your disclaimers, you like me and think we will work well together. Third, you are bored with business as is. You’ll enjoy shaking things up and seeing what happens.”
His eyes grew solemn.
“Most of all, my instinct tells me you need this project. Examine the proposal and think it over, but go to your heart for the decision.”
Bryn cast him a wry look. “That is a ridiculous way to do business, Peyton. I don’t aspire to sainthood.”
“Nor do I. In theory, you and I will retain the bulk of our fortunes and earn back our losses over time. Although we take financial risk at the outset, the challenge and the goal should more than satisfy us both. Interested?”
“Marginally.” Bryn gathered up the papers. “Hampshire, you say? How long would we be gone?”
“Two days at most. As a matter of fact, you need not involve yourself with the schools at all, but I thought we could use the time to become better acquainted. And I expect you’ll keep me on a tight leash in early days, until you are convinced I am capable of making decisions on my own.”
“Just so.” Bryn gazed at him for a moment, wondering why he didn’t tell the man no deal and walk away. But when Peyton held out the leather case he took it, put the papers inside, and moved to the door. “I hope you know there is little chance I will even consider this proposal, and none at all that I’ll accept.” He glanced over his shoulder.
Peyton smiled beatifically. “Care to bet on that? Turn me down and I shall hand over what you lost to me at backgammon. In fact, I’ll double it.”
“Two thousand pounds in my pocket if I say no?” Bryn shook his head. “One hell of a businessman you are.”
Laughing, Peyton crossed to the door and opened it with a bow. “You have my card. Send word when you’ve made up your mind. And enclose what you will owe me for losing our wager.”
15
“This is an absolute disgrace!”
Bryn suppressed a laugh as Clare stomped around the damp shed constructed alongside the Townley Gallery to house the Elgin marbles.
“How can the government permit these exquisite artifacts to be mistreated in such a way?” she fumed. “I thought the whole point of taking the marbles out of Greece was to protect them.”
“Not altogether,” he said mildly. “Lord Elgin sold them to the government for thirty-five thousand pounds, after eight years of haggling over the price. I suspect his motives were mixed. Don’t think to draw me into this controversy, my dear. They are here in England and will probably stay, so get used to it. Greece cannot afford to buy them back, and I doubt the government will give them away in the interests of history.”
He took a step back as Clare advanced on him, her hands curled into fists. “If they remain here, they must be properly cared for. Thirty-five thousand pounds indeed. They are priceless!”
He retreated another step. “I agree. But Montague House is already crammed to the rafters. Until funds are voted to construct a new museum—”
A hard finger jabbed him in the chest. “You are the government. Part of it, anyway. Go to the Lords and see that something is done about this travesty. You have influence. Use it!”
He lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I shall make it known that I favor a grand British Museum. But with the war debts, and Prinny squandering a fortune on that monstrosity at Brighton, don’t look for anything to happen right away.”
“You will make sure that it does,” she said with a confident smile. “Come look, Bryn. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
Nothing so beautiful as you, he thought as she towed him from one frieze to the next. They all looked pretty much alike, in his opinion: horses, warriors, assorted goddesses. But he smiled and nodded as she pointed out details he would never have noticed on his own.
They spent another two hours roaming through the collection in the main building. He had visited the museum only once before, royally bored if only because he could not see things as they really were. With his inability to appreciate colors, he had never developed an interest in art or antiquities, preferring books, music, and science. But Clare directed his attention to shape and form, and soon he was captivated by vases, statues, and Roman mosaics.
It was disappointing to emerge from that wonderland into a blinding rainstorm. He had planned to take Clare to Gunter’s for ices and pastry but reluctantly directed the driver to Clouds, wondering if she would invite him to stay. Not for the night, of course. He still intended to wait for the bed to be delivered, and for some sign she was ready to welcome him there. But he did not want the day to end.
“What is this?” she asked as the carriage slogged through water-soak
ed streets.
He glanced where she pointed, to the leather case at her feet. Certain he would reject Max’s proposal, he had tossed it into the coach after their meeting and forgot all about it. “Business papers,” he replied. “I’m supposed to look them over.”
“Then you can do so before dinner. We shall build a fire, and you will work while I finish embroidering some handkerchiefs for Lady Isabella. Her birthday is next week.”
He had forgot. And how did Clare know so much about a woman she had met only once or twice? But Izzy had a way of making friends, and she would naturally like Clare. He immediately resolved to send a lavish birthday gift.
A FEW HOURS later, Bryn leaned back in his chair and stretched broadly, unable to remember when he had spent a more relaxing afternoon. He had stripped to his shirtsleeves and sat at the desk in the salon with Max’s papers spread out in front of him, a glass of sherry within reach. By the fire, Clare stitched away on her handkerchiefs, apparently content with the silence and his company.
I could live like this, he thought. I want to live like this, with her.
What would she think of Peyton’s absurd scheme? He suspected she would approve of the schools, but the only aspect of the proposal that interested him was the challenge. And the opportunity to increase his fortune. It occurred to him that Max had risked a great deal by entrusting him with these plans. There was nothing to stop him from stealing the idea. On his own, he could realign his trading routes and the products he imported and exported, leaving Peyton and his charities out in the cold.
He would not, of course. But he wondered that Max knew it.
No reason had come to mind why he should gamble his secure livelihood for the sake of educating snot-nosed brats. He ran his fingers through his hair. Who said being rich was easy? The demands never ceased. Clare wanted him to use his influence to finance a new museum. Peyton wanted him to construct schools. And he had yet to restore his own estate on the Welsh marches.
As if reading his thoughts, Clare put aside her embroidery and moved to lean over his shoulder. “What business are you in?” she inquired curiously. “You have never told me.”
“Shipping, mostly. But this is a new venture, and I’m not altogether sure what to do. Would you like to hear about it?”
“Yes indeed.” She dragged a chair to the desk and sat by his side, her expression eager.
As he outlined the proposal, he was surprised at the pointed questions she asked from time to time—and embarrassed when she pointed out that at one point he had a ship sailing in two directions at once. When he got to the schools, her eyes lit up.
“But that is wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You must do it, Bryn. How can you even consider saying no?”
“I could lose everything I have if this doesn’t work,” he pointed out.
“It will, with you in charge. And I like Mr. Peyton. He will make you a good partner.”
That declaration was almost enough to make him consign the whole idea to the dustbin. He didn’t want Peyton anywhere near Clare, especially knowing that she admired him.
But he could not bear to disappoint her. If Clare wanted him to build schools, he would build schools.
“I will do it,” he said, “for you.”
She went white. “Oh, no. You must not. Not for me.”
“You think I am trying to buy you again?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “That is probably true, Clare. I could lie and say I’ve suddenly developed a profound interest in the education of paupers, but you know better. What I do want is to please you, and you will not be further obligated to me if I decide to accept this proposal. We have already agreed that you are free to walk away after the first night we spend together.”
“But you are making it so difficult,” she murmured. “Weaving an intricate net, like a spider.”
“That is not my intention.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps it is. There is nothing I would not do to make you want to stay. But if I take up this project, I will honor my commitment even if you leave me. Does that help?”
“Not very much. I’d rather you do it because of all the good that will come to so many people.”
His throat tightened. “I am not that generous, Clare.”
With a smile, she stood and began to gather up the papers. “Whatever you decide, it has nothing to do with us. Mrs. Beales is preparing roast lamb for dinner. Will you stay?”
Did a wolf howl at the moon? He felt like a schoolboy promised a treat. And probably for that reason, he found himself describing his boyhood adventures as they enjoyed a leisurely meal.
EVERYONE AT Heydon Manor dreaded summer holidays when Robert Lacey came home from Eton and joined forces with Bryn to wreak havoc. Isabella was their usual victim, and with great pleasure he recounted the most outrageous practical jokes perpetrated against her.
Although Clare laughed, it occurred to him that she must secretly disapprove. “I daresay you think me the worst kind of bully, and that I’ve not changed a great deal in the last twenty-five years.”
“Dear me, no. Most boys that age are dedicated to making mischief, although some never outgrow it.” She chuckled. “Don’t be offended, Bryn. I was not referring to you. Not altogether.”
He regarded her balefully. “In my defense, I assure you that Izzy was far from a helpless dupe. She got her own back, and then some. At times her revenge was ferocious.”
“Like when you were swimming in the lake and she made off with your—”
Bryn dropped his fork. “Hell and damnation! She told you about that?”
Her cheeks white as paper, Clare bowed her head. “I didn’t mean to—it just slipped out. Oh, dear.”
“Gossipy females,” he muttered in a sulky voice. “No man is safe.”
Her chin shot up. “As if you had not just finished blabbing tales at Lady Isabella’s expense.”
He lifted a hand. “Guilty as charged. I yield unconditionally, with humble apologies. Will you throw me out now, or shall we have tea by the fire?”
“Tea,” she decided, after giving it enough thought to unsettle him.
Attila, stretched on the hearth, bared his fangs and hissed when Bryn came into the parlor. Clare swept the kitten into her arms and whispered something into his flattened black ears.
From across the room, Bryn watched her closely. She stood straight as a lance, and although her back was turned, he saw the familiar tension return to her body. When she lifted her head to the ceiling, only for a moment, he knew what she was thinking.
Clare assumed he would take her to bed tonight. And while she had apparently resolved to endure his lovemaking, her apprehension heated the air and burned in his throat.
“I cannot stay long, princess,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow a business matter will take me out of London, probably for two or three days. Get rid of the cat, if you will, so we can say goodbye in private. And without fear of attack.”
Her relief was palpable. He swallowed the pain of it as she shooed Attila into the hall and closed the door. When she turned around, a bright smile wreathed her lips.
“He is generally sweet-natured. I cannot imagine why he dislikes you so.”
“I expect he senses your own feelings,” he said after a slight pause. “He wants to protect you from me.”
She regarded him in silence for a moment and then shook her head. “Foolish cat. When he comes to know you better he will change his mind. As I have done.”
“Have you, Clare? Truly?”
“Truly,” she said without hesitation, sweeping across the room into his open arms. “If I seem to be afraid, it is not of you. Never of you.”
“Then what? It is not so terrible, even the first time, making love. Sometimes there is no pain at all, or so I am told. Rarely is there pleasure, for a virgin, but I will do everything in my power to make it easy for you.”
“I know that,” she assured him. “Please, Bryn, take no mind of my private worries. They have nothing to do with our arrangement. If you want t
o stay here tonight—”
“I do.” He took a deep breath. “I have wanted you from the first time I saw you on the doorstep at Florette’s. Every minute I have spent with you since, and every hour I have been alone thinking about you, has only made me want you more. But not tonight, butterfly. You aren’t ready. When you are, we will both know it. For now, will you kiss me?”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, tilting her head.
He felt her respond with real desire as their lips met, and then their tongues. So close, he thought, drawing her onto the sofa and lying over her, stroking her breasts as they held each other and kissed for a long time.
So close, but not yet.
After a while, breathing heavily, he pulled himself away. “Sleep well, butterfly. I’ll be back on Thursday. Save the day for me.” And the night, he wanted to add, gazing into her beautiful eyes, imagining he saw hunger for him blazing under their smoky camouflage.
She leaned forward and brushed the hair from his forehead. “I shall miss you while you are gone.”
BRYN WENT IN search of Max Peyton and found him in a quiet room at White’s, reading a newspaper. “I owe you a thousand pounds,” he said.
Peyton came to his feet, regarding him for a moment in silence, his expression unreadable. Then he held out his hand.
Bryn took a step back. “I don’t have the money with me. Only just made up my mind and took a chance on finding you here.”
“I meant,” Peyton said with a laugh, “to shake hands on our agreement.”
Embarrassed, Bryn obliged. “Don’t ask me why I’m doing this,” he warned. “I am not sure myself, and more than likely it’s because I have taken leave of my senses.”
“All the best things are done on instinct. Will you ride with me to Hampshire tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t do anything in the morning. Make it noon, and we’ll take my carriage.”
They agreed on plans for the journey and decided to toast their new partnership with a bottle of cognac. But as they stepped into the hall, Robert Lacey met them with a harried expression on his face.
