And on it had went. Until Carlisle had put down his fork with a sigh.
“You two are squabbling worse than the boys. For God’s sake, Wickham, you’re a negotiator, aren’t you?” The viscount had sounded exasperated. “Find a compromise with the lady before you give us all indigestion.”
Which had led to the present plan. Beatrice, Violet, and Carlisle had accompanied Wick to his offices located in the City. Wick was going to introduce Beatrice to his partners, and she planned to make her views very clear to them. Even if they chose to help her, she would not part with her land, not unless some solution could be found that would spare the farms. She trusted Wick, but she did not know the men he worked with and didn’t want them to harbor any misunderstandings.
It was best to begin as she meant to go on, even if it meant sacrificing popularity with Wick’s colleagues. Coming to London had been a huge step for her, and she had her misgivings. For even as her feelings for Wick deepened, she couldn’t shake an accompanying sense of…fear.
Fear that her happiness was transient. Fear that she was opening herself up to pain again. Fear that losing Wick would make all her past losses pale in comparison.
She tried to tell herself the fear was irrational. After all, Wick cared for her and was doing everything in his power to help her, even to the detriment of his own cause. He wasn’t anything like Croydon. Yet in her bones she knew that things, no matter how perfect they seemed in the moment, had a way of falling apart.
Thus, as seductive as it was to find a haven in Wick’s arms and to be welcomed into the fold of his family, she couldn’t lose herself in the relationship. Her independence had saved her the last time; when her world as she knew it had disintegrated, she’d had only herself to count on. And she couldn’t forget that.
The door opened, and Wick alighted, handing her down. On the pavement, she turned to speak to the Carlisles, who remained in the carriage.
“I shan’t be long,” she said.
“Take your time, dear,” Violet said blithely. “We’ll wait for you here.”
The “compromise” Bea had reached with Wick involved meeting his partners and saying what she needed to say. Then she would leave him to convene privately with his associates; in the interim, she and the Carlisles would pay visits to watchmakers, to see if they could trace the origins of the pocket watch.
As Bea followed Wick toward his offices, she noticed a small boy standing across the street. She didn’t know why he’d caught her eye: he wore the drab brown garb that was the uniform of street urchins, a battered cap atop his mop of brown hair, streaks of dirt on his cherubic face. Perhaps it was his stillness that snagged her attention, the way he stood unmoving by the lamp post amidst the hustle and bustle of the street.
An unbidden thought popped into her head. Is he…watching me?
A hackney stopped in the thoroughfare, cutting him from her view. When it drove off, the boy was gone.
Telling herself she was imagining things, Beatrice followed Wick into a handsome, sprawling brick building. Located in London’s financial center near the Bank of England, the offices of Great London National Railway were characterized by restrained elegance. The lobby was a masterpiece of dark wood paneling, richly upholstered furnishings, and brass fixtures. Everything from the spotless grey marble underfoot to the sweeping velvet framing the tall windows whispered, rather than shouted, that this was a prosperous business.
The clerk behind an imposing front desk of carved mahogany jumped to his feet at the sight of them.
“Welcome back, Mr. Murray. It’s good to see you.” He bowed to Beatrice. “Welcome, miss.”
“It’s good to be back, Mr. Lyall,” Wick replied. “Where are Mr. Garrity and Mr. Kent?”
“They’re awaiting you in the main meeting room.”
“Thank you.” Wick steered Beatrice toward the staircase.
As they ascended the steps, she said, “Your offices are impressive.”
“We expanded them last year. Garrity owned the original building, and we purchased the one next door as well, merging them both. We also acquired a separate warehouse for Kent.”
As Wick had explained the roles of his partners previously, she knew that Harry Kent was the scientist of the group. According to his proud sister Violet, he was a bona fide genius, whose latest innovations with the steam engine were set to revolutionize the industry.
“Mr. Kent needs the space for his experiments?” Bea asked curiously.
“We need the space away from Kent and his experiments,” Wick said ruefully. “There’s no denying the man’s a genius, but he also has a propensity to blast things to smithereens.”
On that comforting thought, they arrived on the next floor. Wick led the way down a corridor flanked by offices, stopping to acknowledge greetings from a veritable army of employees. At the end of the hallway, they entered through a set of double doors, two men rising from a long table to greet them.
From what Wick had told her about his partners, Bea had no problem identifying who was who. The man at the head of the table had to be Adam Garrity. He appeared to be in his forties, his coal-black hair slicked back, his gaze the same fathomless shade. Although his sharp features were handsome, they had a cold, ruthless quality. His somber clothes were immaculately fitted to his lean form. Framed by the windows behind him, which gave an expansive view of the city’s financial center, he radiated an aura of power.
“Good morning, Murray.” His tone was cool. “You didn’t mention you would be bringing company.”
“There was a last-minute change to the plans.” Wick gave her a wry look before making the introductions. “May I introduce my partners, Mr. Adam Garrity and Mr. Harry Kent? This is Lady Beatrice Wodehouse, who we also knew as Miss Beatrice Brown.”
“Pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Harry Kent said with a bow.
Even without the introductions, Bea had guessed his identity from his resemblance to Violet. Tall and athletically built, he had clean-cut, handsome features, his intelligent brown gaze taking in the world from behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. His unruly dark cowlick added to his professorial appeal, as did the stains on his waistcoat.
Catching the direction of her gaze, he smiled ruefully and took out a handkerchief—one that, she noticed, already bore traces of dirt—and started rubbing at the splotches.
“My trial with an ignition device didn’t go as planned,” he said.
Bea’s gaze shot to Wick, who shrugged as if to say, At least the building’s still standing.
“I’m gratified to make your acquaintance at last, my lady.” This came from Garrity, who’d been quietly assessing her. “Would you care to sit?”
“Thank you, no. What I have to say will only take a few moments.”
“This concerns our bid on your land, I assume.”
She nodded, and Mr. Garrity’s dark gaze flicked to Wick, who seemed unbothered by the reptilian stare. “As Murray’s recent missives have been rather scant on details, may I presume from your presence today that negotiations have gone well?”
Wick cleared his throat to speak, but Beatrice beat him to it.
“I hope what I have to say will not detract from the pleasure of our acquaintance.” Seeing no reason to beat around the bush, she said crisply, “Mr. Murray and I have not yet reached an agreement concerning the building of your railway upon my land. I have my farms to consider, and while Mr. Murray is exploring a potential solution to preserve said farms whilst laying track, the welfare of my farmers must take precedence for me. I will not agree to any scenario that would jeopardize their livelihoods.”
Mr. Garrity’s expression was unreadable. “You came to London to inform us of this?”
“No.” She drew a breath. “I came to London because it appears someone is trying to scare me off my land. I’ve received a threatening letter, and in the past fortnight my property was subjected to arson and my best friend was kidnapped and terrorized.”
“Bloody hell.”
This came from Mr. Kent, whose gaze had shot to Wick. “That is what you were referring to in your letters as ‘unexpected complications’?”
Wick gave a grim nod. “I thought it best to be discreet.”
“Do you have any idea who is behind these crimes?” Mr. Kent asked.
“We have several suspects,” Wick replied, “and clues that have led us to London. I’ve offered Lady Beatrice my protection and assistance in tracking down the villain.”
“What needs to be done?” Mr. Kent’s brown eyes were keen. “Unfortunate timing, but Ambrose—my older brother, who’s an investigator,” he clarified, “is travelling abroad, and he and his partners decided to close the agency for the summer. I believe his partner Mr. Lugo may still be in Town and available for consultation. And I’d be glad to lend a hand, of course. All of us Kents are rather well acquainted with murder and mayhem.”
Bea couldn’t help liking Harry Kent, who was clearly a decent chap.
“Lady Carlisle said the same thing,” she said, smiling at him.
“Violet isn’t just acquainted with mayhem, she is the mayhem,” he countered.
Bea’s smile deepened into a grin. “Speaking of which, she’s waiting for me in the carriage, and I’d best take my leave. I’ll leave Mr. Murray to explain the rest of the details.” She curtsied. “Thank you for your time and assistance, gentlemen.”
“Before you go, my lady.” The imperious tones matched the expression of the speaker. Mr. Garrity’s pitch-dark gaze had a glint that she could only describe as calculating. “It would be our honor, of course, to assist you. Once we apprehend the villain, may I assume that our negotiations will continue in a favorable manner?”
“Garrity.” Wick’s tone had a warning edge, his shoulders bunching beneath his jacket.
She couldn’t let him fight her battles for her. This was the reason, she told herself, that she’d insisted on coming today. Because no matter what perils she faced, she wouldn’t sacrifice her independence—wouldn’t be beholden to anyone, including Wick’s partners.
“Let me be clear, Mr. Garrity: my land is not quid pro quo.” She matched her tone to his. “If you assist me, you will have my gratitude…and a monetary reward, if that is your wish.”
At the mention of a reward, she saw insult flash in his eyes, but making her point was more important than preserving his pride. If she’d learned anything from managing her own estate, it was that, as a woman, she couldn’t back down. To do so was tantamount to an invitation for men to walk all over her—and some men would try to do so regardless.
She returned Mr. Garrity’s unflinching gaze, aware of Wick’s bridling presence beside her.
It was Mr. Kent who broke the tense silence.
“You don’t owe us anything,” he said firmly. “It would be our privilege to assist you. Any friend of Murray’s is a friend of GLNR. Isn’t that so, Garrity?”
After a pause, Mr. Garrity inclined his dark head. “Indeed.”
“I’ll see Lady Beatrice out. When I return,”—Wick aimed a hard stare at Garrity—“we’ll discuss the specifics of our plan.”
“By all means.” His partner appeared unperturbed. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my lady.”
* * *
After loading Beatrice into the carriage with his relations, Wick stalked back up the stairs to the meeting room. Garrity was seated at the head of the table again, Kent standing by the window.
Slamming the door shut, Wick demanded, “What the bloody hell was that about, Garrity?”
“What are you referring to?” Garrity’s tone was mild.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. How dare you treat her that way?” Wick gritted out. “She’s a defenseless female under attack by some infamous villain. And you try to leverage her troubles to your advantage?”
“She is a female, but is she defenseless?” Garrity steepled his hands, his black brows winging. “She’s the one obstruction to our railway, and she’s managed to wrap our negotiator around her little finger. I’d say Lady Beatrice Wodehouse is the one holding all the cards.”
Wick gripped the back of a chair, trying to rein in his temper. “You don’t know what she’s suffered. The danger that faces her now. She has no one—”
“But you, is that it? What exactly is the nature of your relationship with her?”
“That’s none of your bloody business.”
“It is if I’m to commit resources to her aid…and, I might add, to our company’s detriment.”
“Fine, then don’t help her. I’ll do it myself.”
“I’m sure that’s not what Garrity means.” Kent had one shoulder propped up against the glass, his bespectacled gaze watchful. “He’s just on edge from our meeting earlier this week.”
“What meeting was this?” Wick asked.
“The one in which several key shareholders questioned our ability to deliver on the railway,” Garrity said succinctly. “The one in which Kent and I gave them our personal reassurances that you had the matter well in hand.”
Devil take it. Guilt joined the fray of Wick’s roiling emotions. Engrossed by the problems Beatrice faced, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his work. To the company and stockholders that were depending upon him.
Frustrated, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m working on it.”
“I am, of course, relieved to hear your perspective. Because from the outside, it appears as if you’ve spent the time in Staffordshire courting the lady instead of convincing her to sell her land.”
“Damnation, the situation is complicated.”
“And will only become more so if anyone gets wind that you’re romantically involved with the woman who’s put our project—nay, our company—in jeopardy,” Garrity snapped. “Ask yourself this, Murray: is a female worth it?”
Wick was about to retort a reply when there was a tapping on the door. A few seconds later, it opened slightly, and guileless blue eyes peered in through the crack. The eyes were set in a pretty rounded face framed by fiery curls.
“Am I interrupting a meeting?” Gabriella Garrity whispered the question to Wick, who was nearest the door. “I was looking for Mr. Garrity and thought I heard his voice.”
She looked so sweetly worried that, in spite of his frustration, Wick felt his lips quiver.
“You’ve found him, madam,” he said.
Garrity was already at the door, pulling it open for his wife. “There’s no need to skulk about, my dear. Come in.”
“Are you certain? Because if you’re engaged in something important…”
“Nothing is more important than you, Gabriella,” Garrity said.
Anyone who knew Garrity knew that he was being sincere; he was as single-minded in his devotion to his wife as he was in closing a business deal. Which was why he, of all people, ought to understand the complexity of Wick’s situation with Beatrice. Garrity knew, first-hand, that some women were worth making sacrifices for.
Some women were worth everything.
Ignoring Wick’s pointed look, Garrity ushered his lady into the room. Straightening her bonnet, which had gone askew on her red curls, he murmured, “What brings you here, love?”
Before answering him, Mrs. Garrity first waved at Harry, who gave her a friendly grin in return. Then she turned back to her husband. “Originally, I was going to see if you’d care to go to lunch. But now I have the most exciting news. You will never guess who I just ran into outside.”
“Actually, I think I can guess.” Garrity’s tone was drier than sand.
“It was Violet and Carlisle! And they had the loveliest lady with them, a Lady Beatrice Wodehouse. They said she was a friend of yours, Mr. Murray?”
Faced with her ingenuous blue gaze, Wick could only say, “Indeed, ma’am.”
“She seemed ever so nice.” Mrs. Garrity exuded concern. “And I was dreadfully sorry when Violet mentioned that she is in London because of some trouble.”
And the point goes to Viole
t. Wick made a mental note to thank his sister-in-law for her clever gambit.
“I thought we could host a small supper to welcome Lady Beatrice and get better acquainted. I should like to catch up with Violet as well. And Tessa, of course—I didn’t mean to forget her.” Charmingly flustered, Mrs. Garrity said in a confiding tone to Kent, “It’s just that your wife and I visit all the time, so there’s less to catch up on, although I’m sure we could chat for hours anyway. Or at least I could. Tessa is such a dear for listening to me prattle on.”
“My wife enjoys each and every visit with you, ma’am,” Kent said.
Mrs. Garrity flushed with pleasure. “That’s ever so kind of you to say, sir.”
“When is this supper?” This came from her husband, who now looked resigned.
“Oh, didn’t I mention it? This evening, eight o’clock,” she said brightly. “The Carlisles said they were free, and strike while the iron’s hot, as they say. I hope you and Tessa can make it, Mr. Kent?”
Kent looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Tessa and I will be there.”
“Splendid.” Beaming, she tipped her head at Wick. “Mr. Murray?”
He was enjoying the turn of events almost as much as Garrity’s annoyed stare.
Taking Mrs. Garrity’s hand, Wick kissed her knuckles gallantly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
26
It had been an altogether bizarre day, Bea thought over supper that evening.
After the confrontation with Garrity, Wick had escorted her downstairs to the carriage where the Carlisles awaited her. No sooner had Wick left then another carriage pulled up behind them, a pretty redhead descending. Violet had shrieked, “Gabby!” out the window and bounded out, she and the newcomer greeting each other with unabashed delight.
Carlisle had met Bea’s startled gaze.
“Mrs. Garrity,” he’d said by way of explanation. “She and Violet are old friends.”
Violet had tugged her friend over to make the introductions, and Beatrice had been more than a little surprised that this lovely lady—who positively radiated kindness—was the wife of the calculating businessman she’d met upstairs. Before she knew it, Mrs. Garrity had invited her and the Carlisles over to her home that evening, with a merry, “I shan’t take no for an answer!”
The Duke Redemption Page 20
