Page 74 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“Bigger than Lichfield stealing from my dead father?”
“Yes, well, there is the issue of the mining shares. The company has been productive since its inception, which means your shares are worth roughly £1.2 million, but that information is sourced from an outdated balance sheet. I suspect they are worth considerably more now.”
“More?”
“More.”
“Bloody fucking hell.” Evan sank back down into his chair and leaned forward to drop his head into his hands. The figure was unbelievable.
“I am told that Lichfield lives like a king, so I doubt there is room to recover any annuities you might be owed from previous years. But, should you sell your stock, or even a small portion, we could have funds within the week transferred to London.”
Clark droned on about stock valuation, annuities, and extradition procedures, but Evan was having a difficult time taking it all in. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was free. Relief made him feel light as if he were rising like a balloon. His tenants would have funds for leaky roofs and new equipment. His mother would not be forced to leave Sterling House. She could buy new dresses. His sisters no longer had to wear clothing they had outgrown. He could fund all of the plans for Charrington Manor and his other estates that he had discussed with August.
August! She was also free. Free to choose not to marry him. She could go back to her life as she had planned it. He had to tell her. She would be ecstatic. He started to rise but sank back down into the cushioned seat as he grasped the reality of that.
She would choose not to marry him. She had never wanted their marriage, so why would she choose him now? Disappointment and sadness drained away every drop of joy. A very selfish part of him wanted to pretend this conversation had never happened or even toss away the mine shares. He wanted the life they had planned in those hours alone at Charrington Manor. But that wouldn’t be fair. He had to offer her freedom. It was the one thing he could give her.
“Your Grace? Your Grace?” From his puzzled expression, it appeared that Clark had been trying to get his attention for some time. “There is the Crenshaw matter to discuss. I have made certain to keep the mining news quiet. Not even my clerks know, so the decision is yours to make.Do you want to move forward with the betrothal contract?” He withdrew a thick sheaf of papers from that bottomless box. “I have it here, ready to be finalized.”
Evan was forced to clear his throat to speak. “You were able to receive the concessions from Crenshaw?” The past several days had seen the contract volleyed back and forth from Clark to Crenshaw. The man had been nearly belligerent about not allowing his own daughter to stay employed as a stakeholder in the London-based portion of Crenshaw Iron, while Evan had insisted her employment be assured in writing.
“Yes. Yesterday I met with him and his son, Maxwell. It seems the son was able to persuade him.”
“Ah, Maxwell Crenshaw. It is good to see that at least one of them has sense.” Maxwell had left his card at both Sterling House and the club in an apparent bid to meet with him. Evan was sorry he had not yet arranged a meeting. Now it appeared there was no need. An ache opened up in his chest at how close they had been to having happiness together. But even then he had to remind himself of his own selfishness. She had been coerced. There couldn’t be true happiness unless she chose it for herself.
Evan rose and Clark followed. “Do you not want to sign the contract?” Clark asked.
“To what purpose? I am no longer in need of their funds. God knows, I loathe the idea of taking a bride who does not want me.”
Clark swallowed. “Yes, I suppose, but he agreed to your requests. Unless I mistook your earlier conversation, Miss Crenshaw has provisionally agreed to the match.”
Evan smiled. “Are you saying I would be a fool to pass up such an offer?”
The man flushed. “It is a fine offer, Your Grace.”
“It is,” said Evan as he took his leave of the office. “But that choice should be for August herself.”
He needed to talk to her. The betrothal ring he had retrieved from the family safe at Sterling House burned a hole in his pocket. It had been there ever since he had returned from Charrington Manor with thoughts of a brand-new future before him. At the time, he had been certain it would grace August’s finger by the end of the week.
Now he was not so sure. He wanted to give it to her. Now that he had begun to see a future with her, it was impossible to imagine one without her. Especially after he knew her taste and the soft sounds of pleasure she made when he was inside her. He wanted more of that. More of her.
But would she choose him? He had to go see her and find out.
***
The Duke of Rothschild to see you.”
August had been sitting at the writing desk in the family’s drawing room in the back of the house when the footman made the announcement. The telegram she had been drafting to direct funds to their newly opened London account was immediately forgotten. Her hands went to her hair, her skirt, and then back to her hair as she rose. Shoving her stockinged feet into her slippers, she said, “Show him in.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before the door was pushed open and Evan brushed past the footman. He gave her a long, sweeping examination that traveled the length of her body and back. She found herself nearly preening under his gaze as she remembered the last time she had seen him and the night that had preceded it. A glimmer of awareness came to life in her belly. She had missed him. Her fingers ached to bury themselves in the thick silk of his hair, and she could already anticipate the hard length of his torso pressed to her front. A pulse beat between her thighs, reminding her that his hard length had been there as well. Stubble covered the lower half of his face. It was a few shades darker than the hair on his head and made him seem only barely civilized in his gentleman attire, as if the clothing were only a facade. He reminded her very much of the fighter he had been on their first meeting.
“I shall return with tea,” said the footman, interrupting their moment.
“No tea,” she said, not wanting to be disturbed, but then thought better of it. “Unless you want some?” she asked Evan.
“Leave us,” he said without looking at the man. The weight of his gaze seemed to caress her across the distance.
The footman nodded and left the door ajar, but Evan reached back to push it closed. Her nerve endings came alive at the simple gesture, and the fact that she was alone with him again, delightfully alone.
