Page 1 of The Devil and the Heiress
Chapter 1
A proclivity for wickedness in his private life combined with his distaste for those he judged inferior rendered Lord Lucifer completely unsuited to her. That did not save the heiress, however, from her fascination of him.
V. Lennox,An American and the London Season
LONDON
MAY 1875
Humor me, my lord, and tell me why you wish to marry my daughter.” Griswold Crenshaw, American industrialist, sat behind his large mahogany desk, hands arrogantly folded over his stomach, cigar clenched between his gleaming teeth, eyes mere slits of condescension. He was a man secure in the knowledge that he held all the power in this negotiation.
It chafed that the bloody fool was right.
Christian Halston, Earl of Leigh, was accustomed to privilege. It meant that he was never required to answer questions or to even ask them very often. Information was gifted to him like tributes wrapped in golden paper. However, a wise man of privilege knew the benefit of a little humbling now and then, or so he had been told. Activelyforcing his jaw to relax, he said, “I should think that is self-evident. Miss Crenshaw is—”
Crenshaw leaned forward and tugged the cigar from his mouth. “Beautiful. Cultured. Educated. Pardon me, my lord, but I have met my daughter, and I am aware of her many attributes. I am asking why you are interested in obtaining her hand.”
It appeared the humbling was not over yet. Reasonable when dealing with a wealthy American and his daughter, Christian supposed. To be fair, he found the London Season to be one of the more inane rituals imposed upon modern man. It was all pointless chatter and insincere flattery that ended with men carrying home their brides. The whole thing could be condensed into a week if everyone were honest about the matter. It was a welcome revelation that Crenshaw wanted the truth rather than adulation.
Christian could deliver the truth. “I am rather interested in her fortune.”
Crenshaw grinned, and the oxblood leather creaked as he leaned back in his chair, straining the springs. “Now we’re making progress.” Amber liquid swirled in his tumbler as he picked it up, indicating that Christian should do the same with the identical one he had been provided upon arrival a few minutes earlier. Christian complied and let the drink roll across his tongue.
“What has you in need of funds? Debts, my lord?”
The tone the older man used made it seem very much as if themy lordbit was optional. Did Christian even want this man for a father-in-law? No, he bloody well did not. He closed his eyes and imagined Violet. Beautiful Violet with her dark hair, creamy skin, chocolate eyes, and the piles of money that came with her. He could do this. There would eventually be an ocean between him and Crenshaw, after all.
“No debts.” Those had been dealt with when Christian had inherited the earldom at age twelve. After finding outthat his father had left his small savings to his mistress and his children by her, Christian had happily sold almost everything not bolted down or entailed and had never once looked back. That had taken care of his father’s debts. Montague Club, the club he had opened with his half brother Jacob Thorne and a friend, the Duke of Rothschild, kept him comfortable.
Crenshaw’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Astonishing. I was led to believe that most of you aristocrats were... insolvent.”
Christian stifled a cringe at this uncouth talk of funds. The man had every right to believe that, and there was a bit of truth to it. Almost every eligible noble in London had been clamoring for one of his daughters. Rothschild—not Sterling any longer since he had come to accept his position as duke—had ensnared the elder daughter already, though their engagement had not yet been announced.
“I consolidated some years back when I inherited. The family seat in Sussex and my home in Belgravia are in working order.” Though they were in desperate need of repairs since the rents at Amberley Park barely covered the minimum needed to keep the place running.
“Well then, that’s commendable.” Crenshaw took another sip of his drink. “Might I ask why you require funds?”
“I own a small estate in Scotland. Blythkirk. I inherited it on my mother’s side, and it holds sentimental value. There was a fire recently, so it requires extensive refurbishment.” Years of practice made his tone sound benign. There was no hint of the fact that the home had been his refuge from a father intent on making his life hell. That its near loss had opened a well of pain that he would rather not face.
The older man grinned as if he did not quite believe a mere estate could be worth a wife. “Her settlement will provide for more than that, my lord.”
Christian inclined his head in acknowledgment of that fact. “Indeed, it will. I am certain to make good use of it.While I am not insolvent, my ancestral estate, Amberley Park, drains my income. There are improvements I would make there. Furthermore, there are several investments I am interested in procuring. For one, I have a stake in—”
Before he could elaborate, Crenshaw said, “I am going to stop you there, my lord. As you are aware, I am a man of industry. As such, it is not enough that I find my daughter a suitable match, but that I look out for the interests of Crenshaw Iron Works in the process. To be very honest, there are more men who can fulfill the former than the latter.”
Christian stared at the man. The rules of matrimonial negotiations were a bit outside his purview given that he had never considered obtaining a wife before Blythkirk’s devastation, having been content to allow the earldom to pass to a distant relative, but he was almost certain that the bride’s best interest should at least slightly outweigh those of a business. “Are you saying that you need a candidate who can bring business ventures to Crenshaw Iron Works?”
“That’s it precisely. The ideal would be someone who meets with our Violet’s approval, of course, but can present opportunities for Crenshaw Iron’s expansion. Now that we are in the beginnings of setting up operations here, well, the world is open to us.” His hands skated through the air in a smooth glide, mimicking the opening of a presumed gateway to the world. His eyes fairly glittered with greed.
“Like Rothschild.” Christian knew that the main reason Crenshaw had encouraged and even pursued Rothschild’s interest had been because of his title and the doors that title could open in Parliament. Being related to a duke willing to speak on Crenshaw’s behalf would give the company nearly unfettered access to the railways being constructed in India.
Crenshaw’s gaze narrowed. No one outside of the family was supposed to know that Rothschild had followed their elder daughter, August, to America. Christian, however, hadbeen with Rothschild when he had made his mad dash to the Crenshaws’ rented townhome off Grosvenor’s Square to propose only to find his beloved ready to set sail. He had followed her to Liverpool and boarded her ship just in time. The ship was still en route, meaning no one knew how that had turned out, though Christian would guess the couple would wed very soon.
“Yes, like the duke.”
“I have influence with my seat in the House of Lords,” said Christian even as a hollow was opening up in his belly. He did not like the direction of this conversation. Crenshaw was a shrewd man. Access to Parliament granted, he would be looking for another advantage.
“Of course, my lord, and that is not inconsequential.” A note of consolation had crept into Crenshaw’s voice. The hair at the back of Christian’s neck bristled. He was about to be refused. “We are very flattered by your interest.”
