Page 12 of The Gentleman's Seduction
“Do you invest in the funds?”
At this he tilted his head, seeming somewhat surprised. “It is where I make most of my fortune. Are you familiar with it?”
She nibbled on a piece of toast and nodded. “My father prefers to invest in businesses, but I rather think funds are safer. I tried to convince him to invest in some India bonds and annuities last year. He didn’t, but my instincts were correct. The bonds I suggested had a reliable return on investment of 4.8 percent.”
“That was very sound advice,” Banks agreed, his blue eyes still on hers. “What did he invest in?”
She sighed. “Silver. It’s such an unreliable market, and the odds of it doing well at this time are slim.” She lifted her tea cup up, taking in the enticing aroma of the tea.
Banks’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “Again, you are right.”
“And that surprises you, does it?” she asked. She’d met enough young debutantes in the past year to know that her knowledge of business was not typical among the young ladies.
“Yes, but it also delights me. I believe I shall enjoy our conversations. My past mistresses were educated in other ways—music, literature, and art. And while these things were pleasing, they weren’t enough to stimulate me.”
She cringed at the wordmistress. She was reluctantly here for that purpose, but she would never like how it made her feel. She wanted to be loved by a man, not used. Whatever happened between them, she would not let him change her into something she didn’t want to be. She was in control of how quickly their intimacy would progress, if at all.
“Could we not use the wordmistress?” she asked.
He closed his paper and leaned back in his chair. “I would be happy to call you whatever you like, but that does not change the fact that you are here to serve me in that capacity.”
Livvy drew a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves and calm the flare of temper. But she had nothing to say in her own defense. He was right. She had agreed to come here to be…his.
“If I called you my companion, would that suit you?” It was as though he’d read her mind. Heat flooded her face, and he smirked a little, but strangely the expression didn’t seem cruel but rather boyishly teasing. It put her at ease more than she expected.
“I thinkcompanionwould be agreeable, if you still agree that I shan’t be forced into your bed.”
“The choice is and will always be yours, but I believe you will be tempted.” His intense, smoldering gaze made her tense, not because she was afraid of him, but because she feared she would indeed be tempted.
“What…?” She paused, deciding to change the subject. “What do you have planned for today? Am I to remain here and wait for you?”
“Wehave plans to go shopping. Those rags you are wearing aren’t suitable in the slightest, and you have no proper winter clothes. I know you see me as a bastard, but I am not cruel. You may have fine clothes, jewels, whatever your heart desires.”
Except my freedom.
He remained with her as she finished her breakfast, once more opening his paper to read. When he finished a section of the paper, he glanced at her.
“Would you care to…?” He waved at the paper. “I have theMorning Postevery day, but I would be happy to procure any other paper you would wish to read. I understand many ladies prefer theQuizzing Glass Gazette.”
“ThePostis quite fine.” She collected the paper and took some time to peruse it. Over the next half hour, they took turns sharing the paper, passing a tray of toast, and even smiling at each other when they both reached for the butter at the same moment. It was as though they’d shared a breakfasts many times, enjoying an amiable silence the way a happily married couple would. She finished, and a footman cleared away their plates.
Mr. Banks rose. “Fetch your cloak, and we will head to Bond Street.”
“Mr. Banks, I—”
“Martin, please. I insist on that, Lavinia.” He held the dining room door open for her as they departed. If he wished to be more familiar by name, then she did as well.
“Very well, but please don’t call me Lavinia.”
His dark-gold brows rose in response. “No?”
“It’s the name my parents use when they’re cross with me. I prefer Livvy.”
“Livvy.” He smiled. “I like that much better. I had a great-aunt on my mother’s side name Lavinia. She was quite an old battle-ax.”
“What a dreadful thing to say,” she gasped, but Martin only laughed.
“Trust me, she would see it as a compliment. If the Vikings of old were to ever invade England again, my great-aunt would be there to stop them single-handed.” He mimicked swinging a battle-ax, and his boyish expression of mischief was so unexpected that Livvy giggled. For a moment she completely forgot that he had effectively purchased her the way one would a horse. Her laughter died, and his grin faded.
