Page 17 of Anything But a Duke
Nick cleared his throat. “Thank you, Miss Ashby.” He looked past Huntley to catch Aidan’s gaze. “Unless any of you wish to pledge funding for Miss Ashby today, we will move on and send her our final determination via letter.”
Turning back to face her, Nick added, “I won’t be investing today.”
“The product is fascinating. A capital idea.” Huntley slouched slightly in his chair and tapped his lower lip with his forefinger. “Shame we couldn’t see it in working order.”
“Indeed it is, my lord.” Though she spoke to Huntley, she might as well have called Aidan out by name. Instead, she simply branded him with another pointed glare.
“I regret that your model was damaged, Miss Ashby,” he told her, speaking less forcefully and only to her.
“Perhaps you could return when your scale model is in working order,” Huntley offered with almost breathless enthusiasm.
“That would be setting a new precedent,” Nick put in. “We’ve never allowed inventors to return to the Den.”
He was right. Aidan winced at the notion of inviting some of the past inventors whose presentations had gone pear-shaped to return. Some of the ideas had been truly dreadful once they were fully described, and the Den already had a waiting list.
“I understand the hesitation to alter your rules, gentlemen. You’ve heard what my invention can do, how it could change and simplify sanitation for London’s households. Surely every inventor cannot present a working model.” She pointed at Nick. “You recently invested in a suspension bridge, Your Grace. And you”—one long, elegant finger jutted in Aidan’s direction—“are known for investing in engineering feats that can never become more than sketches on paper until they are funded.”
When she’d finished, a hush fell over the room. Nick, who’d been taking notes, stilled his pen. Even Huntley managed to hold his tongue.
Her brother whispered something and she began to back away, gathering her papers from the table beside her. “Thank you for the opportunity, gentlemen.”
She pivoted and started for the door in long, determined strides.
Aidan had the unaccountable desire to call her back and offer his funding for her invention. A household pneumatic cleaning system was nothing that interested him in the least. Miss Ashby was right about his predilections. He invested in large-scale industrial projects, engineering designs that were bold and pushed the limits of what had ever been achieved in transport and civil engineering.
He still found himself standing up from his chair, but it was too late.
She and her brother stepped across the threshold and the doors slid shut behind them.
The entire room seemed dimmer.
“Mr. Kenworthy is next,” Nick read from the document balanced on his knees. “Do you want to go and call him?”
Huntley, restless by nature, enjoyed the task of escorting each inventor into the Den. He stretched his arms above his head as he rose from his seat and headed for the threshold.
Aidan stared at the closed door and realized he was holding his breath. Hoping foolishly that a certain tall, dark-haired lady would step back through.
The thought of never seeing Diana Ashby again disturbed him almost as much as the notion that he would.
He stood up and followed Huntley out the door.
A familiar tickle fluttered in his stomach, like the tug of a knotted rope around his waist. Instinct and impulse drew him toward the entrance of the club.
“Miss Ashby.” He called down to where she stood waiting as her brother climbed into a hansom cab.
When she turned, the afternoon sun gilded her face, her hair. Some small, soft voice inside told him to turn back. But the way she looked at him, her expression open and eager, made it impossible not to draw closer.
“Have you changed your mind?” She looked so hopeful.
He suddenly hated himself for giving in to foolish impulse.
“Possibly.” He didn’t want to fund her invention for any reason other than its viability. Because he believed it could succeed. He never wished to give any inventor false hope. “I’ll speak to the others.”
“Why?” Her frown was like a cloud obscuring the sun. “Surely you can invest on your own. You were the only investor in Mr. McAdam’s road paving substance just last month, and before you became co-owner of Lyon’s Gentlemen’s Club, you built a reputation on the success of projects in which you were the sole investor.”
Aidan grinned. “You gathered information about me before coming to the Den.”
“About all of you, Mr. Iverson.”
