Page 15 of Anything But a Duke
The lady was a bit of a conundrum.
She dressed like a debutante, spoke like a scholar, and had a flare of hunger in her gaze that he recognized, but hadn’t felt in years.
Every inventor who came before them wanted money, validation, but he saw something more in Miss Ashby’s eyes. Determination. Desperation. Drive. The same impulses that had once fueled him.
His passion for success had cooled over the years. But Diana Ashby’s was fresh. Her desire felt raw, almost palpable. When he’d touched her hand in the lobby, she’d been enticingly warm, as if some fire lit her from the inside.
He’d known that kind of fire once.
His had been stoked by anger. Guilt. Desperation.
Shifting in his chair, Aidan willed himself to stop ruminating and listen to Miss Ashby’s words. He clasped a hand over his mouth and cast his gaze down at the floor.
A moment later, she paused as if she’d misplaced her next thought. When she fell silent, Nick spoke up.
“Is that all, Miss Ashby?” Tremayne had a voice that sounded far gruffer than Aidan knew the man to be.
“That is the sum of my presentation, Your Grace. But I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.” Her tone rang with confidence, even eagerness. Clearly she was prepared for inquiry. She’d been very thorough in describing her cleaning apparatus.
“Do you have something in that box beside you?” Huntley pointed to the object Aidan had accidentally caused her to drop.
“Yes, of course. How could I forget? It’s a scale model of my device with a mechanism that works on the same principle as the completed prototype.”
“Well, let us see your machine in action,” Huntley suggested.
Aidan cast a sidelong glance at his friend and business partner. Huntley was the least likely of the three of them to part with his money unless it was to secure the company of free-spirited women and expensive liquor. For the first time since they’d started the Den, the man sounded downright intrigued.
Miss Ashby’s brother jumped to attention as if realizing his moment had finally come.
Diana nodded to her brother and worked the latch at the top of the container, letting the sides fall open to reveal the model she’d described. One of the tubes of the mechanism lay at an odd angle and she reached inside to adjust its trajectory. She let out a hiss of breath when the ringed metal cylinder crumpled in her hand.
Mr. Ashby’s eyes bulged wide. He nudged his chin toward the box. “There’s something amiss.”
“It’s broken.” She let out the two words on a horrified gasp.
“How bad?” her brother inquired gently.
“Ruined.”
Aidan winced. Their mishap had been brief, but her wooden container had hit the marble floor hard.
“Is there a problem, Miss Ashby?” Huntley leaned forward. “Is your machine not working?”
“My inventiondoeswork, my lord.” She looked up, scanning their faces. Her gaze came to rest on Aidan, and she shot him a stare as pointed as an accusing finger placed right between his eyes.
“I regret to say that my apparatus was damaged during this morning’s collision.” Each word fell from her lush mouth with hard emphasis, as if she was repeating a curse and wished to get every syllable right.
Aidan stared into Miss Diana Ashby’s pretty blue eyes and didn’t doubt for a moment that if she could have called him up before a magistrate, she would have.
He couldn’t blame her. Such an opportunity came once, and he had taken part in damaging her prospects.
“That’s a terrible shame, Miss Ashby.” Huntley pitched his voice an octave lower.
“It’s my fault.” Aidan waited for all eyes to turn his way. “When we encountered Miss Ashby this morning, I inadvertently caused her model to tip—”
“To crash,” she corrected.
“The box fell.”
