by Shayla Black
Clearly, he had honed his ruthless edge to razor sharpness in the last five years. Resisting the urge to rail at him, she thrust her chin forward with icy calm. “You planned this.”
“How? It is your misfortune your late husband liked drinking and gaming beyond his means. I had no hand in that.”
“Except to buy up his debt. It’s very much like you to take advantage of my misfortune.”
His expression never changed. “A smart man takes advantage of every opportunity.”
And Maddie knew well he saw opportunity everywhere, even under the skirts of an untried girl. The blackguard had nearly ruined her life when he had taken her innocence, along with her father's money, and left. She would not become his opportunity again.
“Stop these games. What do you truly want? I doubt you paid my creditors a staggering eight thousand pounds for my hand because you harbor any feeling for me.”
He shrugged evasively. “Believe what you like.”
She never knew what to believe where Brock was concerned. Not five years ago, not now. She had believed in him once, in his brilliant mind, in his determination, to her detriment. The fact the passionately driven boy who had labored in her father’s stables had beaten the odds and became a shrewd man of means only made him more frightening now.
“Blast you, what is it you truly seek from me?”
A thin smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he approached her again with measured steps. Rooted in place by anxiety, she watched him pace a circle around her, his fingers brushing an aging side table next to her. She shivered.
Brock had a scheme in mind, and he only tortured her by withholding it now for his perverse pleasure, no doubt.
Suddenly, he stopped before her and met her stare. In his eyes, she saw scalding desire and a frightening determination to possess her. Maddie couldn’t breathe.
“We were compatible lovers, sweet girl.”
She couldn’t hold her gasp in. “Do not call me that!”
Her memory bombarded her with images of their spring together, the first time he’d nibbled her tingling neck and whispered that endearment. An ache she’d thought long dead flickered inside her.
“You liked that name. And I liked saying it.” His eyes burned. “Years ago, your skin tasted sweet as a pastry. Does it still?”
Maddie gave Brock her back and drew in a trembling breath. He was toying with her, as a cat does a mouse. He wanted her off balance. She must not give him the satisfaction of recalling anything about that night, particularly not the feel of his callused palms sliding across her skin, between her thighs, making her writhe with the sort of pleasure she had never before imagined and never again experienced. Focusing on his betrayal and abandonment would better serve her.
She whirled to face him. “Certainly you do not expect me to believe that you bought up all of my debt and created some elaborate scheme of marriage simply so you could take me to your bed again.”
He raised a dark brow. “Why not?”
“That is hardly logical.”
“I am a wealthy man now. I can afford to be illogical, if I choose.”
Maddie saw his hand coming, knew he intended to touch her. She couldn’t move. Brock caressed her face with his fingers. Fire screamed across her skin. She flinched at the contact, but he did not let her go, damn him. Instead, he cupped his fingers around her neck and brushed his thumb across her cheek.
Her heart beat like an anvil, kicking the wall of her chest as he traced a torturously slow line down her jaw. Sensation burst through her. They played a dangerous game. She could not afford to be his toy.
Jerking away, Maddie sneered, “If it’s a companion you seek, crawl back to the gutter and buy yourself a two-pence whore.”
He looked unruffled by her insult. “Tsk, tsk, Maddie. That no longer suits me. I accept only the finest; I accept it on my terms. Now—” he brushed her collarbone with his fingertips— “I choose you.”
She willed her racing heart to slow. But it was impossible with Brock’s commanding gaze squarely on her, sliding down her body. Her stomach clenched. After all the hurt he had heaped upon her, she should never respond to him as a woman again.
But Brock gripped her wrist in his hot palm, then slid his thumb over the pulse point, a slow journey that wound to the center of her tingling palm and back. Maddie gasped as she felt the hot, needy clenching of her womb. With her heart beat quickening beneath his touch, he smiled.
Maddie pulled on her wrist, only to find herself locked in his steely grip. “Release me.”
Brock held her a long moment—to prove that he could—before he let go. “Once we’re wed, Maddie, I will never release you.”
“I do not believe you’re willing to bind yourself to me for the rest of your life to—well, simply for...”
“Sex?” His low voice rang with mischief. “It will be interesting to see if you still blush when I undress you.”
“Stop dallying and tell me what the hell you want.”
“My, my, my. What shocking language, Lady Wolcott. What would the ladies of the ton think?”
Maddie pursed her lips, refusing to reply.
Turning away, he paced past an armchair and gazed into the empty hearth, his expression contemplative. “Money has afforded me almost everything I’ve ever wanted, except entry into society. I count some of the wealthiest lords in England as my clients. I’ve helped them regain their fortunes with well-placed financial advice. They come to my office willing to pay staggering fees for my guidance and connections to lucrative investments. Some have even begged. Those same men ignore me when they see me on the street. I rival their fortunes, sometimes exceed them, yet they will not recognize me.”
That hardly surprised Maddie. Brock, a self-educated man born to the serving class, had little hope of that. The ton fraternized only with those who possessed the proper bloodlines.
“They never will.”
“Wrong. They will invite me into their homes, to their balls. I’ll make certain of it.”
“You cannot force people to like you,” she pointed out.
“I hardly care if they do.” A wicked grin curved his mouth. He relished the challenge.
Did he see her as a challenge, as well?
“Let them loathe me, in fact. But if they want my help, they must accept me in their midst. The right social connections will enhance my business. But to gain entrée, I need you. After all, with a well-born wife, like an earl’s daughter, the ton could not ignore me quite so easily. The doors of my clients—and their friends—would open for me.”
The realization that Brock’s plan might indeed work zapped Maddie’s last hope that he had been trifling with her for the mere sport.
No! She would not sacrifice herself for his ambition. Nor could she conceive of placing her body legally in his possession. Instinct told her he was not the same boy who had taken her in a sweet but hurried loving once upon a time. Gossip painted him as feral, ruthless to his enemies. He would treat her no differently. Though she had endured much during her marriage to Colin, Brock frightened her more. He was more calculating—and dangerous for it.
Maddie could not let him use her again or coerce her back into matrimonial hell.
“So you seek to buy a well-born wife,” she said with contempt, refusing to show fear. “Tongues will wag about our reasons for wedding.”
He scoffed. “Let them. That will not change the fact that we’re married.”
“I will not marry you.”
In a handful of strides, he was across the room, his hot green stare drilling into her. “Are you certain? Think very carefully.”
She swallowed. Fleet was a terrible place, infested with vermin and lice. She would be made to exist on one tiny bowl of flour-based slop each day. She would never see the sun.
Maddie pushed aside her fear, praying he merely sought to scare her. “No.”
“You have more than yourself to consider.” He sent her a thoughtful stare. “What of your d
aughter?”
Maddie felt her face drain of blood. A buzzing roared in her head as blackness crowded her vision. Dear God, when had he learned of Aimee? How? And what exactly did he know?
“And though your late husband was stupid, I doubt he ever intended a debtor’s fate for his only child.”
Oh, God. Aimee would go to prison with her or be transported to a workhouse where children were forced to labor under cruel conditions—sometimes to death. But wedding Brock would hardly ensure Aimee’s welfare either. Certainly a man merciless enough to seduce an innocent young woman for financial gain would think nothing of destroying a little girl’s life.
Hate pounded fiercely inside her. “Of course not. I love my daughter.”
A fleeting smile softened his features. “I never doubted you would be a wonderful mother. I will require your answer within a week.”
#
The clock hanging in the hall chimed midnight when Brock returned home. Dismissing the butler, he jerked off his gloves before slapping them down on a convenient hall table.
He stalked into his study to find his father waiting there. Jack had never been one to keep his opinions to himself. Brock supposed it was too much to hope the man would leave him in peace after tonight’s debacle with Maddie.
“Well?” his father prompted. “What happened?”
Sighing, Brock sank into his chair, wondering when this day would end. “I think it’s safe to say that she hates me.”
Jack’s disapproval of the plan had never been more apparent than in the scowl he now wore. “What did you expect?”
Good question. Deep down, Brock supposed he’d hoped she would be pleased to see him, perhaps beg his forgiveness for marrying another so soon after pledging her love to him. Something other than staring at him like a pile of refuse she wished to God she’d never shared her innocence with.
Lowering his aching head into his hand, he gave a bitter grunt. “She resisted the idea of wedded bliss.”
“You’ve backed her into a corner.”
“She said I abandoned her. What was I to do, stand around like a lovesick swain while she gloated over her marriage to a viscount? Damn it, I left everyone and everything I knew to come to London and make a fortune for her. I nearly broke my back to be worthy of that woman.”
And her sudden marriage to Viscount Wolcott mere weeks after his departure from Ashdown Manor proved she felt none of the aching love he’d felt in return. Five years ago, she had clearly seen him as a servant to be trifled with, an unworthy admirer who’d foolishly fallen in love. Trusting and naïve, he had believed that a young lady of quality who gave a man her body had also given her heart. Perhaps he should have guessed that her father would tell her about their agreement. But that wasn’t why she’d married another. Maddie had known that he must go to London and earn his fortune. They had discussed that fact. She had to have known that her father’s money had given him a much-needed start. But she hadn’t wished to wait for her stable boy. No, she had married a viscount.
Brock cursed. What a fool he’d been.
Today, Maddie was simply business—with a little revenge mixed in for pleasure. That’s exactly how he intended to treat her.
Jack sighed. “Did you correct her misconception?”
“Why should I? It would only make me look more the fool.”
“You can’t make Lady Wolcott love you, son.”
Stiffly, Brock rose. “You mistake the matter. I have no interest in her love. Whatever I once felt for Maddie is long dead. But she owes me.”
“Does she?” Jack raised a graying brow.
“Stop trying to convince me that she was young and indecisive, or easily swayed by her father. She amused herself with me, likely plotting to marry Colin Sedgewick all the while. Tonight, she even insisted I again repay the thousand pounds her father loaned me!”
Jack chuckled.
Brock frowned at his father. “You would find that funny, you wretch.”
“The girl always had spirit.”
She wasn’t a girl anymore.
Reluctant desire washed over him. Part of him had hoped that Maddie had lost the bloom of her beauty. Instead, she’d improved with age. At two and twenty, she no longer held a hint of girlishness. From the soft curve of her breasts and the ripe swell of her hips, to the determination in those amazing gray eyes, she was a stunning woman. He’d almost hated her for arousing him in the first ten seconds.
“So old earl told Lady Madeline about the money,” his father mused.
“So much for our secret gentlemen’s agreement.”
“I suspect he never considered you much of a gentleman,” Jack said. “I told you accepting the money was a mistake.”
“I had no choice. I took it as a loan, and it gave me my start on to my future.” The future he had ached to share with Maddie until she had married a titled arse.
“I’ll wager old Avesbury had convinced his daughter that you took the money in exchange for abandoning her.”
Brock frowned. “She believes exactly that. But I couldn’t take care of her penniless. She knew that. With that money, I could have returned to marry Maddie within months, not years. Instead, she leg-shackled herself to Sedgewick.”
“So what now?”
Brock shrugged. “I gave her a week to decide her fate.”
The money she owed wasn’t important. Nearly seven thousand pounds was more than cheeseparings and candle ends, but he could afford it. For her deception, however, she owed him her status.
“No doubt she appreciates her options,” Jack said wryly.
Maddie had appreciated nothing about his visit. Since leaving, Brock had been unable to stop thinking about her bravado. Still, he couldn’t miss her fear-filled eyes. Damn it, he’d never actually throw her and her daughter in Fleet. If she knew him at all, she should know that. He was ruthless, yes. But a monster? Never. Still, he hoped like hell Maddie didn’t call his bluff.
“Piss off,” Brock shot back glumly.
Jack laughed and refilled his brandy. “Oh, before I forget, Mr. Stephenson popped in while you were out.”
Brock rubbed his hands together, relishing the topic of business. It engendered no anger or guilt or other misplaced sentiment. “Did my fine engineer have good news?”
“Indeed. He said he has extended the frames of the engine rearward and added a trailing axle behind a much larger firebox. He said you would be well pleased because rail travel will be safer and smoother. Cargo haul will be much faster.”
Brock smiled in triumph at the realization he would beat his competition, the shrewd Lord Belwick, in every way. “Smashing. Stephenson is a brilliant engineer.”
“Because you pay him to be.” Jack chuckled. “So, have you given more thought to whom you’ll approach about investing in the railroad, now that you have this wonderful engine?”
The proposed T & S Railroad was his life these days, the passion that would take him from merely wealthy to sinfully rich. Recently, however, it had also become a sticky situation. Besides the fact he’d sunk a sizable chunk of his fortune into this venture, he needed Maddie. More precisely, he needed her land. Hence, another reason for his offer of marriage now.
In researching the idea of a passenger railroad between London and Birmingham, he had mapped out all the necessary parcels, particularly areas that would shut down competing canals and avoid his competitor’s proposed track. To his shock, Maddie owned a parcel in Warwickshire. However, her father had left it to her in retainer, in the event she took another husband. It suited Brock’s purpose well that she couldn’t legally sell it. Because she would be good for his business, his rising social placement, and the railroad, he planned to be her husband.
Marrying her had nothing to do with love. Nothing at all.
Ah, but he would make certain she desired him. He would master her body, have her soft and wet and begging every damn day before he fucked her. Then he’d give her what she wanted, not stopping until they were both sated a
nd exhausted. Perhaps not even then. He liked the idea of addicting her to his touch.
“Brock?” Jack prompted, snapping his fingers. “Investors?”
With a sheepish grimace, Brock nodded. “I’ve decided to pursue Cropthorne.”
Jack’s green eyes, a mirror of his own, nearly popped from their sockets. “The Duke of Cropthorne? Now I know you’ve gone mad. I doubt the man will speak to you.”
Brock quirked a brow, the challenge igniting his fire for the hunt again. “Where is your faith in me? Have I been wrong yet?”
Jack scowled. “You are too cocksure by half.”
“Not without reason. I’ve researched this thoroughly. One of his mines collapsed recently. He was forced to shut them all down.”
“A man of Cropthorne’s means must have other income.”
“Certainly,” Brock conceded. “But he also has a doting aunt, a poor clergyman cousin, and two young sisters to support, all of whom adore everything the finest. I heard their modiste’s bill alone last month was over a thousand pounds.”
Jack nearly choked. “Can women really wear that much clothing?”
Brock shrugged. “The season is about to begin, and appearances must be maintained.”
“What about Lord Belwick? He’s your strongest competitor. Perhaps he’s already approached Cropthorne.”
“Not according to my sources.”
“Even so, what makes you think Cropthorne will hear you? He’s the upper part of the crust, son.”
“He’s roughly my age, so he may be more modern in his thinking about social status than the late duke. He’s also said to have a firm head for business and a mind of his own, but none of his papa’s nasty scandals.”
“Why choose an investor low on his blunt?”
Brock grinned, truly enjoying his work. “For three reasons. First, he doesn’t yet feel the pinch, but if he doesn’t invest well soon, he will. He’s wise enough to know that. Second, he’s well liked among his peers, despite the family scandals. If I gain his approval, he can open many doors for me. Last, he is Maddie’s cousin. Though Lord Avesbury fell out of favor with the late Cropthorne, I have no reason to suspect the current duke would cut her. Nor, as her husband, would he cut me.”
