Page 34 of Anything But a Duke
“Wait.” He caught her midsentence and then lost his train of thought when she stopped and watched him breathlessly, lips parted, eyes wide. “I didn’t say I would fund your invention, Miss Ashby.”
“But you must.” The rawness in her tone echoed inside him.
He understood desperation.
She tipped her gaze down and drew in a deep breath as if working to temper her emotions. When she looked up again, he noticed her gaze land on a calendar she’d affixed to the conservatory wall. The final day of the month had been circled viciously with rounds and rounds of grease pen marks that nearly obscured the square.
“What happens at the end of the month?” he asked her quietly.
“I need to secure funding by then.” For the first time since he’d met her, a bit of doubt crept into her voice.
“Or else?”
“I have agreed to give up my work.” She offered him a terrible caricature of a smile. “One can’t dream forever, Mr. Iverson. There comes a time to be practical.”
Aidan looked around her workshop, at the dozens of sketches lining the walls, the metallic contraptions crowding the space, all the implements and bits and pieces she’d gathered around her. He’d known Diana Ashby for a handful of days, but he knew instinctively that she’d prefer any other fate to giving up on her inventions.
“Perhaps I could speak to some fellow investors on your behalf.”
He hated the wariness in her gaze. She didn’t trust him even to do that much to assist her.
“I am impressed with your design, but—”
“Not big enough for you, is it?” There was an angry bite to her words that she made no effort to hide.
“Size isn’t the issue.”
“No?” She approached a table that held an assembly of ledgers and papers, rifled through a few pages, and held one up for him to see. “You’ve never funded any invention that wasn’t on the grandest scale. Mr. Brunel’s steamship. A suspension bridge. The Thames Tunnel.”
“Factories. Railroad lines. You forgot those.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he could be benevolent too. That he’d funded hospitals and orphanages without attaching his name to them or expecting any glory to come his way.
“What of the everyday Londoner?”
“I think you’ll find that everyday Londoners use bridges too, Miss Ashby.”
“What of London’s ladies? They’re expected to adorn their homes, to create a haven for their husbands. Why not make that task easier for them?
“Tell me. Don’t mince words. Why won’t you fund my invention? Is it my sex?” Miss Ashby planted her hands on her hips and fixed him with an electric blue stare. “Can you not forget for a moment that I am a woman?”
“No,” he bit out.
He was completely aware that Diana Ashby was a woman. Perhaps the most appealing one he’d ever met in his life. “As you’ve pointed out, Miss Ashby, I’ve never funded a device such as yours. I invest where I believe I can earn a profit.”
God, he was a wretch. There was more, of course.
He couldn’t imagine entering into a business arrangement with Diana, spending time together, and not wanting her. The attraction he felt for the woman grew with every moment he spent in her company.
He’d never struggled to draw a line between business and desire. Until now.
But he could find her another investor. He knew dozens of men, some of whom might be interested in a device such as hers.
“Let me speak to some others who might see the merit in your invention.”
She closed her eyes, and he fully expected her to thank him for his willingness to go the extra mile on her behalf. But the moment her lashes fluttered up, she cast another desperate look at her calendar.
“That won’t do, Mr. Iverson. I don’t want another investor.” She turned her head, and her gaze came at him sharp as an arrow’s point and lodged in the center of his chest. “I want you.”
Chapter Eleven
