“A grave responsibility,” Mr. Harper observed, taking a step closer to her.
“Yes, and one I take most seriously.” Juliet’s stomach fluttered in a most disconcerting manner and her pulse jumped. If he leased the property, they would become neighbors, running into each other at unexpected times and in unexpected places. Eventually, they might also become friends. Juliet swallowed hard. It was a surprisingly appealing idea.
“As guardian to your son, I assume the very last thing you want is to saddle him with a debt-ridden property,” Mr. Harper offered, his expression sympathetic.
Unexpected tears pricked at Juliet’s eyes. The lack of funds had been her greatest frustration, her single biggest worry since becoming a widow. The last thing she wanted Edward to face was the uncertainty of debt, the worries over money that kept a person awake at night and distracted during the day. “I want only the best for him and his brother and sister.”
“And I have the means to assist you in achieving that goal. The manor house needs considerable work, an expense I assume you cannot undertake?” He lifted a brow, then continued, even though she had not answered. “I, therefore, propose purchasing the estate instead of renting it. That will allow me to renovate and redecorate as I wish, and relieve you, and your son, of any future expenses. In the end, it will be a better bargain for both of us.”
It took a few seconds for comprehension to strike, and when it did, Juliet could not bring herself to fault his logic. Highgrove was a splendid property. Once renovated, it would be truly magnificent. Anyone with taste, refinement, and funds would obviously be interested in owning it.
Juliet slowly shook her head. “The estate is not for sale.”
“You haven’t even heard my offer, Mrs. Wentworth,” he chided softly, his voice taking on a silky, seductive edge. A peculiar warmth curled deep within her at the sound. “I’ll pay you three thousand pounds over the appraised value of the estate. Today.”
The bottom dropped out of Juliet’s stomach. It was a fortune. Even taking into account the liens against the property, she would walk away with a tidy sum. Yet by doing so, she would sacrifice Edward’s inheritance. What a bizarre, cruel turn of events!
Mr. Fowler edged to her side, drawing her away from Mr. Harper. Juliet followed him blindly, her mind still spinning. “I know you did not intend to sell, but the price is more than fair,” the land agent said.
“Is it?” Juliet lowered her voice to a whisper. “If I hold out, I could get a higher price. Or additional offers from other potential buyers.”
Mr. Fowler shook his head. “I think we both know that is very unlikely. Men of Mr. Harper’s means do not come here often in search of property.”
“But there might be others,” Juliet insisted.
“There might, in time.” Mr. Fowler agreed, though his voice was skeptical. “A very long time. Can you afford to wait?”
Juliet barely blushed. There was no point in being embarrassed. It was a small community—everyone was well aware of her strained financial circumstances. Heavens, even Mr. Harper knew of the mortgages.
Still, she could not allow the property to be sold without a fight. The only way she could possibly live with the decision was knowing she had struck the best bargain, especially against such a formidable opponent as this brash American.
Jutting out her chin, she walked back to him. “The estate is my older son’s legacy. It has been passed down through my late husband’s family for generations. Regretfully, it is not for sale.”
“Nonsense, Mrs. Wentworth. If I have learned one thing over the years, it is that everything has a price. Please, name yours.”
His forthright manner might have been annoying if not for the charming way he smiled. And while the sight of that toothsome grin made her remember she was a lonely woman far too long without a man in her bed, Juliet was too wise to let that influence her in any way.
There was also a small part of her that wanted to calmly announce that there were some things that simply could not be bought. Alas, circumstances determined those words would never be spoken.
“I fear you will be shocked at hearing my price, Mr. Harper,” Juliet announced, stalling for time.
“Try me.”
Numbers rumbled through her head, figures so outrageously high they made her dizzy. The idea of being debt free was heady stuff, indeed, but it would come at a great cost. Forsaking Edward’s heritage was not a decision to be made lightly or impulsively.
You could always marry me and get use of the house as part of the marriage settlement. That is an even more intriguing way to solve both our problems quite neatly, is it not?
The ridiculous thought popped into Juliet’s head and she smiled softly at the absurd idea of marrying this imposing stranger. Oh, the idea of a second marriage was not an unexplored topic in her mind, but with no eligible prospects in sight, it was a thought that by necessity was always quickly shelved.
The room went quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Juliet felt the keen scrutiny of all three men, noting the bemused expression on Mr. Harper’s face, the wide-eyed gaze of near horror on his secretary, the appalled look of embarrassment in Mr. Fowler’s eyes.
The blood drained from her face. Good Lord, she had not simply thought the words, had she? She had actually spoken them aloud!
Juliet blushed to her hairline, wishing the floor would miraculously open so she could slowly sink down and vanish from sight. First ranting at him, and then making a preposterous statement about marriage. Perhaps living too long on her own was truly starting to affect her good sense.
“I, uhm . . . uhm . . .” Juliet cleared her throat and tried again, but words failed her. Humiliated by her blunder, she tipped her head forward in an attempt to shield her face, then realized she was making a ridiculous situation even worse. Obviously there was nowhere for her to hide.
“The estate is an exceptional property, Mrs. Wentworth,” Mr. Barclay muttered nervously, breaking the silence. “Worth any price to obtain.”
Juliet gave the secretary a weak smile, grateful for his attempt at diffusing this awkward moment. Mustering her courage, she risked a glance at Mr. Harper. He was cool and composed, acting as if a marriage proposal from a total stranger were an everyday occurrence.
“I must commend you on implementing such a creative negotiating tactic, Mrs. Wentworth,” Mr. Harper said, his eyes fixed on hers. “Uttering an absurd, comical statement creates a most effective diversion from the issue at hand. I vow I shall remember it the next time I am mired in a stalemate.”
A charming smile broke over his face, and Juliet found herself answering it with one of her own. “I urge caution, sir, before you imitate me or else you might very well find yourself standing before an altar.”
“With one of my male business partners?”
She raised her hands, palms up, and shrugged. “One never knows to what lengths these fellows will go.”
Her remark brought the desired laugh from all three gentlemen and the tension eased. Yet before Juliet could even catch her breath, Mr. Harper was once again pressing his point.
“Selling me the estate and investing the proceeds will provide a far better legacy to your son than a mortgaged, crumbling manor house,” he said briskly.
The pulse in Juliet’s temple throbbed. He was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to part with it under any circumstances. “While I appreciate your sound financial advice, sir, giving it will not lower the price of the estate.”
Mr. Harper cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her. “That might very well be true, but at least now I’ve got you talking about selling instead of leasing. I count that as great progress.”
“Well, yes, perhaps.” Juliet nearly groaned at her ridiculous response. She sounded like a perfect nitwit, but the offer had emerged so unexpectedly she barely had time to consider it. Except that it presented a resolution to a nagging problem. Should she do it?
“I understand there is also a dowager house on the estate,” Mr. Harper sai
d.
Juliet’s chin snapped up defiantly. Without thinking, she stepped forward, fixing him with an icy, determined stare. “That is where I reside with my children. It is most definitely not for sale! Under any circumstances. Is that understood?”
Their gazes met and held for an instant before he nodded curtly. “Then I shall purchase the estate and leave you the dowager house along with five surrounding acres. Is that agreeable?”
“A fine bargain,” Mr. Fowler interjected enthusiastically. “I can have the papers ready to sign by this evening.”
Juliet’s brow creased. Almost as if sensing her weakening, Mr. Harper softened his expression.
“I will raise the price another two thousand pounds, Mrs. Wentworth, but that is absolutely my final offer. Do we have a deal?” he asked, extending his hand.
The offer was more than generous and they both knew it. The last vestiges of Juliet’s indecision faded. Mr. Harper was right. It would be far better to gift her son with a tidy sum of money rather than a debt-ridden property when he reached his majority. And the funds would not only provide for Edward’s future, but support her and the children now, when their need was greatest.
“The dowager house and ten acres,” she bargained recklessly.
“Done!”
His voice reverberated through her like a shot. Stunned, Juliet blinked down at the carpet. Had she really just agreed to sell the estate? To a Colonial businessman?
She gazed at the wisps of masculine hair on the back of Mr. Harper’s outstretched hand. Hesitating only a moment, she grasped it firmly and shook. “We do indeed have a deal, Mr. Harper.”
Richard smiled and looked down at the woman who held his hand with surprising force, uncertain which of them was more surprised. After learning the estate was part of an inheritance, he thought it was going to be hellishly difficult to strike a bargain, especially with a female. In his experience, they understood little of worldly realities and even less about business.
Yet apparently beneath the pretty face and statuesque figure—which was curved delightfully in exactly the right places—Mrs. Wentworth was a sensible woman. Even if she did say the most outrageous things.
Her initial hostile greeting could be explained, given the circumstances. She’d been unaware of their arrival and had suspected the worst. Richard wondered idly if she carried a weapon upon her person, thankful if she did, it was not a pistol. If she had, he and Barclay would have been in grave peril, for she certainly appeared to be the type who would shoot first and ask questions later.
“I think a toast is in order,” Mr. Fowler proclaimed jovially. “Mr. Harper?”
Richard reluctantly released Mrs. Wentworth’s hand. Odd, it had felt damn good resting in his. “Will you join us, Mrs. Wentworth?”
She smiled. “Why not? I rarely drink in the middle of the day, but given the circumstances, I think it appropriate.”
Mr. Fowler did the honors, refilling the men’s glasses and fetching a fresh one for Mrs. Wentworth. Glasses in hand, they all turned expectantly toward Mrs. Wentworth. She flushed momentarily under the scrutiny, clearly at a loss. Richard opened his mouth to save her further embarrassment, but she quickly rallied, hoisting her glass in salute.
“To Mr. Harper. Congratulations and welcome to the neighborhood. I wish you every happiness in your new home.”
“To Mr. Harper,” the land agent echoed before draining his whiskey glass in one long swallow.
Barclay unwisely attempted to imitate Mr. Fowler. Tossing back his whiskey with a dramatic flair, the secretary’s eyes widened in shock as a fit of deepchested coughing overcame him. Mrs. Wentworth rushed to his side, her face contorted with concern.
“Goodness me,” she proclaimed, thumping the younger man between his shoulder blades. “Are you all right?”
Barclay’s face reddened. Lacking any breath to answer, he nodded his head vigorously, yet his coughing continued unabated.
Damn, he really was going to have to rethink Barclay’s employment, Richard decided. The man was missing the sense to get out of his own way.
“Barclay!” The secretary froze like a deer in a hunter’s sights. Richard slammed his still-full glass on the table. He took one step toward the pair, and then stopped as Mrs. Wentworth turned to him.
“He is fine, just fine. No need to help.”
A twinge of guilt washed over him. Her expression clearly indicated she thought his interference detrimental to Barclay’s recovery. Far worse was realizing she was probably right.
Richard retrieved his whiskey glass and took a sip, wondering idly if Mrs. Wentworth would rush to his side if he began choking.
Hell, where did that come from? Was it something in the country air that gave a person such outrageous thoughts?
Leaving his still coughing secretary to the tender ministrations of Mrs. Wentworth, Richard sought out Mr. Fowler. He rapidly dictated several requisites of the upcoming sale. The land agent agreed readily to all his demands, making Richard realize he had most likely paid too much for the property.
No matter. He could well afford it. Besides, in the end it was Mrs. Wentworth who would profit.
“My sincerest apologizes, sir,” Barclay said as he slunk to Richard’s side. Pale-cheeked and red-eyed, the secretary pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from his leather-bound folder. “What specific clauses do you wish included in the bill of sale?”
Richard sniffed. Barclay might be a young pup lacking any sophistication, but he knew well his employer’s methods. “I have already spoken with Mr. Fowler about several of them, but there are a few more.”
Richard rattled off the items, noting that Mrs. Wentworth was likewise consulting with Mr. Fowler, though neither of them was making any notes.
As she conversed with the land agent, Richard took another long look at his new neighbor and realized his first impression that she was attractive fell far short of the truth. There was not one specific feature that could be deemed exceptional, well, except her fair, creamy complexion. Add to that a wide mouth with full luscious lips a shade of coral pink, high cheekbones, a pert nose, and an exotic tilt of dark, expressive eyes, and the result was captivating.
Oh, yes, she was undeniably appealing.
She looked over at him, and the sparkle in the depths of her deep brown eyes immediately caught his attention. His pulse did an odd jump.
What in the blazes was wrong with him? Was it the thrill of successfully purchasing the estate? Besting a business rival was an event that never failed to give him a rush of euphoria. Or was it something else?
Richard continued to gaze into her eyes, oddly reluctant to turn away. Desire, he decided. An understandable reaction really of a normal, healthy male celibate for far too long. Since moving to England he had worked long hours in an almost exclusively male environment, having almost no social contact with women.
Though he rarely gave a second thought about buying anything he desired, the notion of paying a woman for sexual favors was inherently repugnant to Richard. That left wooing a female into an affair, a near impossibility given his lack of female social interaction.
Richard grimaced. The desire now pooling heavy in his groin made him wonder if it was past time to rethink the idea of an affair. With Mrs. Wentworth?
Richard shifted uncomfortably. He knew women of all classes indulged in the joys of the flesh, but placing Mrs. Wentworth among them seemed wrong. He knew instinctively she was not the sort of woman who obliged a man that way, not the kind with which one dallied. Oh, no, marriage was required to get her into his bed.
Blast and damn! Marry her? From where had that idiotic thought sprung? The lust pounding in his cock, no doubt. And her comical reference to a union between them in order for him to secure the use of the estate. An idea his body had apparently taken far more seriously than his brain.
Because it isn’t such a bad notion?
“I must take my leave of you, Mr. Harper, and return to my office to draw up all the necessary pa
pers.” Mr. Fowler consulted his pocket watch, and then frowned. “The last train to London leaves in an hour. I’m afraid the documents won’t be ready in time for you to take them today.”
“No matter,” Richard replied. “I’ll stay the night. I assume there is an inn in the village where I can rent rooms for myself and Barclay?”
Richard heard his secretary’s sharp intake of breath. No wonder. When Barclay had timidly suggested earlier in the week that it might be wise to plan this journey as an overnight trip, Richard had adamantly refused, citing it as a waste of time.
“We have two inns in the village, as a matter of fact,” Mr. Fowler responded. “Both are clean, wellrun establishments, though I warn you they are not as fancy as those in London.”
“Either sound appropriate for our needs,” Richard replied, wondering how the agent would react if he knew the appalling housing conditions Richard had endured before securing his fortune.
“I believe the Bull and Finch will be better suited to Mr. Harper’s taste,” Mrs. Wentworth volunteered.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Fowler concurred. “In addition to fine food, they boast an excellent wine cellar.”
“The Bull and Finch it will be,” Richard said decisively. “See to the rooms, will you, Barclay? The best in the house, if you please.”
“But, sir, you specifically said that you did not wish to stay overnight in the country, most especially at a country inn,” Barclay said, his voice quavering.
Richard glowered. “Are you trying to spoil my good mood by being contrary?”
Barclay paled, but recovered quickly. Richard nodded his approval. Perhaps there was hope for the lad. Dismissing his employee from his mind, Richard turned to Mrs. Wentworth. She gazed at him with pursed lips and ridiculously he found himself wanting to smile at her.
The usual impatience he often felt to be gone at the conclusion of a business deal was absent. In fact, he had the most absurd impulse to invite her to dinner, a forward gesture that was as inappropriate as it was intriguing.
Tis the Season to Be Sinful Page 3
