Page 47 of The Wayward Duke
“Your peers have committed enough privately to finance a ship or two.” His fingers drummed an agitated staccato on the desktop. “However, these funds will be but a fraction required to launch commercial trade on a global scale.”
“Naturally.” Julian waved his cigar once more. “One must think bigger than two paltry ships to dominate South American markets. My man of business estimated I could divert thirty thousand pounds to you if sufficiently motivated.”
Enough to purchase a small fleet. Caroline watched, fascinated, as Kellerman visibly struggled with his composure.
“That is… most generous, duke,” he said.
Julian shrugged. “I reward those who prove themselves deserving.”
After a moment, Kellerman mastered himself once more. His gaunt features resumed their mask of oily charm. “Yes, well, you’ll find me most deserving indeed. In fact, one of my partners is hosting a party in three days.” He glanced at Caroline. “Various investors will be there – and their lovely wives. It’s certain to be quite a crush.”
“Excellent. We look forward to it.” Julian ground out his cigar in the finial dish and rose to his feet.
“Allow me to walk you out.” Kellerman escorted them back through the foyer to the front steps, a model of deference. “I’m eager to get to know you both better at the party.” Kellerman bowed as he handed Caroline into the waiting carriage. “Until then, duke, duchess.”
Julian rapped with a walking stick on the roof to signal to the driver.
Caroline sagged against the seat. “Ugh. I feel unclean.”
“You were flawless in there,” Julian murmured.
“As were you. I’d nearly forgotten how imposing the Duke of Hastings can be when he’s determined to be ruthless.” She braced her hand against the armrest as the carriage lurched. “Do you think his venture is legitimate?”
“No.” He removed his gloves, finger by finger. “If he’s the man who wrote those letters and his targets are aristocrats, I believe he’s using this scheme to lure them within reach.”
Caroline’s stomach twisted. “Get their fortunes first before killing them, you mean?”
“It’s possible.” he set his gloves aside. “But these assassination attempts are personal. He’s set up this to gain confidence for a very specific reason. We just need to find out why. We’ll attend Kellerman’s party. Watch how he interacts with the investors he’s reeled in. The wives often know more gossip than the husbands.”
“Be careful,” she said. “He thinks I’m a useless society matron, but you promised him thirty thousand pounds.”
“I’m nothing if not careful.” He gestured with his fingers. “Now come here, my duchess. I solved your note this morning, and I believe it mentioned I had yet to pleasure you in a moving carriage. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
18
Julian surveyed the glittering ballroom. Around him, the cream of London society mingled and laughed, resplendent in their silks and feathers. Liveried footmen wove through the crowds, bearing trays laden with fluted champagne glasses. An orchestra occupied the minstrel gallery above, sawing away at their strings to provide a sonorous backdrop to the mingling aristocrats below.
But Julian only watched one man.
Edgar Kellerman.
Even in this crush, the financier stood out with a calculating gleam in his eyes as he scanned the room. Cloying charm oozed from every word as he bent his listeners to his will.
Julian recognised more than a few eager faces in the crowd surrounding him – second sons and ambitious heirs greedy for easy fortune.
He could not confront Kellerman directly, not yet. Despite his suspicions, Julian lacked definitive proof. He needed Kellerman to lower his guard first. To believe Julian an easy mark ripe for manipulation.
An unpleasant role but a necessary one.
Julian took a glass of champagne from a passing footman and leaned with bored indolence against a nearby pillar.
“If you were going to brood alone, you ought to have told me,” came an amused voice at his shoulder.
Julian glanced over to see Caroline approaching. He let his gaze trace over her, drinking in the sight. She had swept her blonde hair up in an elegant coiffure, with a few artful curls left loose to caress her neck and shoulders. Her ivory silk gown was overlaid with intricate black Chantilly lace, the scalloped neckline accentuating the graceful arch of her throat. She’d chosen a dress to bring men to their knees while still appearing a proper duchess.
Hisduchess.
“Just observing,” he said.
