The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (15 page)

“Beg pardon, my lord,” mumbled the man, stepping aside and snatching off his cap. It was Lester, the engineer who had been tense and quiet all evening.

On some impulse, Charlie stopped. “What the devil is Scott hiding?”

Lester said nothing. The guilt stamped on his face told all. Charlie gave a predatory smile, casting off restraint and scruples. “Let me buy you a drink, Mr. Lester.”

Chapter 12

E
arly next morning Tessa gathered her mortified dignity around her like a suit of chain mail and sent off a peremptory letter to Mr. Scott, telling him that if he didn’t have the account books ready for her examination by the next day, she would understand that he did not mean to show them to her and she would return to London to tell her brother not to invest. It was the sort of note that would send Louise into the vapors, brutally direct and abrupt without the slightest hint of tact, but Tessa was beyond caring. She almost hoped Scott put her off again; it would give her an excuse to leave Frome without admitting defeat of any kind.

But this unvarnished demand worked wonders on the man. Within an hour she received his reply, apologizing profusely for the delay and inviting her to visit the ironworks at her convenience, where the books lay ready and waiting. Somewhat mollified, Tessa decided to take him up on it and instead of sending her answer, dressed to go to Mells herself.

“Ought you to tell His Lordship?” ventured Eugenie, watching her tie on her bonnet.

“Why?” Tessa kept her eyes on the mirror. She’d told Eugenie almost nothing of the horrible dinner, just that it had been unpleasant and a waste of time. Then she’d gone straight to bed to forestall any more questions, especially about Lord Gresham or why he hadn’t walked her back. No one needed to hear about that. If she could have purged it from her memory, she would have, especially that last intoxicating, treacherous moment.

“Well, dear, he might accompany you . . .” The older woman’s voice died away as Tessa turned a sharp look on her.

“I don’t need an escort. I don’t need to be driven when I can drive myself, at my own convenience. And if he wishes to examine the books himself,” she added as Eugenie’s face brightened and her mouth opened, “he is welcome to visit at any time.” Welcome indeed; Hiram Scott would leap from his bed in the dead of night to show Lord Gresham anything he wanted to see at the canal, from the account books to the privy pits.

Eugenie’s face fell. “Whatever happened, Tessa dear? You made no effort to keep your actions from him earlier.”

Her face burned. “Nor did I rely on him to nursemaid me from Frome to Mells! I’m surprised at you, Eugenie, urging me to impose upon the kindness of a busy man.”

Now Eugenie blushed. “It’s only because I worry about you so,” she argued, following Tessa across the room. “The roads here are so dreadful, you know—you admitted it yourself—and for a woman traveling alone—”

“Yes, perhaps you are right.” Tessa went into the bedroom and came back out with her loaded pistol in one hand. “I should take this as well.”

Eugenie made a gasping chirp, recoiling from the weapon. “Oh, dear! Could you really shoot someone?”

“I could indeed.” She put the pistol into her reticule; the handle stuck out, but in her current mood, she didn’t care. Let everyone in Frome know she was armed. She was a good shot, and felt very capable of shooting someone at the moment.

Eugenie made a few more despairing noises but didn’t try to stop her. Tessa went downstairs and hired a gig. The innkeeper’s eyes strayed to her pistol but he said nothing. This was the country, after all, not London, and women were generally judged more capable in the country. Or perhaps her expression was warning enough to hold his tongue. The gig was brought around quickly, and she set off.

Her drive to Mells was uneventful, although it did seem longer than when she had gone with Lord Gresham. As she concentrated on navigating the wretched roads, she tried not to think about His Lordship, but it was impossible. Why must everything remind her of him? Tessa scowled as she reached a particularly twisted length of road, trying not to recall how he had driven so capably over the same stretch just a few days earlier, and how he’d been so charmingly deprecating, telling her he hoped she might eventually consider him merely benign. Benign! As if he weren’t the most dangerous man she’d ever met.

First she tried to tell herself he’d been drunk, and that was why he kissed her. She had noticed that all the gentlemen last night seemed to drink a good deal, but Gresham outdid them all. It had reminded her that he was a London gentleman, with more decadent tastes and habits than she was used to. But she also had to admit he hadn’t seemed drunk until that last moment, when he looked down at her with that oddest expression—dazed? spellbound? She didn’t even know how to describe it—right before he kissed her.

Then, Tessa was ashamed to say, the fault had ceased to be his alone. Even though he was drunk and she was shaking with fury at Attwood, the kiss had felt so right, so necessary, she lost all grip on reason and kissed him back. Not chastely, as a decent lady might have excused, but wildly, passionately, even desperately. As if something restrained and pent up inside her had finally burst its banks and overwhelmed her, leaving her drowning in nothing but the sharp awareness of his arms around her and his mouth on hers and the way he whispered her name. And once she started kissing him, she didn’t know how she would have ever stopped, if the girl hadn’t knocked on the door.

No, he was not benign. She had sensed from the beginning that if she ever let him get too close, she would go up in flames for him. She had just never thought immolation would feel so wonderful.

Mr. Scott seemed to grasp at once that she was not in any temper to be trifled with. He came out to meet her as soon as she arrived, and made no mention of the dinner as he led her inside. “I’ve got the accounts waiting, just as you asked,” he said cordially, as if he hadn’t delayed producing them for over a fortnight. “I’ve had them brought to a quiet room over here; take as long as you need to examine them.”

“Thank you, sir.” She even smiled at him, although it was probably a frosty smile. It certainly felt stiff and frozen on her lips.

Then Mr. Scott left her, bowing out of the room with a promise to answer any questions she might have. Tessa settled herself in the chair and opened the first account book, taking a deep breath as the smell of fresh ink and paper hit her. Her nerves began to calm down at last. This was what she was good at; the neat columns of numbers soothed something inside her, and she began to feel more like herself as she studied them. With numbers, she was confident and sure of her competence. The numbers never made her feel a fool. The numbers were steady and sure, telling their story plainly. Numbers could be made to lie and twist the truth, of course, but unlike with men, a close eye could divine the lies and tease out the truth. Numbers, at least, were perfectly benign.

She spent the rest of the day there, occasionally catching a minor arithmetical error and noting it in the margins. Scott’s clerks weren’t quite as meticulous as they might have been, and the cost of wages had risen slightly more than projected, but overall the picture was very much in line with the prospectus. Scott had even written off the cost of some of the lock gates, which were being made in his own factory; there were small notes indicating they had been late, and so he absorbed their cost. Tessa approved of this show of compromise; one thing she had been particularly alert to was any sign of profiteering. When she closed the books at last, it was with a refreshed spirit of satisfaction. Scott’s canal looked to be as sound as he claimed, and she was relieved that this trip hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

He met her himself when she came out, somewhat surprised to see how late in the day it was. Unraveling a complex ledger was like a puzzle to Tessa, thrilling but engrossing, and she looked ruefully at Mr. Scott.

“I see the day is gone, sir. Thank you for allowing me to monopolize your books all day.”

“Nonsense.” He bowed his head with a smile. “Have you any questions? Any other requirements?”

Tessa shook her head. “I believe I have quite enough information to advise my brother. The final decision, of course, will be entirely his.” Not that William had ever gone against her advice, but she always said it anyway.

“Yes, yes, I understand. Please convey my very best regards to Lord Marchmont.” Scott’s smile remained fixed on his face as he walked out to her waiting gig with her. “I hope your trip to Somerset has been worthwhile, Mrs. Neville.”

Tessa stepped up and took the reins. “Yes, I believe it has been.” She gave him a nod. “Good day, Mr. Scott.”

She drove home feeling as though the world, which had rocked precariously off balance under the unsettling Lord Gresham’s attention and influence, had been set back to rights. She had achieved her purpose here. Anything else was immaterial. It didn’t matter whether Mr. Tallboys thought well of her; it didn’t matter what Sir Gregory Attwood thought of her at all. In the end all they cared about was William’s money, just as in the end she was sure Gresham only cared for seducing her on his jaunt in the country. He was a rake and a scoundrel and she’d never really trusted him anyway, not completely. All Eugenie’s hints that he was in love with her were just wishful thinking, and she was glad she’d realized it before doing anything truly stupid. Again.

She reached The Golden Hind just as the sun was dipping below the rooftops, and handed the hired gig over to a stable boy. Now that her purpose was done, she could leave Frome. The thought put a spring in her step, even though it meant going to London. At least in London, Lord Gresham would be so occupied with other women he wouldn’t spare time to torment her anymore.

Pausing only to ask for a tray with dinner to be sent up, she hurried to her rooms. Eugenie would be disappointed, no doubt, to leave the earl behind, but she would have to bear it. Tessa supposed it was possible he would call on them in London, out of obligation to Eugenie, but she could contrive to be out then and avoid him. After that, she told herself, it would be simple never to see him again; after a few weeks in London, Louise would let her go home and she could return to her life of ledgers and accounts and never once feel sorry for herself because she’d almost fallen for a handsome scoundrel.

She let herself into their small sitting room, pulling off her gloves. To her astonishment, Eugenie leaped at her as soon as she was through the door. “Oh, there you are, at last,” she cried with an outsized air of relief. “Lord Gresham must see you at once!”

Chapter 13

C
harlie’s temper was perilously close to snapping.

The day had not begun well, with a ringing headache from his previous evening’s overindulgence. Despite the strong temptation to remain motionless until the room stopped revolving around him, he dragged himself out of bed. Barnes, his unsympathetic valet, offered cold cloths and headache powders until Charlie snarled at him to go away. As much as it felt like he’d been rolled down a hill head first, he needed to think. Naturally, it took some time for his thoughts to settle down into order again

The inescapable conclusion was that he had to tell Tessa what he’d learned. Lester’s revelations hadn’t helped him very much, but they would make an enormous difference to her. He had told himself originally he didn’t want to interfere with her at all; the canal was more than Hiram Scott, and if it was a profitable investment, who was he to stop her from making it? It hadn’t pleased him, but he’d deliberately kept his business with Scott separate from hers. Still, he’d become increasingly disenchanted with that stance, and now that he knew crucial information about the canal, he was bound to tell her, and not just because he wanted to keep her away from Scott—even if she didn’t want to see his face at the moment.

But the lady was not in when he called. Mrs. Bates wrinkled up her face and wrung her hands when he reached the inn. “Oh, dear,” she cried. “I’m dreadfully sorry! She’s gone to Mells, my lord.”

“To Mells?” he exclaimed, jolted by the news. “Why?” Had Lester confessed? Had Scott drawn Tessa out to Mells to pressure her?

“Mr. Scott wrote and said he’d got the books ready for her to look at,” explained Mrs. Bates. “And she’d been waiting so long to see them, she would not be deterred from driving out straightaway, Lord Gresham, even though I
begged
her to wait . . .”

“She went alone?”

“She insisted,” she said, looking cowed by his sharp tone. “I did suggest she ask you, my lord . . . but she would not impose, even though it makes me
dreadfully
uneasy to think of her driving all that way alone . . .”

Charlie took a deep breath. It was no surprise she hadn’t wanted to ask him; he deserved that. And she had been waiting to see those books. He didn’t like the coincidence of it, but after last night, he didn’t like anything connected to Scott and his bloody canal. Odds were it was entirely ordinary. It wasn’t far to Mells, the road was straight enough, and Tessa knew the way.

“My lord?”

He blinked out of his thoughts at Mrs. Bates’s timid query. “Yes?”

“Did . . . Did something happen last night? At the dinner, I mean.”

He hesitated. “I expect Mrs. Neville was not in the best humor when she returned.”

“No,” she murmured, looking as though she was bracing herself. “She was not herself.”

“Some gentlemen of the party proved themselves unworthy of a lady’s company,” Charlie said, choosing not to mention that perhaps he himself had been one of those unworthy gentlemen. “It was rather uncomfortable, and not, I gather, what Mrs. Neville expected.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Bates sighed. “I feared as much. She was so tense this morning, and so abrupt—almost as if she wanted to provoke Mr. Scott into refusing again to show her the books, which, you will understand, was quite shocking to me. Of course she’s been growing impatient with him for his rather inconsiderate delays, but when she got out her pistol—”

“Her pistol!” Charlie stared.

Mrs. Bates blushed bright pink. “She’s quite able to handle it, my lord,
quite
able! She insisted Lord Marchmont teach her, and she’s likely as good a shot as most men in Wiltshire—”

“Why did she take a pistol to see Mr. Scott?”

“Oh!” The older lady started. “Oh, she didn’t mean to shoot Mr. Scott—at least, I can’t think why she would do that. I protested when she said she would drive herself, and that’s when she got out her pistol and said she could shoot someone indeed.” Mrs. Bates gazed up at him fearfully. “You don’t think she intended to use it on Mr. Scott, do you? I thought she meant it for protection, if someone should stop her—”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” said Charlie to reassure her. “It’s wise for her to have it, if she meant to go alone. I presume . . . That is, I expect she welcomed the chance of some solitude.” He remembered the way Tessa had all but run from him the previous night, crying that she wanted peace.

“Yes, I’m sure she did.” Mrs. Bates’s face filled with relief. “Of course you’re right, my lord. She’s always needed her privacy and time to think. Why, we used to think she would prefer to be a hermit!” She laughed, then choked off abruptly, looking horrified. “But that was long ago,” she added anxiously. “After—After a rather difficult time . . .”

“We all of us have moments when our own company is all we can bear.” Charlie sighed. “I’m sure she is in no danger, but I must speak to her. Have you any idea when she’ll return?” Mrs. Bates shook her head. “Will you send word to me when she does? What I have to say to her cannot wait.”

“Would you like to leave a note for her?”

He shook his head. He suspected she might tear it up, if she still bore him ill will over last night, and he couldn’t let her ignore this. “Will you send to me even if she professes she doesn’t want to see me?”

Her expression fell. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “Will she not wish to, my lord?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I must speak to her immediately.”

Mrs. Bates bit her lip but nodded. Charlie thanked her and left, even though it was past midday and Tessa must be returning soon. But he sensed she would be in a better temper if he didn’t drive out and intercept her on the road from Mells, and he also remembered she’d taken her pistol. An angry woman was one thing, but an armed angry woman was another. He’d have to make use of the delay as best he could.

True to her word, Mrs. Bates sent word when Tessa returned. Unfortunately, it didn’t come until after dinner, and it included a warning.
She was very adamant that she didn’t wish to speak to you, sir, even after I told her it was urgent,
wrote Mrs. Bates.
And now she says we shall leave for London the day after next, so I beg you will make haste if you wish to see her in Frome.

The last part made him curse quietly. Of course she was leaving Frome, if she had gotten the information she needed from Scott’s books, but he sensed she was in such haste to leave because he had kissed her.

He hoped to God that wasn’t the case.

He balled up the note and dropped it into the fire. Very well, then; he would find Tessa in the morning and make her listen to him, even if it ruined him forever in her eyes.

As expected, she was not at the inn when he called the next morning at a truly unfashionable hour. Mrs. Bates, still in her morning gown and cap, met him with a worried look. “She’s gone out already,” she said. “She said she wanted coffee and a walk.”

He gave a short nod. “Thank you. I’ll find her.”

It took almost half an hour to do so. He visited the coffeeshop, the book shop, even the millinery, without catching sight of her slim, determined figure. When he finally did spy her staring pensively at a shop window, his heart leaped and a tiny smile curved his lips even after he remembered she was purposely trying to avoid meeting him. There was just something about her that drew him.

She was still at the window when he reached her. Charlie took that as a hopeful sign, since he hadn’t tried to disguise his approach. He stopped beside her, a careful arm’s length away, and joined her in contemplation for a moment.

“Are you considering the pipe, or the snuff boxes?” he asked. They were staring at a tobacconist’s display.

“The grinder,” she said. Charlie looked, and realized the shop also sold coffee. “One cannot find a decent cup of coffee in this whole shire.”

“It’s not fit for bilge,” he agreed.

“Fortunately Mrs. Bates and I are leaving tomorrow for London,” she went on. Her voice was poised and cool, but she hadn’t looked at him. “I expect they have decent coffee there.”

“Buy the grinder, if you’re holding out that hope. The best coffee isn’t found in any coffeehouse, you must grind it fresh and brew it at once. My chef in London won’t serve coffee more than half an hour after he’s made it.”

“My sister thinks it is common,” she returned. “She won’t allow it in her house. It’s my private vice.”

He glanced at her. “How very decadent.”

Her eyelashes flickered. “If you say it is so, I must believe it.”

Charlie laughed. “Yes, I have a far greater acquaintance with vice than you do!”

“And decadence,” she added.

He smiled. He wouldn’t mind lavishing a little decadence on her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Mrs. Bates said you would be.” She turned and walked away, and Charlie followed.

“I understand if you prefer to avoid me. I should apologize for the other night.”

“Why?” Her face was serene, but he heard the slight edge in her tone. “You were not responsible for other gentlemen’s behavior.”

“I wasn’t apologizing for that.”

She was silent for a few steps. “I don’t recall anything else worthy of note.”

He looked at her. She had her mouth pursed up in that way he found so maddeningly enticing. “Very good. I wasn’t, in fact, very sorry for doing it, and if you feel you are owed no apology for it, I shan’t bother to issue one.”

She took a deep breath and stopped, turning to face him. “It is not necessary, my lord, to apologize for actions of no significance. I daresay our acquaintance is nearing an end in any event, and I should hate to part on bad terms. Thank you for all your kindness to Mrs. Bates, and all your assistance to me. It has been a great pleasure.” And she put out her hand, as if in farewell.

Charlie took her hand but he didn’t let it go. “A very great pleasure, indeed. Will you come for a drive with me? I have something to show you.”

She tugged. “Certainly not. I must pack—prepare to leave—”

“And yet you have time to shop for coffee grinders. It won’t take but an hour or two. Mrs. Bates will oversee the packing quite competently.”

She pulled again, harder this time. “Let me go. I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

“If it were only my own wicked pleasures at stake, I would release you, however much it pained me to do so.” Still holding her hand, he pulled her arm around his despite her resistance. “But sadly, my purpose is far more mundane, and I must insist.”

“Let me go, Gresham,” she said through her teeth as he towed her back down the street to where he had left his horse and gig.

“Not yet.”

“Please,” she said in murderous tones.

“No. We’re going for a short drive—I have the purest intentions, Tessa,” he added at her glare. “But if you try to run from me, I shall chase you down and carry you back.”

“Fine,” she spat. “Where do you want to drive?”

“Just north of Vobster.” He handed her up into the carriage, and she went without protest.

“Vobster! What is in Vobster?”

He stepped up and settled on the seat, feeling an unhealthy rush of elation at being so close to her. Her knee bumped his as she shifted on the narrow seat, and he had to fight off the urge to slide his arm around her waist and pull her close, just for a moment, and press his lips to the curve of her throat, right below her jaw. “I gather you aren’t willing to take my word for anything,” he said in response to her question. “So I shall show you.”

She stared at him with that thin line between her brows before facing forward with a faint huff. “Drive quickly.”

He grinned and said nothing. It took almost no time to navigate the crooked streets of Frome and then they were on another rutted country lane heading west. For a long time neither said anything. Charlie caught her glancing at him a few times, but she never spoke. He longed to know why she was so alarmed by his kiss, and finally just asked. “Was it really of no significance?” he said softly. “When I kissed you?”

She averted her face, so the bonnet brim hid it. “It meant nothing to me, and even less to you, I suspect.”

He nodded. “You’ve got me all puzzled out, haven’t you? Indolent, ignorant, arrogant, good-for-nothing scoundrel.”

She slanted a challenging glance at him. “I never said that. Is that how most people see you?”

The question surprised him. “I suppose some do. Of course, most people see what they want to see. A title, a fortune, a handsome face . . .” He shrugged. “It’s enough to render any man a rogue in search of scandal.”

“A handsome face,” she repeated tartly. “I understand where the charge of arrogance originates.”

He gave her a lazy smile. “It’s not arrogance to speak the truth.”

Her eyes flashed and her cheeks pinkened. “Handsome is so subjective, one might hesitate even to use the word ‘truth’ near it.”

“Very well, I misspoke; I should have said ‘a face widely considered among the handsomest in England.’ Does that please you?”

The color in her face deepened. Good Lord, it was thrilling to argue with her. “I don’t care what other people think of your face at all.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t.” Charlie knew he should stop teasing her—and it was beginning to feel very arrogant, arguing his own attractiveness—but she was irresistible. And at least she was speaking to him again. “What do you think of my face?”

She blinked. Something like alarm flashed in her clear green gaze before it narrowed on him. “Searching for compliments, sir? How very crass—even arrogant. One might call it ignorant of all good manners, worthy only of a scoundrel who is up to no good!”

Charlie burst out laughing. She had managed to use each and every slur in one sweeping condemnation. “Pax! I am vanquished, completely unstrung. I confess to arrogance, indolence, and all the rest, along with a sad, misshapen face that sends children running in fright.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed, then jerked around in her seat to face forward. “I hate it when you do that,” she muttered.

“What?”

“When you make me want to laugh in the middle of an argument.”

He couldn’t see her face, but the nape of her neck was pink. “I like to hear you laugh.”