Page 28 of The Devil and the Heiress
August grabbed it and skimmed it with Rothschild reading over her shoulder. He shook his head in disappointment. “Ware indicated his interest in her. I warned him away, but he must have pressed his suit,” he said.
August glanced up at her husband and then looked at Max. “I married their duke. Isn’t one nobleman in the family enough?”
“I don’t pretend to understand them.”
August shook her head. “It’s my fault. I should have insisted that Violet leave with me.”
“If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I spoke with Papa, and he assured me that their only interest was you, Rothschild. He made it seem as if your offer was too good to pass up. I never thought they would try to force another marriage.” Raking his hands through his hair, Max walked to the window that overlooked the small garden in the back of the house. “I always knew that he had a ruthless streak when it came to business, but I never realized that it would extend to his children. More the fool am I. We were stupid to leave her there.”
“I may be able to help. I will send a telegram to my partners at Montague Club. They can find Ware and dissuade him from her,” Rothschild said.
August worried the edge of the telegram with her thumb. “Papa can be very persuasive when he needs to be.”
Rothschild shrugged. “Ware is a known coward, and Leigh already despises him from our days at Eton.” He gave August’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps it will delay things while we can return to England and find her. We can search train stations and ship registers. Someone will have made note of her passing through.”
August nodded. “Once she knows I’m back in London, I’m certain she will attempt to contact me.”
“No,” said Max. “You both have business here in New York.” Having recently discovered that he had inherited interest in a mining company, Rothschild had a series of meetings scheduled for the next week. “I’ll go to London and look for her.” It would also give him the opportunity to deal with their parents in person.
“But what of Crenshaw Iron?” asked August.
“What of it?” Max raised his brow at her. “You know that you’re as capable of running it as I am.” August had spent the past ten years of her life learning the ins and outs of the business right alongside him. Papa had already given her more responsibility in the company than many were comfortable with. If he hadn’t allowed opinion to sway him from giving her even more, she would already be running it.
August shook her head. “I simply can’t fathom her out there alone, and if our parents find her first, they may very well force this marriage. You stay. I’ll go.”
“And leave your husband here?”
August glanced up at Rothschild, who nodded. “Go if you need to. I’ll follow quickly.”
Turning her attention back to Max, she said, “That’s settled, then. I’ll go.”
“No, I owe this to Violet.” He did. He should have done more while he was there to make certain she was safe and this wouldn’t happen. He had failed her once; he wouldn’tdo it again. “Had I not let them convince me that they had no plans for marriage for her, she would be safe and not left to face this on her own. This time I’ll bring her back with me.” He should have seen through their parents’ assurances.
She frowned, still hesitant, but she nodded her agreement. “If you’re certain.”
“I am. Forgive me, but I need to leave to make arrangements. With any luck I can book passage on a ship leaving tomorrow.”
•••
SOMEWHERE IN THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE
Doubts, along with the sensation of being alone in a strange place, had given Violet little peace last night. She had tossed and turned until her dreams had mixed with her worried thoughts, driving out any of the good humor left from her meal with Lord Leigh. Had she done the right thing in leaving home? Yes, she was certain that staying would have only created strife. However, she disliked the anxiety and pain that leaving was certainly causing her parents.
After giving her direction to Lord Leigh the next morning, she noticed that he seemed to retreat into the same aloofness that had plagued him yesterday on the drive from London. The silence between them wasn’t tense, and for that she was grateful. Their shared laughter from the night before had created a more relaxed environment between them. However, she still found herself wondering what he thought of her. She should probably apologize for the kiss at the ball, but she was too afraid of his further rejection to broach the topic. He had held her hand briefly and laughed with her last night, but it would be folly to assume that he felt more for her.
While she was reasonably certain he found her pretty,she really wanted to know if he found her admirable, someone worthy of his more romantic attention. Not that it should matter. He was an earl and she was an heiress, and that meant she would not choose him to placate her parents, even if a small part of her revolted at that fact. There. She acknowledged it. She didn’t simply study him in the interest of research. She admired him all on her own. Violet Crenshaw, not Miss Hamilton.
As he continued to work on his ledgers, she retreated into her writing, which was the only thing that calmed her when she had these anxious thoughts. It wasn’t easy to work on her manuscript with the constant jolting of the carriage, but she managed it for a bit, until she broke the lead of the third pencil she had used that morning. Giving up, she dropped the loose pages of parchment on the seat beside her and stared out the window until she drifted off to sleep. Her face pressed against the lush upholstery of her seat back.
She awoke a bit later when the carriage moved over a deep rut in the road, jarring her so that her forehead bumped against the window. The farther they moved from London, the worse the roads seemed to get.
“Ouch,” she murmured and pushed herself away from the glass.
“Careful, Miss Crenshaw.” Leigh’s voice, bored and slightly distracted, came from his side of the carriage.
She rubbed the tender spot near her temple. He sat with his legs outstretched, seemingly absorbed in the pile of papers on his lap. His calf pressed against her skirt, so she leaned her leg slightly into the contact, simultaneously aghast at how desperate she was for a scrap of affection from him and exhilarated by the touch. A lock of hair had fallen down over his forehead; it was almost black in the shadows of the carriage. His brow was furrowed in concentration. She wished that made him less appealing, but the more unapproachable he appeared, the more she seemed todesire him. No, not true. Last night when they had sat and talked and laughed, she had wanted him to be hers with every part of her being. The very idea of posing as his wife tonight filled her with an emotion she wasn’t quite certain she recognized.
“Are you injured?” he asked and looked at her, likely prompted by her silence.
