Page 2 of The Devil and the Heiress
“But you have another offer.” A better offer. Christian clenched his jaw so hard that his molars ached. He did not intend to lose Violet to another man. She had fascinated him from their first meeting. If he was forced to consider a wife, then it would be her.
Crenshaw would have grimaced had he not been so accustomed to tense negotiations. Christian could see the urge lingering there in his expression. The corners of his mouth turned downward a small degree, and his eyes sobered. “Nothing has been finalized, but there is a tempting proposal on the table, yes.”
“Who is it?”
“Well, now, I wouldn’t want to give anything away until things are further along.”
Christian searched his memory, trying to remember every man who had ever paid attention to Violet at the various balls he had seen her attend. The list was nearly endless, because she was an heiress and beautiful. Even thoughher older sister, August, should have been the talk of the season, and she had gained her share of admirers, it was Violet who had commanded the greater share of attention. Part of that was because Mrs. Crenshaw had been very active in taking Violet to every social event imaginable. Part of it was because everyone knew that August was a bluestocking and more concerned with working in the family business than getting married. In fact, she had publicly claimed to not be interested in marrying soon. Until Rothschild had changed that.
Violet, on the other hand, was more refined, more of what was expected in an aristocratic wife. There was a fire lurking beneath her cool exterior that she hid well. It made most believe she would be biddable. Christian knew that she would not, but he wanted her anyway. Perhaps because of that. He liked the way she met his gaze instead of demurring to him. She would challenge him, and if he had to face a wife daily, then why not rise to that challenge?
“What has he promised you?”
Crenshaw sighed dramatically as if he did not want to reveal more but had been given no choice. He smiled again, a practiced one meant to placate. “Mineral rights.”
One of the many things Christian did not have to offer. “And you will give your daughter away for mineral rights?”
The smile did not fade, but it cooled so fast that it hardened. “You would have me give her away for less.”
Touché. “I would have you present all viable options to her and allow her to choose.”
“You believe yourself to be a better option, my lord?”
“Naturally. I understand that I’ve gained a reputation of sorts. You must have heard the rumors.” Women. Deviance in the bedroom. Violent brawls and general debauchery. Christian watched Crenshaw’s face closely for any reaction to his boldness in bringing up that subject. There was none. Crenshaw was good at what he did. “The women,” Christian elaborated.
Crenshaw gave a brisk nod. “Women can be dramatic creatures. I do not put much stock into their reactions.”
“Nevertheless, I would assure you that the rumors exaggerate.” For example, the gossips claimed his leg had been broken by an irate husband. That he had been set upon by the husband in a dark alley. As if he would be so careless. “Rest assured, I would never put your daughter at risk.”
“I am not concerned with your fidelity. Violet will learn that the state of a husband’s personal life is his own affair.”
“Then it is purely material gain you are after?” The words were strangely bitter on his tongue.
Crenshaw laughed and rose, placing his cigar on the edge of a crystal dish. “I will be certain to keep your proposal in mind.” Which meant that he wouldn’t.
Dammit. Christian had no way to counter a bloody business proposal when he had only come armed with a title, charm, and an admiration for the man’s daughter. He had wrongly assumed that the business need that accompanied marriage would be resolved now that the elder daughter’s union was all but assured.
Christian got to his feet and waited for the predictable throb of pain that shot through his ankle to pass before gripping his cane and following Crenshaw to the door. “Then at least tell me whom I should congratulate for winning her hand.”
Crenshaw tipped his head. “I cannot say.”
Christian’s grip on the silver hawk’s head of his cane became a fist, but he forced a lazy tone. “You cannot say?”
“All right.” Crenshaw grinned like a boy who had glutted himself on a treat. “I will merely say that you may visit and admire my beloved daughter later this summer in Devon.”
Ware. Pallid and weak. It had to be him, because his family seat was in Devon and he seemed to always be at hand when the Crenshaw sisters were about. The man-child could not hold his own against a mildly strong gust of wind much less an angry suitor bent on having Violet.Unfortunately, the issue would not be decided in a bare-knuckle boxing match. More’s the pity.
And to add insult to injury, Ware was a mere viscount.
“I shall look forward to it.” Christian bid good day to the infuriating man and made his way to the front stairs as if he had not been rebuffed by a man whose recent ancestors had been scoundrels and thieves. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be the better match for Violet Crenshaw. The fact that his lack of resources was the only thing keeping her from being his grated.
Ware was a slug. The man wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like her. He’d keep her hidden away on his estate, justifiably afraid that a better man would take her from him. Christian, however, would keep her in the light. He would allow her to host as many parties as her heart desired and enjoy as many theater outings as she wanted. She would dance and flirt and everything else that was socially acceptable to a newly married bride, but she would be his, and no man would be foolish enough to overstep. The reputation his fists had gained him would work in his favor there.
His old leg injury flared up on cold, rainy days but otherwise was a mere annoyance that caused a barely noticeable limp. He carried a cane for the occasions when standing excessively was necessary, or for the random uneven pavement or gravel walkway. Stairs were another problem. No matter how he tried, navigating them was slower than he would like and required the use of a well-mounted handrail. Today, however, he was grateful for the delay as he made his way down. It gave him time to notice the most beautiful and haunting voice he had ever heard. Hearing it instantly helped to dissipate his anger.
He knew immediately that it was Violet singing. The soft rasp of her voice coming through the closed door was unmistakable. A pleasant chill tingled over his skin anddown his spine. By the time he neared the foot of the stairs, it was over, to be replaced by light applause. Violet said something, but her voice was too muffled to distinguish the words. Laughter followed. The music room door clicked open, and a maid hurried out, leaving the door ajar behind her.
A decent man would have kept walking and not lingered as he passed the partially open door. He would have smiled at the giggles spilling out of the room and hurried on his way to his next appointment. Everyone knew that Christian was not a decent man. He owned a reputation notorious for indecent things.
