Page 50 of Anything But a Duke
“No, thank you.”
He seated himself and began working a device on his desk that cut paper. A simple bladed wooden lever sliced through a pile of foolscap he’d placed underneath when he pressed down. But the device was giving him trouble. He stood and wiggled the machine, adjusting the wooden platform where the paper was neatly arranged.
When he pressed again, the metal fittings screeched under the weight of his push.
Diana was intrigued. “May I assist you, Mr. Coggins?”
“Oh, I don’t think you can, Miss Ashby. It’s simply stuck. Always works eventually.”
Diana stood and approached, leaning over the desk to get a closer look.
Mr. Coggins blushed furiously and his eyes widened when she joined him behind his desk.
“I think it’s actually the fulcrum that’s damaged.” Diana pointed to the spot where the lever pivoted on a large metal screw. “A bit of oil might help, but it seems that the center pin itself may be at fault. See how it’s a bit crooked?”
Coggins stared at her dumbfounded and finally said, “I shall see what I can do to repair it. Thank you, Miss Ashby.”
“Well, that was quick.” Mr. Iverson emerged from his office and tipped his head as he assessed the two of them with a bemused expression. “Has she already replaced you, Coggins?”
The low timbre of his voice with that teasing lilt caused exactly the reaction Diana had vowed not to allow. Her pulse jumped at the base of her throat and she willed herself to let nothing show on her face when she looked at him.
“I very much hope not, sir,” Mr. Coggins said. “Though she has provided helpful advice on the paper trimmer.”
Diana turned to face the man she’d come to see. She swallowed hard before managing a polite, “Good afternoon, Mr. Iverson.”
Unlike her, he looked completely at ease. He’d settled against the frame of his door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Shall we begin, Miss Ashby? Or would you like to continue assessing the cutting machine before you join me in my office?”
“I think my work here is done.” Diana offered Mr. Coggins a friendly nod, then approached Iverson. She kept her gaze fixed forward and moved past him across the threshold without sparing him a glance.
“Whichever chair you like,” he told her.
As he closed his office door, Diana chose the leather upholstered chair in front of his desk.
She’d brought a notebook and pencil in an oversized reticule and she dug them out and waited, expecting him to take a seat in his desk chair. But as ever, Aidan Iverson didn’t behave as she expected. He claimed the chair next to hers and reached for a stack of papers on his desk.
He wore no suit coat and had rolled his shirtsleeves up. Diana couldn’t help but notice the way his waistcoat strained across the muscles of his back as he leaned forward. She also noted the dusting of auburn hair on his forearms and a mark just inside his left wrist that she thought might be a tattoo.
When he turned back, she was too slow in averting her eyes for him to miss her intense perusal. He didn’t seem to mind at all that she caught his flash of a smile in response.
“These are brief descriptions of each buyer to whom I would like to present your device. The first owns a modest shopping emporium that caters to housemaids and domestic servants. The second is a man who’s funded a few other promising inventions for domestic use. The third is an American who takes the best of what we create here in Britain back to his shopping enterprise in New York.”
Diana scanned each page with interest. Mr. Coggins, no doubt, had written out a detailed summary about each man, but someone else had scribbled notes in the margin. That hand was bold and strong, with an abundance of capital letters and words underlined for emphasis. Personal details were included. “Has a daughter named Emily.” “Enjoys summers in Brighton.” “Frequents a bawdy theater near Vauxhall.”
“You’ve met all of them?”
“Mmm. I know two of them quite well and can arrange a meeting with the third.”
“Perhaps we should start with these two.” Diana handed him the sheets describing the shop owner and the American entrepreneur.
“You think they’ll be the most promising prospects?”
“The shop owner will understand the purpose of the machine if his products are aimed at domestic servants. That’s half the battle. And the American sounds like a man who’d be intrigued by an innovative device.”
“Agreed. Then I’ll do my best to arrange a meeting with each of them.”
“Thank you.” When she tried to hand the documents back, he waved her off. “Keep them. Study them. I know how you enjoy research.”
He looked at her a bit too long, his gaze intense and questioning.
