The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (9 page)

“Yes, indeed!” Eugenie smiled in gratitude. “You will drive safely, won’t you, my lord?”

“As safely as Mrs. Neville desires,” he said with a grin. He turned back to her. “Would an hour from now suit you?”

Tessa agreed, and soon after Lord Gresham left. Eugenie could barely speak, she was so pleased. “Do you see, dear, how very
charming
he can be?” she cried, fluttering her fan in front of her pink face.

“Yes.”

“And how kind! How very convenient it was that he planned to go to Mells today, just as you did, and then offer to escort you!”

“He is not escorting me,” Tessa reminded her. “We are going on the same business, at the same time. I know what you’re thinking, Eugenie, and you must stop.”

The other woman gaped at her, then assumed a pious expression. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dear. I worried for your safety, that’s all.”

Tessa shook her head. She knew how Eugenie’s mind worked, and could almost hear the hopeful thoughts racing through her head at the possible outcomes of her drive with the earl. Eugenie was very fond of novels and fairy tales, where the lonely maiden fell in love with a handsome hero. If there existed a more perfectly handsome hero than the Earl of Gresham, Tessa couldn’t imagine him, but she was no helpless maiden in search of a hero. “Then we are all satisfied. I shan’t be alone, and you shall have a peaceful day of reading.” What Lord Gresham would gain, she didn’t know, but he also seemed pleased by the arrangement.

Eugenie’s smile was proof she held out very high hopes indeed, whatever Tessa said. “Yes, dear. I am
quite
satisfied.”

C
harlie thought his morning’s visit couldn’t have gone better. By careful effort he managed not to look at Mrs. Neville, and to pretend she was not a beautiful woman he wanted something from. It seemed to work, since she spoke to him without any of her previous frosty manner. Even better, she agreed to drive with him to Mells, which meant he could tackle two problems at once.

First, he would have his introduction to Hiram Scott. Without the slightest idea what connected him to Durham or Dorothy, Charlie had decided a straight-on approach would be best. The man’s reaction to his sudden appearance would tell him a great deal, if not betray him altogether. It would also drive home to Scott that his secret was out, and perhaps lead him to negotiate a deal where he handed over any proof he had about Dorothy Cope, and in exchange Charlie would keep Gerard from killing him.

But second, he would have Mrs. Neville to himself for the drive each way. Charlie couldn’t deny an unwarranted thrill of anticipation. He could try to tease more information about Scott from her. And even if those efforts failed, he would still have almost two hours to wheedle his way into her good graces, where he was increasingly interested in being. Tessa Neville was uncommonly attractive when she smiled.

He called for her at the appointed time, pleased to find her ready and waiting. Her dark green pelisse highlighted her unusual eyes, and Charlie barely stopped himself from complimenting her. With a brief touch of hands, she stepped up into the gig he’d hired, and they were off, bowling down the road toward Mells.

“Thank you for offering to accompany me,” she said. Her gloved hands were folded in her lap, and she stayed primly at her end of the seat.

“No trouble at all,” he said, reminding himself again not to engage in empty pleasantries. “In fact, I hoped I might ask a favor of you in return.”

“Oh?” He felt her glance, and hoped Mrs. Bates’s advice was worthwhile.

“I’ve only recently begun inquiring into canals,” he said, raising his voice as the wheels rattled over loose stone on the road. It was a miracle any commerce at all was conducted around here, with the roads as they were. Mrs. Bates had been right to be concerned about the drive to Mells, but he kept the thought to himself. “I’ve come to see Mr. Scott, but have never met the man. Might I ask your impression of him?”

She had a way of pursing her lips that was very appealing. Charlie could see it from the corner of his eye, and had to concentrate very hard on the horse’s ears to keep from turning to admire it more openly. “He is very clever at choosing the best way to present his plans,” she said after a moment. “I don’t wonder that he’s been so successful in recruiting investors.”

“Is he an honest man?” He wondered if she would tell him the truth. He wondered if she knew it.

“I’ve no reason to think otherwise,” she said in some surprise.

“And yet you’ve come all the way into Somerset to see for yourself.” He dared a quick glance at her. “What doubts do you have?”

“He wants a great deal of money,” she said tartly. “I don’t want my brother to be taken advantage of.”

How interesting that she was here to protect her brother; normally it would be the other way around. Charlie began to see why Mrs. Bates had advised him to treat her like a man. “I see. But what precisely in Scott’s plans do you question?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” he repeated in astonishment. “You must have quite a store of knowledge to question every last detail of the canal.”

“Not every last detail,” she said with an exasperated glance at him. “A canal is a complex project. There are landowners who must be appeased by the track of the canal. Investors don’t always make their contributions. There are engineering difficulties to overcome, with tunnels and aqueducts. This canal traverses quite a drop, and will depend on reliable locks. Then there are problems with money, wages, workers . . . There are quite a lot of ways it could run into trouble.”

Good Lord. Charlie had no desire to engage in a point by point analysis. He didn’t give a damn about the canal or its engineering, only about Hiram Scott. And, in a different way, about Tessa Neville. “Yet canals have been very rewarding in this shire.” It hadn’t been hard to learn that much. “Surely they’ve learned ways around the difficulties.”

“That is precisely why I’m wary. It’s become almost accepted fact that canals are prosperous, therefore investing in a canal, any canal, is a wise decision.”

“You don’t agree.” He didn’t need to ask.

“I don’t accept everyone else’s opinion as fact, no.”

“What is your inclination in this case?”

“I wouldn’t have come this far if I were inclined against it,” she replied.

“So you expect to make the investment,” he persisted.

She hesitated. “Yes, I believe it will turn out to be prudent. Mr. Scott’s numbers are compelling and impressive. I just need to be sure.” There was no waver in her voice, just plain confidence.

“Because you don’t quite trust him,” said Charlie, to provoke her.

“I don’t completely trust anyone who wants money from me, my lord.”

He glanced at her before he could stop himself. She sat facing forward, a composed, neatly contained woman. Her pale green eyes surveyed the road in front of them; she didn’t look at him. But with the sun on her face, gleaming on the dark curls that escaped her bonnet, Charlie wondered that any man could think of money when looking at her.

“I think you don’t completely trust anyone,” he said on impulse.

Her gaze flew to meet his, flashing fire. Her lovely mouth compressed, then eased. “Why should I?” she replied evenly. “Do you trust everyone, sir?”

He laughed. “Not everyone, no. But I don’t immediately assume every man I meet is untrustworthy.”

She turned away, facing forward once more. “Nor do I.”

Charlie looked at her serene profile for a moment. “Yes, you do.”

Instead of becoming indignant, she merely sighed and gave a slight shake of her head. “As you like.”

“You are the wariest woman I’ve ever met,” he went on. “And I cannot decide if you merely dislike me, or if you fear I have nefarious designs upon Mrs. Bates.”

A faint pink suffused her cheeks, but her expression didn’t change. “You heard what I said at the hotel in Bath, when you arrived, for which I am very sorry. I can only plead a short temper, made worse by the discomforts of travel, and offer a humble apology.”

“You should,” he told her. “Normally it takes people at least a half hour’s conversation to decide how indolent I am.”

“Yes.” She slanted him a look. “So I see.”

He grinned. “Precisely! Now at least I haven’t been convicted on prejudice, but on my own failings.”

Her lips pursed up again, and finally a reluctant smile broke through. “Hardly, my lord.”

“Perhaps, with diligent effort and enough time, I can improve my standing in your eyes,” he went on, enjoying himself now. “Next week I might appear merely shiftless, and the week after that lackadaisical. Why, dare I hope to rise so far as . . . benign?”

This time she laughed, just a little. “You’re a silver-tongued serpent, aren’t you?”

“Nonsense. I’m as harmless as a lamb,” he said solemnly.

Those bright green eyes narrowed on him. “I doubt that very much.”

Charlie affected great shock. “Indeed! On what evidence, madam?”

He thought he had her there. He’d been the soul of propriety and good manners—exquisite manners, even—toward her and her companion. She looked at him, hesitating, and he grinned in triumph.

“You’re too charming,” she said at last.

“Flattery, madam!” he exclaimed in glee. “First indolence, now charm! You mustn’t accuse me of such things, I may expire of the shock and drive us off the road.”

“I am ready to take the reins at any sign of infirmity.” She smiled as she said it, and Charlie almost did drive off the road. Tessa Neville’s eyes glowed with sly mirth and her lips curved in a wholly bewitching way when she was in the right humor. And by God, he liked it.

“Which, I gather, you consider an excess of charm.”

“In some cases, yes.”

“And is that my chief failing, Mrs. Neville?” He kept his eyes trained forward, on the twitching left ear of the horse, but he could see his companion still. “You may tell me honestly—in fact, I hope you will.”

The mirth faded from her face. She studied him for a moment, her gaze direct and clear. Mrs. Bates had one thing right: he certainly shouldn’t treat Mrs. Neville as he would any other woman. No one else looked at him so frankly. Charlie was used to a variety of female expressions—coyness, calculation, adoration, seduction—but he’d never felt as though he was being assessed as he was now. Not for the value of his title or the size of his income, not for his physical appearance or even for his reputation among the ton, but for something more. He had the sense Mrs. Neville was trying to decide if she could trust him, at least enough to answer his question honestly.

“You puzzle me, my lord,” she said after a minute. Charlie kept his face bland but curious even as his heart sped up. “I cannot think of any connection between our families, but you’ve taken so strongly to Mrs. Bates.”

“She reminds me of my aunt, whom I love very dearly.”

“Do you not see your aunt often?”

“Every other week, during the Season.”

One corner of her mouth puckered in bemusement. “Then you’re not expiring from the lack of company. What can you possibly mean by lavishing attention on Mrs. Bates?”

“May I not enjoy her company? She seems to welcome it,” he parried, beginning to wish she would turn that incisive gaze away. He could feel it cutting into him even without facing it head-on.

“She could not possibly be more delighted by it,” said Mrs. Neville, a bit dryly. “I don’t wish to be rude, but it festers in my mind. Why us? What about her, or about me, attracted your attention and keeps it fixed on us?”

“Do you think yourself not worth my attention?” he asked.

“No,” she said frankly. “Not at all. My family doesn’t know yours. We’ve never met. I have nothing you could want, no advantage I could offer you, and Eugenie has even less—unless you are perishing for want of someone to debate the latest style in bonnets or the newest Minerva Press novel. And yet you wait on us as if you desperately need something from us.”

Charlie thought a moment, then took the risk. Either this woman was the most accomplished actress since Sarah Siddons or she knew nothing about any blackmail. “Perhaps I do, Mrs. Neville.” He glanced at her sideways as he spoke, and caught the spark of satisfaction in her eyes at his words, followed closely by suspicion. “No great thing. It’s mere happenstance you’re the one I must ask it of.” They had reached Mells, and Charlie slowed the horse, turning toward the ironworks. Scott’s factory was obvious, the tall chimneys rising above the thatched roofs of the little village.

“Well, what is it?” asked the woman beside him as they circled through the wrought-iron gates into the yard of the factory. It was a gracious but solid stone edifice, obviously prosperous, with a wide arched door and lines of clean windows. A carved wooden sign swung on an arm, bearing the title
SCOTT & SWYNNE, IRON MANUFACTORS
. It didn’t look at all like a blackmailer’s lair.

He pulled up the horse in front of the entrance and set the brake. Distant clangs of metal on metal echoed from within, although they seemed out of place with the offices in front of them. He turned to look at her. Mrs. Bates had been right; flummery would get him nowhere with this woman. She was still watching him with the same direct, almost probing gaze as before. She’d never forgive him if he tried to manipulate her or lied to her, and inexplicably, undeniably, Charlie wanted her to like him. And as for what he wanted from her . . . “All I ask is an introduction to Hiram Scott.”

Chapter 7

T
essa’s mouth dropped open. “An introduction?” she repeated stupidly. Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them. It was ridiculous. He was a wealthy earl. He didn’t need her to introduce him to anyone, let alone a factory owner.

“Yes.” Lord Gresham jumped down from the gig and gave her a faint smile. “Too demanding?”

It made her suspicious all over again, which was too bad. She’d almost begun to like the man. Tessa smoothed her face and let him help her down. “Not at all,” she said. “I would be happy to introduce you to him.” It would add more to her stock with Mr. Scott than it would to Lord Gresham’s, but if he thought this was a favor she did him, so be it.

Mr. Scott was waiting. Tessa smiled as he came across the clerk’s office to take her hand. “Mrs. Neville,” he said. “I trust your drive out was pleasant?”

“Yes,” she said. Until Lord Gresham’s last, puzzling, request, she’d enjoyed the drive more than expected. “In fact, I was fortunate enough to meet a gentleman who also wishes to see your plans, and he kindly drove with me. May I introduce you to him?”

Mr. Scott’s eyebrows went up, but he was pleased. “Capital! By all means. Is this the gentleman?”

Tessa turned, thinking the earl was still outside, and started when she realized he’d been right behind her, silent as a shadow. How odd. She would have expected him to step forward at once, not wait for her to speak. “Yes,” she said. “My lord, may I present Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott, this is the Earl of Gresham.”

As Tessa had known it would, Scott’s attention swung from her to Lord Gresham and didn’t swing back. “An honor to make your acquaintance, my lord,” he said cordially, making a crisp bow.

Gresham, she couldn’t help noticing, barely bowed his head in reply. “And I, yours,” he said, in a different voice than she had ever heard from him. He sounded harder, colder, and not charming at all. There wasn’t a trace of his wicked grin, and he was looking at Mr. Scott as if he wished to bore a hole in the man.

What had happened? A few minutes ago he’d been smiling and teasing her, and now he looked every inch the merciless aristocrat. Tessa frowned a little. Which was the true man? Perhaps they were all part of him. She stole another peek at him, and wondered why he chose to show her his charming, persistently friendly side.

“Why, I daresay I don’t deserve the honor!” Scott was so pleased, he seemed not to notice how grim Lord Gresham’s face had become. “Have you heard of our canal works, or do you have a need for iron?”

Lord Gresham didn’t speak for a moment, just stared hard at Scott. “The canal,” he finally said in the same wintry tone. “But I won’t interrupt your appointment with Mrs. Neville.”

From the expression that flickered over his face, Mr. Scott would gladly have ignored Tessa for the rest of the day in favor of an earl, but he recovered well. “Of course not.” He swept out one hand. “Mrs. Neville has come for a tour, to ensure I don’t swindle her.” He chuckled. “You are very welcome to accompany us, my lord.”

Lord Gresham’s dark eyes turned to her. Tessa made herself smile although Scott’s invitation irked her. She had made this appointment and come all the way from Malmesbury, and didn’t appreciate being shunted aside so carelessly. It wasn’t Lord Gresham’s fault, directly, but she’d known this would happen as soon as he asked to come with her today.

“No,” said the earl. “Mrs. Neville doubtless has come prepared with many questions, and I would only impede her. I shall wait here while you show her about.”

Scott cleared his throat. “Of course. As you wish.”

“No,” Tessa heard herself say. She stared at Lord Gresham. He stared back, his expression inscrutable. He wanted to meet Mr. Scott, he wanted to see the canal works, and then he declared he would sit in the office and wait while she asked her questions? Her brother William would not have hesitated to take precedence over her, even though he wouldn’t have the first idea what to ask about the canal. Lord Gresham, who didn’t know her and who outranked William by a league or more, deferred to her. It was startling and disarming.

It was also rather silly to ask Mr. Scott to lead two tours, especially since hers would be rushed and short if Mr. Scott was eager to return to the earl. “I certainly have no objection, if you wish to accompany us,” she said. “You have come to see the canal, and there is no reason for Mr. Scott to show us each separately.”

He bowed his head. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

The following tour was decidedly odd. Mr. Scott was intent on currying Lord Gresham’s favor, which had the benefit of drawing fulsome answers from him in response to her questions, accompanied by frequent asides to His Lordship. Scott didn’t forget himself so far as to overlook her entirely, but Tessa was well aware he was addressing himself to Lord Gresham at least as much as to her. It annoyed her, but she conceded it was making things easier for her, so she tried to ignore it.

As for Lord Gresham, he strolled along a step behind and barely said a word. Every time Tessa stole a glance at him, he was watching Mr. Scott with the same hard expression. He didn’t ask a single question, and if he examined any part of the canal plans in detail, she didn’t see it.

It was possible that he, like William, didn’t really know anything about canals and shares, but then why would he come to see for himself? William hadn’t even suggested such a thing; everyone just assumed she would go for him. It would be easier for Lord Gresham to send an estate agent in his stead, or his solicitor. She would have suspected the earl came for some other reason entirely, except he had clearly said he was interested in the canal. She didn’t understand it, but then, she didn’t understand most things men did, and this particular man was particularly puzzling.

“Have I satisfied all your worries, madam?” asked Scott jovially as they returned to the front of the ironworks. “And yours, my lord?”

“For the moment,” murmured Lord Gresham.

“I shall still want to see the latest accounts,” Tessa said, reminding Mr. Scott of what she told him weeks earlier. What he had shown her today was exactly what she’d expected to see: a small section of canal already built, all neat lines and solid stone. Since it would service his very own factory, she would have been shocked to see anything out of order with it. The success of the canal would depend on more than the three mile stretch from Mells to Frome, however. This branch was intended to run out into the coal fields, carrying lucrative shipments of coal straight into the established canal running through Bath. Scott also predicted grains and other cargoes, including iron from his own factory, would make the canal a thriving enterprise. The pamphlets and list of shareholders he’d brought to persuade William had made it sound as though money would be streaming in from passage fees, paying dividends of ten to fifteen percent or more on shares. In Bath, Mr. Scott had produced more documentation, but it wasn’t enough to justify fifteen percent.

“Of course,” Mr. Scott replied, his smooth smile back in place. “I’ve been trying to gather everything you asked for; perhaps in a few more days all will be ready.”

The earl gave a single nod and walked away toward the carriage without another word. Tessa thanked Mr. Scott and shook his hand before following. She waited until they had driven out the gates again before saying anything to Lord Gresham, as he still wore the closed-down expression that seemed to forbid approach.

“Was Mr. Scott not what you expected?” she asked at last.

He didn’t look at her, but kept his eyes on the road. “No,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“How so?” As soon as she said it, she realized she probably shouldn’t ask. It was none of her business, and he was obviously deep in thought about something. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “That was impertinent.”

He took a deep breath and glanced at her. Some of the lighthearted look came back into his expression. “Impertinent? Not at all. Inquisitive, perhaps, or at worse prying, but not rude.”

She blinked in consternation. “Well . . . well, good. I didn’t want to be rude again.”

Charlie grinned, easily slipping back into his former mood, before they had reached the factory. It was a relief to put aside his thoughts about Scott and think about Mrs. Neville instead. “No, he was not at all what I expected, but I’m exceedingly grateful to you for the introduction.”

She looked baffled. “It was nothing. If anyone is in my debt for that introduction, it appears to be Mr. Scott.”

“Will you return to the ironworks?” he asked. He had barely paid any attention to the details of what Scott said, but he’d heard every word from Tessa Neville’s mouth. “He didn’t answer all your doubts today, I presume.”

“No, he didn’t. Canals are notorious for costing more than anticipated, and although Mr. Scott assures me this canal is being built with great economy, he hasn’t produced any accounting for it, only the initial projections. I won’t throw Marchmont’s money into a company that will waste it.”

“I see.” Charlie realized he was feeling a measure of scorn for Lord Marchmont, who sent his sister out to invest his money for him. But wasn’t he the same? He hadn’t made any effort to take control of his estate, or even prepare to do so, from his brother Edward. Telling himself it wasn’t really his estate yet was only an excuse, and he gave himself a mental slap for being so . . .
indolent
about it.

When they were within a mile of Frome, he slowed the carriage and gestured to a neat little house set back from the road. “My new lodging. Should you or Mrs. Bates ever need to contact me, you may send word to Mill Cottage.”

“You plan to stay in Frome a while, then,” she said in surprise.

“No,” said Charlie. Only as long as it took to sort out Hiram Scott. He’d sooner sleep in a stable than listen through the thin walls of the inn to the couple next door argue all night again. Fortunately for him, he didn’t need to settle for a stable. It had taken his valet exactly one hour to find an estate agent very keen to let any house in Somerset to His Lordship. Barnes should have already removed his belongings to the cottage by now.

“Ah.” She was quiet a moment. “Mrs. Bates and I plan to leave for London within a fortnight, if not within the week.”

“Commendable.” Charlie hoped he was as lucky. “You will be staying with your sister, I believe?”

“Yes,” she murmured. Some of the light went out of her face, and he realized she wasn’t looking forward to it with much pleasure. Every response he thought of, though, seemed inadequate or insensitive, so he said nothing, and they drove into Frome in silence.

He reached The Golden Hind, where she was staying, and stopped the carriage. “My thanks again for your company, and for the introduction to Mr. Scott,” he said as she stepped down.

She smiled uncertainly and bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you for driving.”

“It was my honor,” he said, and meant it.

“You’re too kind.” She was looking up at him with a vaguely quizzical air; he wondered what her agile mind was thinking now. It was rather amusing that she thought he’d been following her because she called him indolent. Of course, telling her he only wanted an introduction to Hiram Scott made only a small bit more sense. This woman wasn’t fooled by any prevarication or flattery. He’d have to think faster the next time he saw her.

That thought put a real smile on his lips. He would definitely see her again. “Good day, Mrs. Neville.” He touched his fingers to his hat, and watched her turn and walk inside the inn before he lifted the reins.

He had only begun to order his thoughts by the time he reached his new residence. To his consternation, Hiram Scott hadn’t displayed a blink of recognition when Mrs. Neville introduced him. It was possible Scott wouldn’t know to connect the Gresham name with Durham, but that wasn’t very good research for a man who hoped to make five thousand pounds in blackmail money. It would have taken nothing more than a quick perusal of any London newspaper to discover the connection, thanks to the recent scandal. It was possible that Scott had learned someone was looking for him—subtlety was not Gerard’s strength, and word might have circulated in Bath—and prepared himself for the encounter so well that he could react without any alarm. But Scott had expected Mrs. Neville alone today. Charlie had watched Scott from the moment the man came out of his office to greet her and hadn’t seen even a flicker of surprise or unease. If anything, Scott’s eyes had lit up in delight, which he only amplified during the tour.

Charlie had been counting on learning something from the confrontation, and was a bit confounded by the results. Scott made no mention, not even a hint, of the Durham Dilemma, even though it was probably the most infamous story in Britain right now. The man seemed pleased to see him, and appeared bent on winning his favor. Perhaps Scott thought his chances for blackmail had died with Durham, and now hoped to wring the money from him by more direct means. He had all but begged Charlie to buy some shares in the canal company. If Scott had any purpose in life, it was that damned canal.

But what did that imply about the blackmail? Perhaps there was a different Hiram Scott who traveled through Bath . . . but this fellow fit the description, and he was in obvious pursuit of funds. Charlie would be absolutely certain of him if only he could find a single thread connecting Scott to Dorothy Cope.

On the other hand, Mrs. Neville and Mrs. Bates also seemed unaware of the Durham Dilemma. He was rather certain Mrs. Bates at least would have been unable to resist saying something, if she’d known. Her memory wasn’t all it used to be, though, she’d told him, and Charlie thought he’d made such an impression on her, she might have overlooked it anyway. Mrs. Bates was utterly dazzled by his attentions.

Not so Mrs. Neville, although Charlie hoped she was thawing toward him, now that he had learned the trick of how to talk to her. It was just his luck to run up against a logical, intelligent woman who was clearly not dazzled by anything about him, when it would have suited him so much better to have her entirely under his sway. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t fancy her as she was; in an odd way, it was part of her allure. He had never had to work for a woman’s regard before, and even as it frustrated him, he found it somehow invigorating. He had to be in top form around her. He no longer suspected she had any part in Hiram Scott’s scheme, but he certainly wasn’t ready to give up the advantages of her acquaintance with Scott. And he really didn’t want her to know he had ever suspected her at all.