Page 51 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
Not that he could tell her that. It would only alarm her.
“No one will believe that I would betroth myself to a woman who dresses poorly,” he went on. “We must preserve the illusion. I thought Gran would surely relent the first night when I passed you off as a . . . woman of a certain kind, but she didn’t. When she sees me spending money on you, she’llhaveto believe I’m serious.”
He could see her wavering, so he pressed his advantage. “If you don’t let me do this, I’ll assume that I insulted you earlier in the carriage.”
Blushing deeply, she dropped her gaze to his chest. “You didn’t insult me. I let it go on when I shouldn’t have.”
“You did nothing wrong,” he said sharply. “I’m the one who behaved badly, and to make amends for that, I’m more than willing to buy you a few fripperies.” Without waiting for further protests, he turned to the shopkeeper and said, “Miss Butterfield has agreed that she needs a more extensive wardrobe.”
“Very good, sir. I have some special items I’ve been holding in the back. With a few alterations, I believe they would fit your fiancée.” As the shopkeeper hurried off to fetch them, Oliver bent close to whisper, “If it will soothe your fears, I withdraw my earlier offer to make you my mistress. I meant no insult, and I wish you to be easy on that score.”
“Thank you,” she said, though she didn’t look as relieved as he’d expected.
He didn’t feel as relieved as he’d expected, either.
Now he had to watch her try on respectable gowns more suited to her station. That further muddied the waters, reminding him that no matter how exquisitely she’d come apart in his arms, she was still respectable. Suddenly, the woman he’d felt free to caress most inappropriately had become one ofthosewomen—the ones he avoided, the untouchable virgins. Something he must not forget again.
Two hours later, they left the dress shop with an abundance of gowns and other necessities. He’d been able to indulge her in shawls and reticules and shoes, though it irritated him to have to buy them in so mean a place. Mrs. Tweedy’s might be the best of the secondhand shops, but it was still secondhand.
He wanted to see her dressed in expensive silks of the latest fashions, with costly jewels about her neck. It was a mad desire he’d never experienced, never having cared how his bed partners dressed. But the wistful look she’d cast at items she’d obviously felt were beyond his purse made something clench in his gut.
Which was precisely why he’d never taken a mistress. Once a woman tugged at your sympathies, you were lost. She could twist you about her fingers like twine in a cat’s cradle. From there, it was only a short step to opening up the strongbox and letting her see your secrets . . . and finding yourself hated for them.
Their ride back to Ealing was quiet. She avoided looking at him, while he couldn’t seem tostoplooking at her. He tried to engage her in conversation, but the tart-tonguedangel was in hiding, and he didn’t know how to get her back. Even Freddy must have realized that something had changed, for he kept his inane chatter to a minimum. By the time they reached Halstead Hall, Oliver’s nerves were on edge.
He was relieved that he could excuse himself to go work in his study on the ledgers he’d ignored last night, but he didn’t get very far. Even after an hour of turning pages and noting transactions, he kept hearing Maria’s sighs of pleasure, kept seeing her teasing smile as she said, “Would you offer to ravish me?”
Damned right he would.
A knock came at the door, jerking him from his disturbing reverie. As he glanced at the clock, shocked to discover that two hours had passed, Jarret entered and strolled over to the desk.
“Amazing,” the scapegrace said. “When the servant said you were in here working, I thought surely I’d misheard him.”
“Very amusing. If we’re to live here even for a few weeks, some matters must be handled.” Leaning back, he arched one eyebrow at his brother. “Unlessyouwant to take over the task. You’re better at numbers than I am.”
Jarret turned the ledger so he could glance at it. “I don’t know. Appears to me that you know a thing or two.” He plopped down in the chair opposite Oliver. “Besides, I’m riding into town tomorrow to spend my Saturday at the Blue Swan. Kirkwood’s brother will be there, and you know he always plays deep.”
“And badly, too, when he’s in his cups—a fact that you take advantage of.”
With a shrug, Jarret folded his hands over his midsection. “I thought I should makesomeattempt to add to the family coffers.”
“Then you’d be better off playing cards with bankers, not barristers. It will take more than anything Giles Masters can offer to dig us out of this hole.”
“Interesting that you should say that. Minerva told me last night about Miss Butterfield’s missing fiancé. So I had a little chat with young Freddy this morning, and learned that Miss Butterfield is due to come into a tidy fortune, assuming she doesn’t marry her Mr. Hyatt. Were you aware of that?”
Oliver poured himself a glass of brandy from the decanter on the desk. “I don’t know how tidy it will be. How much could one small shipping company in America be worth?”
“Have you really never heard of New Bedford Ships?”
“Why should I have?” He drank some brandy. “It’s not exactly an industry I’m familiar with.”
“Well, it happens to be an industry I invest in when I have extra funds, which isn’t often.”
Jarret was an excellent gambler and generally won more than he lost, but he had a deplorable habit of risking too much from time to time, which often sank him in the end. Oliver had never understood it; his brother seemed compelled to tempt Fate.
“I rode into town earlier to talk to my sources,” Jarret went on, “to see what I could learn about the company.By all accounts, New Bedford Ships is worth a quarter of a million pounds. Assuming that she gets half, she’ll come into a cool 125,000 pounds.”
Oliver choked on his brandy. “You’ve got to be joking.”
