Henry pondered that for a moment. “Aren’t Florian and Juliette helping you with funds?”
“Well yes. Florian has donated an impressive sum, and Juliette’s charity events have, as you probably know, become incredibly popular, what with all the imaginative prizes she continues to auction off. But it isn’t sustainable and it won’t be enough for what I have in mind. Besides, I don’t want to always rely on donations or for me to have to ask Florian for help when required.”
“I know he’s happy to offer. The hospital means a great deal to him.”
“Yes, but it’s time for St. Agatha’s to become self-sufficient.” She expelled a weary breath. “And depending on how things turn out with Robert, I believe having an extra supply of money at the ready will be wise. I won’t ask Florian or anyone else to pay back the sum of my inheritance.”
She was proud and unwilling to be a burden to others. Henry admired her for that—for choosing the harder path instead of falling on her friends’ good graces. “That’s only if you lose, which I doubt you will with Mr. Steadford by your side.”
“I hope you’re right.” Her voice wavered.
Henry strolled toward her until they were only a foot apart. “Then let us plan a party.” Her breath quivered upon her lips as she exhaled, and he couldn’t stop from taking her hand in his to offer reassurance. “I have a wonderful social network. If you agree, I will be happy to send out additional invitations on your behalf if you give me a list of the people you’ve already invited.”
“But there’s so little time left. I cannot possibly ask you to take on such an enormous task.”
He let her hand go. “Of course you can. We are friends, are we not? And friends help each other.” He grinned to ease the tightness inside his chest. “Besides, it is my duty to look after my brother’s best interests while he is away.”
Her face lit with tremendous appreciation and for a second, he believed she might throw herself into his arms to convey her gratitude. Please do. He held his breath and the moment passed. She turned away and went to the door, opening it wide.
Pausing there, she glanced back at him. “Thank you for all your help, Mr. Lowell. Returning to Society after all this time is really rather nerve-wracking.”
“You needn’t—”
“I know what people think of me.” She raised her chin a notch. A gesture he’d come to recognize as a valiant effort to hide any lack of confidence. “It is not so different from what Robert believes, and having to face that is not something I look forward to.”
“Then don’t.” He could think of no other way in which to help but to offer her a way out. “Let Gabriella and Amelia do the hosting if you don’t want to.”
She dropped her gaze for a moment before meeting his once again. “No. This is my project. Mine and Florian’s.” Her eyes shone with determination. “Without him here, I must put in an appearance. It means a lot, knowing you’ll be there to support me.”
A flare of heat darted through Henry’s body. His skin tightened around his muscles. “I care for you a great deal, Viola. You should know that by now.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her lips slightly parted on that final word, and for some bizarre reason he sensed that she was agreeing to something else entirely—like the need to surrender to their mutual attraction.
But before he could analyze her response further, she spun away and disappeared into the hallway beyond, leaving him to wonder how much longer it was going to take before Viola Cartwright would finally be his.
Viola’s heart pounded hard against her chest as she fled the room. There was really no other way to describe the haste with which she hurried back downstairs and frantically searched for her foreman. She needed to look busy—too busy to keep on talking with a man whose shoulders and back would be forever imprinted in the tips of her fingers.
Breathing heavily, she leaned against a doorway to steady herself. He tempted her in ways that were making her lose her mind.
“Your Grace,” her foreman said, startling her so much she flinched. Good heavens, what was happening to her? “We’re doing well with the schedule.” He came a bit closer. “The artists should be done in another couple of days and then we’ll just need one more day to clean up.”
“That’s wonderful news. Thank you!” He grinned and returned to his work, allowing Viola to take a moment for herself. She closed her eyes and inhaled the strong scent of plaster, paint and wood shavings.
“You look exhausted,” Mr. Lowell said, his voice creeping over her skin and doing delicious things to her insides.
Opening her eyes, she saw he was closer than she had expected. A smile pulled at his lips. “In a good way,” she admitted.
He leaned toward her, and for the first time in five years, she felt no aversion to the idea of being kissed. In fact, she believed it might be rather pleasant, if Mr. Lowell were the one to kiss her, that was.
Warning bells started sounding in her head, and she instantly straightened herself and moved past him. “I should get back to the hospital.”
“Then inviting you for dinner is not an option?” he asked, catching up with her in a few easy strides.
She glanced up at him and drew to a halt in the foyer. “I’m afraid not, but thank you for asking.”
Looking past her, he seemed to consider the traffic out in the street, visible through the open door. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to the grand opening on Friday instead?” He looked at her with warmth in his eyes, and her breath caught.
“As much as I’d like to accept, I worry it might give people the wrong impression.”
He nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. “You worry they’ll think we’re involved.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to make the best impression possible.” Oh dear. That came out horribly wrong. “You know my own reputation concerns me. I have to put my best foot forward on Friday in order to encourage people to purchase a membership. If they think you and I—”
“It has always bothered me, how much we care about the opinion of strangers.” He breathed a heavy sigh. “I understand your reasoning, Viola, as sorry as I am that it can’t be different.”
Unable to speak, she gave a nod of thanks accompanied by a small smile. If only he was the reprobate he made himself out to be so turning him down wouldn’t be so horribly hard. Instead, he was quite possibly the nicest man she’d ever met, and as she said good-bye and walked away, it occurred to her that she’d been wrong about everything right from the start. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good enough for her, but rather that he was perfect in every way. If she could only overcome her own fears in order to give him the chance he deserved.
Chapter 14
Deciding to send his carriage ahead without him, Henry started walking back to his house. Moving was vital right now, the need for exercise overwhelming. Damn, but he wished he’d been wiser in his youth. But he’d thought himself smart, and the future had always been something he’d worry about later. Well, later was here now, and because of the rumors he’d deliberately created and spread, he’d wrecked his chance of forming an attachment to the most incredible woman he’d ever met.
Bloody hell!
Increasing his pace, he listened to the click of his heels against the pavement while reflecting on the day he and Viola had spent together. He’d enjoyed her company immensely and missed her now that she was no longer with him. Aware of her reluctance to form an attachment, he’d known he might be pushing his luck by suggesting she join him for dinner, but he’d been reluctant for their time together to end.
As he ought to have expected, she’d refused the invitation, along with his offer to escort her on Friday. Clenching his fists, he expelled an agitated breath. He’d ruined his own reputation in an effort to push women away only to find that the one he actually wanted did not want him in return.
A humorless smile pulled at his lips. Not true. She did want him. He could see it in her stormy eyes whenever she looked his way, but the
re was a struggle going on inside her—a tug of wills that held her back. Perhaps if he could acquire just an ounce of respectability, this would change?
He hoped so, but doing so took time. Changing Society’s opinion of a person from bad to good was not as easy as changing it from good to bad. For now he resolved to continue as he had by being Viola’s friend, listening to her, helping her and letting her come to him.
So he set his course for The Red Rose. There was work to be done there. The advertisements he meant to place in the Mayfair Chronicle next week would not design themselves. But his intention to be productive was briefly disrupted when he arrived and saw Yates coming toward him in the foyer.
“Where have you been?” Grinning, Yates gave him a quick once-over. “I’m guessing that’s either confectioner’s sugar from the bakery down the street or dust from only God knows where.”
“It’s from Viola Cartwright’s new place of business.” Henry stepped aside to let a few guests pass. “She needed a bit of help arranging a few things.”
“I bet she did,” Yates said with a smile too wide for his face.
Henry frowned. “It’s not like that. There was a lamp.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Muttering an oath, Henry brushed past his friend and continued toward his office. When he sensed Yates was following him, he added, “She’s a respectable woman. There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Is that because she knows you’re a scoundrel?”
“I believe so,” Henry said with resignation. He led Yates into his office and poured them each a drink. He handed one to his friend.
“You could reform, you know,” Yates suggested, and took a sip of his brandy.
“I don’t really need to, truth is.”
“What do you mean?”
Henry went to sit behind his desk. He waited for Yates to claim one of the chairs opposite before saying. “I’m not really a rake.”
Yates snorted. “You know I’ve never judged you for your affairs. You’re good company and an excellent friend. How you choose to divert yourself is your business.”
“But it’s all lies.” Christ, if it was this hard convincing his friend of the truth, Society would never believe him. “A deception I crafted to keep the debutantes away.”
Yates went utterly still. He raised an eyebrow and slowly leaned forward. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”
“God no!”
Yates looked only marginally apologetic. “It is a logical question considering what you just said.” He took another sip of his drink. “Are you really being serious?”
“Absolutely.” Henry glanced at the amber liquid in his glass. “Problem is, it’s ruining my chances with Viola Cartwright.”
“I knew it!” Shifting his gaze, Yates stared at his friend. “I knew you were interested in her.”
“Very well,” Henry agreed, “you’ve found me out. The problem is I don’t know what to do about it.”
“As a member of St. Agatha’s committee, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know her since the hospital opened.” When Henry scowled, Yates raised one hand in surrender. “As colleagues, Lowell. Nothing more.” He lowered his hand and proceeded to drum his fingers slowly against the armrest. “Her dedication toward the hospital cannot be denied. Are you sure you’re up for competing with that?”
“My hope is to marry her, Yates, so that would be a yes.”
“I see.” Yates seemed to consider. “Then why not let the world know that this is your intention?”
“That I mean to marry Viola Cartwright?” Henry scoffed at the idea. “She values privacy and discretion, Yates. I don’t think she would appreciate me placing her squarely in the gossipmongers’ line of fire.”
“I didn’t mean for you to name your intended, just merely to let it be known that you’re looking to marry, settle down, set up a nursery and so forth.”
Henry frowned. “I’d have every desperate young woman and her mama banging my door down.” Which was why he’d refrained from making a public announcement about his intentions. He’d seen firsthand how all the debutantes had reacted last year when his brother, Florian, had become a duke. But when Uncle George, the Marquess of Riverton, had lain dying, he’d asked the king to elevate him to duke. The request had been granted and since George had no children, he’d been able to add a Special Remainder to the new letters patent, naming Florian his heir.
An ordinary physician one day, capable of walking down the street without anyone taking notice, chased and fawned over the next. Henry shuddered at the very idea of encouraging such attention.
“Looks like you have a choice to make then, Lowell.” Yates tilted his head and allowed a smile to slide into place. “You can either continue guarding your secrets and keep your duchess at arm’s length forever, or you can take the risk of making yourself available for marriage by announcing your new eligible state to the world.”
Yates’s words made Henry contemplate everything that mattered to him long after his friend had gone. He wanted Viola to be his, and in order to do so, he would have to be the man she knew him to be, not just to her, but to everyone else as well. He would have to make it clear that his days as a rake were over.
With this in mind, he finished writing up the advertisement for his club and slipped it into an envelope along with a longer letter to the Mayfair Chronicle’s editors. Handing the missive over to one of his club’s errand boys, Henry departed with a new sense of accomplishment. The days ahead would probably be difficult, but he also knew they’d be worth it if it meant convincing Viola to have him.
Reaching his house, Henry unlocked the door briskly and stepped inside. His manservant, Mr. Andrews, came to greet him. “I require a change of clothes,” Henry told him while peeling off his gloves. Helping Viola decorate had left him feeling a little dusty.
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Andrews took the gloves. “But first, you ought to know that Carlton Guthrie is waiting for you in your parlor.”
“What?” Henry couldn’t hide his surprise or his curiosity. What the hell was the crime lord of St. Giles doing here in his home and what the devil could the man possibly want with him?
Mr. Andrews’s expression grew increasingly apprehensive. “I hope you’ll forgive me for admitting him, sir. I honestly wanted to turn him away but he insisted the matter he wished to discuss with you was of great importance and urgency.”
Henry glanced toward the parlor door. “You did the right thing then.” He turned back to Mr. Andrews. “Did you serve him any refreshments?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Very well then. Please ask one of the maids to bring up some coffee and I’ll go see what my unexpected guest wants.” Henry crossed to the parlor door without another moment’s hesitation. Opening it, he found the flamboyant man that was Carlton Guthrie reclining in an armchair.
He stood as soon as he saw Henry, his purple velvet coattails falling back into place as he did so. At his neck he wore an extravagant cravat from which an amethyst-tipped pin protruded. His vest was silver damask, his trousers cut from black and gray plaid with purple accent lines woven into the pattern. Close by, on an adjacent chair, sat the top hat that matched his jacket.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lowell.” Guthrie applied a firm tone that brooked no nonsense. “I ’ope ye’ll forgive the intrusion.”
Still apprehensive about the purpose of Guthrie’s visit, Henry eyed him carefully. Guthrie’s gaze was steady, his lips a rigid line beneath his curling mustache. If Henry were to wager, he’d bet the man was younger than his choice of clothing and grooming made him appear.
Henry produced a smile. “In truth, I cannot wait to learn why you have come to call.” He gestured toward the chair Guthrie had risen from. “Please, have a seat and enlighten me.”
Guthrie sat and waited for Henry to do the same before saying, “It’s about Tremaine.”
Henry’s interest increased several notches. “What about him?”
“I t
hought ye should know that I asked ’im to call on me about a week ago at me place of business. In St. Giles.”
Taken aback, Henry stared at him for a moment before asking the obvious question. “Why?”
Guthrie’s mustache twitched and his eyes brightened. “Turns out ’e’s lookin’ to settle a business transaction quickly and I figured I might be able to ’elp.”
Henry leaned forward in his seat and met Guthrie’s gaze directly. “What sort of business transaction?”
“The sort that involves a buildin’ he ’opes to acquire—a ’ospital as a matter of fact.”
Henry’s insides clenched and his hand gripped the armrest. “A hospital.”
“Tremaine’s already lookin’ fer a buyer.”
Henry recalled seeing Guthrie in Mayfair a few days earlier. He must have been meeting with Robert after all. “Is that why you went to see him last week at his home? To discuss the logistics?”
“That’s precisely it.”
Henry’s cravat felt too tight all of a sudden, his lungs constricted by his vest and his jacket, even as he struggled to maintain a calm demeanor.
A knock at the door brought a maid into the room. She set the tray she was carrying on the table between Henry and Guthrie, poured two cups of coffee and departed. The door closed with a click. Henry reached for his cup without bothering to add the milk he generally used. He took a sip and set it aside.
If Robert was already looking for buyers, it meant he was confident about the case. Far more than Henry was comfortable with.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Guthrie shrugged. “Because I believe you and I can help each other take Tremaine down.”
The Infamous Duchess Page 17
