Page 115 of A Duke Changes Everything
“We’re together. That’s all I need. Wherever we are, I won’t even notice the walls. Only us.”
“Us.” Mina smiled so wide her cheeks ached. “I do like the way that sounds.”
Nick smiled, glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and then bent to take her mouth in a searing kiss.
Epilogue
Huntley frowned as if thoroughly confused, but one blond brow winged up as if he was willing to be intrigued. Iverson was so excited he bounded up from his chair and began beaming, rubbing his hands together as if he’d just won the entire contents of Lyon’s vault.
“I take it you like the idea,” Nick said drily from one of four chairs he’d set out for their meeting.
Across from him, Mina offered a smile that still caused heat to unfurl inside him.
“Explain it to me again.” Huntley crossed one leg over the other and rested his clasped hands on his waistcoat. “No more gambling? No more fun?”
Nick chuckled as Iverson paced excitedly behind him. “I suggest we phase out game play slowly. Shift the purpose of the club and then consider our options.”
“We could,” Mina started, hesitated, and then continued on when the three of them stared at her expectantly. “Might I suggest that we set aside a few rooms where inventors could wait and prepare their documents and assemble their thoughts before presenting their ideas to you?”
“I like it,” Iverson said immediately. “We needn’t even see prospective inventors every day. We could set aside one or two days per week to hear their ideas. Bring in five on that day, perhaps.”
“How many are we expecting?” Huntley suddenly looked less at ease. “You may love your bridges and railroads, Iverson, but handing out funds to every man in London with a wild idea will soon bankrupt all of us.”
“We won’t fund them all,” Nick put in. “Just as I did not loan to every nobleman who visited me in the den. We listen, assess, and then decide if or how much to invest.”
“Not all of them will come with viable ideas like the duchess’s cousin.” Iverson winked in Mina’s direction.
Nick reminded himself the man was one of his dearest friends.
“Fairchild is eager to come with other ideas, so we already have one inventor interested.”
Huntley stood too, though he didn’t join Iverson in his excited pacing. He assessed the room. “So you’re both certain this will continue to make us money? As much as the gaming tables?”
“We won’t know until we try,” Nick said, feeling extraordinarily hopeful. A sensation he wasn’t used to, but he was learning to embrace, along with his wife’s impulse to do good.
“And we’ll celebrate after every decision to invest?” Huntley asked, then looked around the unadorned space. “This room could do with a drinks cart and more comfortable chairs.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Iverson shake his head and pinch the bridge of his nose. Mina’s laughter carried across the room, making the dimly lit space feel brighter.
“Men don’t come down to the den for entertainment and diversions, Huntley.” Nick stood up from his chair and approached Mina.
The more he looked at her, the more Nick thought a diversion directly to their private quarters was in order. He’d expanded the space and Mina had made changes to make the rooms her own, but they were still searching for the perfect London townhouse to suit them.
“Are we agreed, gentlemen?” Iverson asked. “Shall we at least try Nick’s idea of inviting inventors to the club and selecting a few to present their ideas one day per week?”
“Actually, Iverson.” Nick wrapped an arm around Mina’s waist and smiled down at her. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Well done, Duchess,” Iverson said as he shook Nick’s hand. “And Duke.”
“What shall we call this little investors’ club of ours?” Huntley asked as he started toward the door.
Nick shrugged. “The noblemen always called it the den.”
“Then it’s the Duke’s Den now.” Huntley waved resignedly as he crossed the threshold. “I shall see you all next week with a pile of pounds to give away to some madman with a clever idea.”
“He doesn’t seem fully convinced,” Mina whispered when he’d departed.
“Huntley is a bit of a pessimist,” Iverson told her as he donned his overcoat and straightened the cuffs. “Don’t let his n’er-do-well exterior fool you. He’ll come around and he’s bloody impulsive. The first time a man presents us with an idea he likes, he’ll be the first to commit funds.”
