1860 New Hebrides, Pacific Ocean.
Belatedly recalling that he was speaking to a British peer, McLeish pulled himself together and shrugged off his outburst. ‘Never mind that sordid story, my lord. How about another shot of my fine whiskey?’
Nearly choking on rising bile, Lord Alexander St. John forced himself to take his leave as politely as he would have from a London drawing room. ‘I thank you, sir, but as I sail on the morning tide so I must bid you farewell.’
He wanted to punch the bastard in his smug face after witnessing the disrespect he’d shown his daughter. He’d heard the stories of the man’s abuse of his daughter and his cruelty when dealing with his plantation laborers. If he’d remained in the same room as that vile man for another minute, he would not have been able to contain his rage. The only thing holding him back was knowing that McLeish’s moods were mercurial. Tonight, he had wanted his daughter to appear enticing but Alex feared the aftermath if he’d shown Lady Katharine any special attention. McLeish would do anything to leave these islands and return to London and becoming part of the St. John family would ensure he would be accepted back into London society, despite the cloud he departed under previously.
Relieved to escape the house without further conflict, he strode down the garden path lit by flares and walked away from the house. Once out of McLeish’s view, he turned into the gardens. When a soundless lips in a gesture of silence and beckoned Alex to follow. Wordlessly, they descended to the small cove where Tong Lee stopped and pointed. Alex could make out a huddled figure on the beach, staring fixedly out to the ocean. Not wanting to scare her, he cleared his throat softly to announce his approach. Nevertheless, she started in fright and fear.
‘It is only I, Alexander. Please do not fear me. I didn’t wish to alarm you, but I needed to be assured of your well-being before I sailed.’
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ance”As the Duke of Sherwyn, you’ve entree into the best houses and social events.”
After a scowl towards the ceiling, he muttered, “Thanks to my stepmother, I’m forced into it. But what does my recent social popularity have to do with your current predicament?”
“In daylight, with other ladies, I can stroll about the streets. Visit shops, sometimes slip unnoticed into the twice-weekly stock auctions at the Hall of Commerce in Threadneedle Street. And I’ve already searched the desks of many of the mere misters and lesser peers of the lower orders of the consortium, as their houses aren’t guarded like fortresses.”
“Do you mean to say you entered these men’s homes and rifled their papers?”
“Well yes, but–”
“Are you mad?”
“I risked little, because those sort of houses cannot afford a footman guarding every passageway. Especially not on occasions such as those I attended, where every footman is needed to fetch drinks for belligerent guests. Slipping into those libraries was child’s play.” She sighed. “What I cannot do is visit the homes of the highest ranking peers to scour their correspondence for any that bears the special seal of the consortium. Nor secure enough privacy to copy any incriminating letters I may find. Someone always hovers, and watches, at those type of houses.”
He paced before her like a restless panther, an angry scowl pulling his face taut. His fine looks had always turned heads, but this brooding beast carried a lethal combination of strength and menacing masculinity. She shivered. His newly acquired arrogance of bearing enhanced, rather than detracted from, his magnetism, although this time, she knew to avoid his magnetic pull.
“You intend searching the houses of every peer in the city who is making money from stock shares?”
“No, no, not all of them. We’ve done a lot of research–”
“We?”
“My family have become quite adept at research. We’ve narrowed our search to gentlemen known to invest in railway expansions in a large way. Our final list is of those we consider to be involved in the inner, and most secret, tier of the syndicate. It contains eighteen names, the majority of whom are high-ranking peers.
“Bloody hell, Becca.” He ground the expletive out through clenched teeth. “You’re out of your depth. I’ve been involved in similar commercial groups. They’ll stop at nothing for the sake of money.”
“Nevertheless, we need certain details you may overhear at clubs about certain gentlemen having sudden windfalls. Or things gleaned at certain balls and soirees.
“Unbelievable.” Both hands went up in the air. “That’s certainly as clear as muddy water.”
“Clear or not, I’m asking you to trust me. To help me.”
She held out both hands, palms up, and hoped he wouldn’t notice their tremors. “With your assistance, I can verify more names. Collect proof of each one’s involvement and hand it over to Scotland Yard. Time is of the essence, as we’ve now less than two weeks.”
She watched him absorb, assess, decide. In under a minute, he guided her to his desk and seated her before it.
“Make a start. List the names of every man you suspect to be a member.” He placed writing materials before her. “Then list those you consider inner tier, and include their ranking.”
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As the Duke of Stirkton, Max was well accustomed to being watched. Young pups copied his dress style. Toad-eaters mimicked his behavior in futile attempts to ingratiate themselves into his life. Conservative groups applauded his somber public behavior, while cartoonists ridiculed his straight-laced demeanor and suggested he take a mistress. Or two.
Whichever way people viewed him, no one had dared ridicule him to his face. Until this evening. The Countess had side-stepped his butler and marched into his drawing room as if an unannounced call upon an unmarried duke was something she did regularly. Max had informed her, in great detail, of the extensive search he and his cousin had undertaken to locate her and the other women. She’d huffed and rolled her eyes.
Normally, his month-about- mistresses gleefully accepted his proposal because sharing a duke’s bed for a month would set them up for the rest of their lives. Apart from the financial benefits, he was a generous lover. One benefit of his abnormal upbringing had been an early and full education into what women wanted in a bed partner. Until the Countess had laughed at him, he’d never had reason to doubt his sexual prowess. In the brief time she’d been in his house, she’d challenged several of his beliefs.
“It’s the ideal solution.” And something he needed. “I will help you search my grandfather’s boxes by day and, in exchange, you’ll make yourself available to me in the evenings.” Max waited, unsure what to expect. An odd situation for a man who prided himself on reading adversaries as easily as he tallied the accounts. books2read.com/suziloveFTAV
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Continue reading →Richard, Earl of Winchester, groaned. Heaven save him, for lust had addled his wits. Contrarily, if he’d read similar thoughts on the face of any drooling young pup, he’d have leapt across the pews and planted him a facer. Embarrassed himself, and Lady Laura Jamison, with his possessiveness. The gossips would squeal with delight to see him break his own rules and behave like an obsessed suitor.
Far better that onlookers saw the relationship between him and Laura as sparring siblings because, in private, his indifference was becoming harder and harder to maintain. More so, when Laura studied him surreptitiously, or so she thought, and compared him to other men. When she recorded his suitability as her mate as part of her quest to ensure the survival of the human species. Blast the woman and her speculating eyes, because no matter how sexually innocent her assessments of his anatomy might be, his body leapt to readiness faster than any seasoned street walker lifted her skirts.
And damn his randy thoughts for creating so many pictures of them cavorting in his bed. In that arena, if nowhere else, he was certain their passionate natures would prove a perfect match. He clenched his fist at the thought of giving up something else. The intelligent and strong children their couplings would produce. Because if he had Laura’s body under him once, he’d be old and wizened before he tired of her.
Love revealed at a courtesan’s ball. Brenton, Lord Mallory, attends his first courtesan’s ball in ten years to appease his concerned friends, though he’d rather stay home and read to his motherless daughters. Though mortified that Brenton unmasks her at a scandalous ball, Lady Lillian Armstrong doesn’t regret their night together. But will the object of her girlish adoration still treat her as his best friend’s little sister, or will he now see her as a mature and willing woman? books2read.com/suzilovePHB
