Page 35 of Anything But a Duke
Diana couldn’t let him leave without agreeing.
She sensed that Iverson’s promise to speak to other investors was a means of pacifying her. But when would he do it? Next week? In a fortnight? She didn’t have a moment to spare.
Urgency built inside her. A determination to make Aidan Iverson see the potential in her work. If she couldn’t convince him, why would anyone else be interested?
It was this man, this moment here and now, that would determine her fate. She didn’t know any of the other investors he might speak to. Unlike the men of the Den, she hadn’t studied their preferences and history.
But she knew him, and she trusted him instinctively. Now it was simply a matter of finding a way to convince him.
He stood stock-still for a long moment and crossed his arms.
Diana took the opportunity to sidestep toward her workbench and glance at the notes she’d collected about him. Of all the men of the Den, details about Iverson had proved the most elusive. There was very little to plumb about his history. Not even an indication of where he’d been born and raised, though his accent indicated London.
“You donated money to a hospital.” Diana hadn’t noticed that bit before.
One auburn brow winged up. “What else do you have there?” He reached out. “Show me your notes.”
Diana stepped away from him. “Surely you know what you’ve done and what I might have found.”
A flash of unease crossed his face so quickly she wondered whether she’d imagined it.
“I’m not an adventurer, Miss Ashby. Not even much of a rogue.” Shoulders tensing, he flicked his fingers in her direction. “The only risks I take are with my bank account.”
It was true. His wealth and talent for earning were what most articles touted about him. But there had to be more.
She thought back on the one single mention she’d found in the scandal rags. At least she’d guessed the bit of gossip referred to him. Theon ditmentioned an outrageously wealthy businessman, Mr. I., and his failed attempts at wooing an earl’s daughter with a fondness for stealing off to the opera on her own.
Diana sifted quickly through her notes and found the details.
“Lady Alice Ponsonby.”
Iverson’s lush lower lip dropped a fraction. Both brows shot up, and the sunlight pouring in through the conservatory roof lit his irritated emerald gaze.
“What of her?”
“Did you wish to marry her?”
“Miss Ashby.” The way he said her name, with a little growl at the back of his throat, made her more intrigued, not less.
“Were you enamored with her?”
“That has nothing to do with why I came to visit you today.” He grabbed his suit coat off the chair and violently shoved his arms inside the garment.
“What was it about her that intrigued you?”
He offered no answer, just a tightening of his jaw and a narrowed gaze.
“Are you set on marrying a noblewoman?”
“Stop.” In two long strides, he was toe to toe with her.
Mercy, he was tall. And broad. She tilted her head and arched back to look into his eyes. “Am I being impertinent?”
“You know that you are.”
They stared at each other, and she felt the same odd pulse that had thrummed through her the evening they’d met. Just like that night, all else fell away, and there was just this moment. The two of them and a magnetic charge in the air. Even after her research, she knew almost as little about him now as she had then.
He was a compelling puzzle she longed to solve, though she feared another question would cause him to bolt. Nothing held him here but politeness and the strange pull between them.
