The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (14 page)

At one point, when Charlie had adamantly ignored his overtures for some time, the banker leaned closer and murmured, “I perceive you are a man who prefers to listen, and form your own conclusions. Very admirable, my lord.”

“Yes.” Charlie tipped his glass to his lips again to avoid saying more.

“Mr. Scott can be a trifle carried away in his enthusiasm at times,” Tallboys went on with a sympathetic look. “But then, I daresay a man of his rank and profession must be more prone to emotion and ambition. He is a merchant, and has been selling something or other since he was a boy.”

“You make him sound a charlatan.” A servant appeared to refill his glass the instant he set it down. Charlie broodingly watched the burgundy stream into his goblet. Decent wine was the sole salvation of the evening, in his opinion.

“That was not my intent,” replied Tallboys hastily. “Merely that he hasn’t got the same reserve and decorum a gentleman might.”

Charlie knew several gentlemen without reserve or decorum; in truth, he was often one of them. If he kept drinking this way, and Tallboys continued annoying him, he might yet lapse into his usual ways.

Somehow that thought led his mind to another point, and then another. “You’re the banker,” he said abruptly. “You must keep the account books.”

Tallboys blinked, but nodded politely. “I do indeed, sir. Mr. Scott also maintains a set of books. Do you wish to see them?”

“Mrs. Neville does.” Charlie gestured at her with his wineglass. “Scott hasn’t produced them for her. I wonder why.”

“Ah—yes, yes, he did tell me the lady wished to review the books. I believe the delay has been mischance; I said Mr. Scott maintains a set of books, true, but they are not complete. I understand Mrs. Neville wishes to see the complete accounting, which I have brought with me from Poole. I expect he shall make them available to her very soon, as they would be to any prospective investor.” Tallboys’s gaze went to the woman across from them. “Perhaps you wish to view them with her, my lord.”

One corner of Charlie’s mouth bent upward. He’d rarely had to read a ledger in his life, and didn’t plan to start with a canal ledger he had no interest in, not even for the pleasure of reading it with Tessa Neville. “No. I prefer to make my judgments based on other criteria.”

Tallboys’s mouth pursed in minute frustration, but he merely bowed his head. “Of course, my lord. I remain ready to answer any criteria you have.”

“Excellent.” Charlie raised one finger, and the servant with the wine promptly stepped back up to fill his glass yet again. “Sir Gregory,” he said into a momentary lull in the conversation, “what is your opinion of this canal?”

Sir Gregory looked up from his plate, casting a critical eye on Charlie. He had hardly said a word thus far, the dribbles and spots on his waistcoat showing his true interest: the roast joint of beef. If Scott intended to lure investors with fine food and drink, he was doing an excellent job. Attwood leaned back in his chair and swiped the trickle of juice from his chin. “ ’Tis a damned fraud, sir.”

Charlie raised one eyebrow. Hiram Scott made a sound like a sigh before smiling stiffly. “Now, Sir Gregory, we’ve addressed your complaints.”

“Not all of ’em,” retorted the older man. He caught up his wineglass and fixed his gaze on Charlie. “You’re a fool if you give these gentlemen your money, Gresham.”

“And yet you allowed them to build across your land,” said Mrs. Neville. “Why has your opinion changed, sir?”

Attwood’s eyes bulged a little, and he turned to glare at her in indignation. “And what business is it of yours, madam? I changed my mind, and that’s that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” she said evenly. “I merely meant that something dramatic must have happened to change your opinion of the canal so completely.”

Attwood huffed and snapped his fingers at the servant with the wine. “I daresay it wouldn’t concern you much, if it had.”

Charlie saw the flush of color come up in her face. She was quite a beauty when she blushed, even though it meant she was working up a head of fury. “On the contrary, sir,” he said lazily. “The lady is considering a rather large investment in the canal. Surely it behooves you to explain your statement, particularly since you made it in the presence of two of the canal’s directors. You must admit it’s curious.”

Attwood’s eyes narrowed on Charlie. “Ladies don’t invest! God’s breath, man, you can’t say you support this?”

“Now, Sir Gregory,” interjected Scott. “Mrs. Neville is here on behalf of her brother, Lord Marchmont.”

Attwood remained sullen. “Then he ought to be here himself. What sort of man sends a woman to make his decisions for him?”

Mrs. Neville was staring at him with loathing in her gaze. The flush had confined itself to two bright spots in her cheeks. “My brother values my judgment of such things, sir.”

“Damned fool him.” Attwood poked his finger at Scott. “And you, too, Scott, for encouraging this nonsense.”

“You haven’t said what changed your mind about the canal,” said Charlie. He leaned back in his chair and tossed back some more wine. “Was it just a whim, Sir Gregory? You seem inclined to quick judgments.”

The older man’s face turned purple. “As if you would know the first thing about canals, you London popinjay!”

Charlie bared his teeth in a smile. “Instruct me, then. I’ve already learned far more from Mrs. Neville than from anything Mr. Scott has told me.” He waved one hand as Scott drew breath to speak. “Not now, Scott.”

Attwood glanced from man to man. His lips pressed together. “I don’t have to explain myself.”

“No, you have every right to make yourself out to be impulsive and bad-tempered,” said Mrs. Neville under her breath, yet loudly enough to be heard by everyone.

“Impulsive!” Attwood sputtered. “How dare you!”

“Was it carefully considered, then?” Her eyes flashed with that fury Charlie had sensed earlier, but she kept her frosty calm steady. “I wonder you could stand to sit at the same table with men who mislead you into a foolish investment.” Attwood gaped at her in shocked fury, but she just raised her eyebrows. “Either you were duped in the first place, you took the money for the cut across your land out of pure greed, or you’ve discovered new information about the canal that reasonably changed your mind and made you regret your investment. Which is it?”

“Oh, Mrs. Neville!” Scott cried.

“This is unseemly,” said Tallboys through thin lips.

“Where is the fault in my logic?” she fired back. Charlie could only watch in awe, his mind blunted by the rather large quantity of wine he’d consumed. She was magnificent, like the Archangel Uriel. If she’d had a flaming sword in her hand, he had no doubt Attwood, and perhaps Tallboys as well, would be missing his head by now.

“This was not intended to be a business meeting,” pleaded Scott. “Can we not return to more cordial topics?”

She turned on him. “I would only dine with you upon business matters, Mr. Scott.”

The man flushed under the rebuke, but Tallboys was the one who replied. “Madam, we have been most accommodating. I wonder at your insistence on pursuing all hints of displeasure. Perhaps your interest in the canal isn’t genuine.”

“So you fear what Sir Gregory might say?” she asked. “You must wonder why he just told Lord Gresham not to invest—unless you already know his complaint.”

“Sir Gregory spoke in jest,” said Mr. Scott hastily. “He keeps us on our toes, don’t you, sir?” He bent a significant look on the man in question. Attwood scowled in reply, but grumbled something vaguely agreeable.

Belatedly Charlie realized Scott was right. Attwood was a bit of a troublemaker, but he was also an important part of Scott’s plans. The canal ran through his property, which made him a shareholder and thus gave him power over Scott. Attwood could wheedle what he wanted from Scott by being a constant burr in the man’s side, even denigrating the canal to potential investors. Chances were, Attwood was merely trying the same tonight, and in a company of gentlemen, over a great deal more wine and cigars, he would have backed off his charge, mentioned his petty grievance, and Scott would have been pleased to demonstrate his efficiency—for Charlie’s benefit—by solving it.

But Tessa Neville didn’t think that way. She was logical and focused, and the glass at her place was largely untouched.

“No doubt Sir Gregory will find a way that Mr. Scott can help him,” Charlie said. “That’s what you do, isn’t it, Scott?” He got to his feet. The room swung rather wildly for a moment, and he leaned one hand on the table, regretting the last few glasses of wine. He’d lost his head for liquor out here in the wilderness. “I feel in need of some fresh air. Mrs. Neville, may I escort you back to your inn?”

Hiram Scott was already nodding, leaping to his feet as if he, too, was anxious to leave. “Indeed! The hour’s grown quite late, I must be off. Tallboys, are you staying the night here?”

The flush had suffused Tessa Neville’s face. “Is that your answer to me, sir? You doubt my interest in this canal?”

“I’m sure Tallboys doesn’t know what he doubts now, after this excellent Madeira,” said Charlie. Tallboys was looking at her with dislike, and he might have been drunk enough to say something even ruder than he already had. “Scott, thank you for the illuminating evening. Attwood, Tallboys, a pleasure.” He made a vague bow toward them. “And Mr. Lester,” he added, catching sight of the engineer, sitting with his shoulders hunched in misery. “Good night, sir.”

“Good evening, sir,” called Scott with obvious relief as Charlie took Mrs. Neville by the arm before forcefully escorting her from the room. She didn’t protest until they reached the main hall of the inn, while the servant rushed off to gather her cloak and Charlie’s coat.

“How dare they,” she finally said through her teeth. “I am not a child to be bullied about! They should go bankrupt for treating any investor that way!”

Charlie glanced at the eavesdropping crowd in the taproom. “Of course they should.” He pushed open the door of the small parlor behind him and pulled her into the room. “But they’re idiots, Tessa.”

“I have every right to ask questions, especially when Sir Gregory says such provoking things!” she continued in a lather. “What did you call me?”

“Tessa,” he answered. “But look here—Attwood’s being an ass in order to get something from Scott. He wasn’t trying to insult you, he just . . .”

“Belittles women out of habit?” She made a sharp motion with one hand. “I didn’t give you leave to call me by name.”

“But I like your name,” he said softly, the wine flowing warm and hazy through his blood and trampling all caution into oblivion. “Ignore Attwood.”

She took a deep breath. “I could,” she said. “But I cannot ignore Mr. Tallboys’s complete dismissal of my concerns! And you should not call me by name.”

Charlie nodded. Part of his brain acknowledged she was right, and justifiably irate. The other part of him had already forgotten Scott and Tallboys and Attwood, and could only see how very luminous her skin was in the low light of the single lamp. How her hair seemed to be tempting his fingers to touch it. How strongly he wanted to feel her arms around his neck, and discover what sort of sigh she would make if she were kissed. If
he
kissed her.

“You see, it’s like this,” he began, and then he stopped, mesmerized by the way her eyes flashed and her chin tipped up so boldly toward him. When had he fallen so hard for her?

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered, and leaned down and kissed her.

She jumped and made a muffled squeak, but Charlie already had his arm around her waist, drawing her against him. He threaded one hand into her gleaming curls and brushed his lips against hers, “Tessa,” he murmured. “
Darling
. My God, Tessa . . .”

For a heartbeat she was still. Then, with a soft sigh of capitulation, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed against him, kissing him back as hungrily as she did in his dreams. For the span of a few minutes time seemed to stop for Charlie. She was heat and passion and perfectly female in his arms, not a prudish, cold creature, not a dried-up widow, but a woman who felt the same desires he did. And for those few minutes nothing else in the world mattered but her.

The tap at the door broke the spell. He lifted his head and looked down at Tessa, feeling oddly as though he’d been knocked in the head and yet now thought more clearly than ever. She blinked at him, her eyes soft and starry for a moment, before the servant with their cloaks tapped again. With a gasp she stepped back, out of his arms, and turned away. “Yes,” she said in a strained voice. “Come.”

The serving wench brought in her cloak. Tessa swirled it around her shoulders before he could take it, and she wouldn’t look at him as she tied the fastenings. Feeling more sober by the moment, Charlie put on his own coat and motioned the wench from the room.

“Well, this has been an exceptional evening,” Tessa said unevenly. She pulled up her hood, hiding her expression from him. “Mrs. Bates will be waiting up for me. Good night, sir.”

“Yes,” he murmured. He wanted to kiss her again. “I’ll call on you tomorrow . . .”

“No!” She recoiled from his extended hand. “I’m going now. Good night.”

“Let me escort you to your door, at least,” he tried to say, but she gave him a single alarmed glance.

“
No.
Leave me in peace!” She turned and hurried out the door and out of the inn, her head held valiantly high even though she was almost running.

Charlie cursed under his breath. He couldn’t let her walk back alone. Keeping well back, he followed her through the streets just until he saw her duck safely back into The Golden Hind.

Grimly, he turned back toward The Bear, where his horse and gig were stabled. He wished he’d never agreed to attend that miserable dinner. He wished he hadn’t drunk half a barrel of wine. He wished he’d shot Hiram Scott the first day he arrived in Frome. He wished he’d kept his head and not kissed her. He wished he hadn’t let her go, no matter who knocked upon the door.

He stalked around another corner, and almost collided with a man coming the other way.