Page 33 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
What he had outlined was nothing but a jumble of sums. Ashe had never been able to tame figures, which had resulted in countless knuckle rappings from the tutor the marquess had hired. The man hadn’t minded teaching one boy, but four was beyond his patience. In the beginning, Ashe had blamed the man for his inability to educate him on how to master ciphering. He’d suffered through the same struggles at Harrow until he’d eventually mastered cheating in order to avoid the degrading set downs when he arrived at an incorrect answer. As he’d grown older, he’d realized the fault rested within him and not with his schoolmasters. He simply couldn’t grasp mathematics. Latin yes. Quite easily. He excelled at penmanship. He was a voracious reader. He could recite facts on Britain’s history, including naming every monarch. He could write a detailed account of journeys taken and not leave out a single incident. He could master foreign languages. He served as interpreter on their treks through foreign lands. If they came across a people whose language they’d never heard, it took him no time at all to figure it out so he could communicate with them. But put a series of numbers in front of him, expect him to make sense of them, and it was as though his brain considered them to be little more than colorful balls to be juggled around.
It was the true reason he avoided card games. It was a complete nightmare when values associated with cards had to be tallied. But roulette? He didn’t have to make sense of any numbers. He simply placed his wager in a square or on a line.
He shot out of the chair and began to pace. “How could this have happened? I pay you a princely sum for sound advice. You recommended those investments.”
“You wanted large returns, which means taking greater risks. Surely, you analyzed the figures I provided.”
The figure of a woman he could analyze to perfection. But ones, threes, eights, every blasted numeral that existed escaped his comprehension if he had to do more than simply look at them. Even then, they seemed to weave before his vision like the exotic dancers he’d seen in the East. Which was the reason that he’d always insisted Nesbitt provide verbal reports. Nesbitt, being a man who loved numbers and could wax on about them for hours, also provided the information in written form to back up his claims. Not that they did Ashe any good. Instead, he was forced to focus on every word Nesbitt uttered in order to make his decisions. He’d understood that the income provided by his three estates was dwindling, tenants moving to cities to work in factories, agriculture not being what it once was now that it was cheaper to import from America. Ashe had known he needed to diversify. Investing had seemed the way to go.
He should have sought counsel from Grey or Locksley. Grey was managing his estates quite well, while Locksley had taken over his father’s duties sometime back. But he would have been mortified to acknowledge that he couldn’t handle matters on his own. Pride. Damned pride.
He could climb a mountain, survive crossing a desert, guide a boat up the Nile. He was swift in a race, didn’t back down from a fight, protected what was his. The estates were his. He was going to have to make matters right, do whatever was necessary to regain the upper hand.
He stopped pacing and faced the man sitting behind the desk. “We’ll need to sell our shares in these companies posthaste.”
“You won’t get much for them. Might be best to let them sit, see if things turn around.”
Never gamble what you can ill afford to lose.He knew that mantra well enough. The investments had sounded so damned promising when Nesbitt had spoken about them.
“You’re not completely without funds, Your Grace. You’ll just need to tighten the purse strings.”
Choke them, more like. Ashe knew very well how costly it was to maintain his estates. They’d been profitable in his father’s day, had provided enough income to cover costs. No longer. He couldn’t afford any more investments, couldn’t put any more money at risk. He needed a sure thing, a way to gain funds that guaranteed pure profit. And he needed it soon.
AFTER meeting with Nesbit, Ashe was restless. He’d considered going to the Dragons, but he didn’t want to see any numbers tonight, not even at a roulette table. If he became any more tense, he was likely to snap. He needed something that brought him absolute unfettered joy—which left only two options: a woman or taking a photograph. So greedy bastard that he was, he’d come to the Nightingale in hopes of acquiring both.
Sipping scotch, considering the selections, he stood with a shoulder to the wall. He’d been studying the ladies for the better part of an hour now, and he couldn’t settle on one who would suit his purposes. One was too tall. One too short. Another too plump. Too thin. Not proportioned pleasingly. Not particularly elegant with her movements.
What the bloody hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t usually this particular. He enjoyed the challenge of taking imperfection and making it perfect. He was master of light and shadows, controlled them at his whim, commanded them.
He should forget the photograph, be content with the sex. Women had approached him, but his disinterest had been obvious and they’d quickly moved on. None of them suited. None of them—
It hit him with the force of a sledgehammer to his skull. He neededherto be at the Nightingale tonight. He couldn’t say why. He only knew that it was true.
With or without the mask. He didn’t care. He wanted Lady V.
He knew that with her, for a little while, he could forget his troubles. He could stop chastising himself for taking a misstep with his inheritance, his legacy, his stewardship. He’d tried to ensure that the estates didn’t fall into disrepair, that the remaining tenants would have fewer worries, that he could maintain his staff—not so much for his needs but for theirs. Some had been seeing to the residences for years. To show his gratitude for their service, he’d intended to see them well-off when they retired. Then there was the matter of securing a wife, his heir, and other children. He didn’t want his son to be the only child. He’d had eight years of loneliness, of no one with whom to play or scheme. He was not grateful for his parents’ demise, he’d never be grateful for that, but he was glad to have acquired three brothers with whom he’d been able to be mischievous. Normally he would have turned to them with the disappointing news delivered by Nesbitt, but his pride wouldn’t allow it.
He should have gone to the Dragons although she’d indicated she wouldn’t be there tonight. He’d scoured through invitations but there had been none for this evening. So where was she? At the theater, maybe at a private affair. But he needed her here.
“Your Grace.”
Reluctantly, he turned his head at the soft voice. A lady wearing a burgundy mask with black gemstones and feathers smiled at him. Reaching out, he touched her chin, hating that only a small square of skin around her mouth was visible. It seemed the masks were becoming larger and more elaborate. Whoever created them must be making a fortune. “Darling.”
He called them all darling, except for LadyV. Why had he asked for her name? How had he known from the instant he saw her that she would be different from all the others?
Burgundy trailed slender fingers up his arm. “I’ve been watching you for some time, have heard you are quite skilled at delivering pleasure.” She ran her tongue around lips that didn’t tempt him as Lady V’s had. “So am I. We would make an excellent pairing.”
He had no doubt. She was nearly as tall as he was, with a stoutness to her that would provide cushion. And her legs, long, so long, but they weren’t the ones he wanted wrapped around his hips. “I’m waiting for someone.”
He suspected he’d be waiting all night. She wouldn’t return, and his reasons for being here would again go unfulfilled.
Her mouth flattened with displeasure. She wasn’t going to be gracious about his rebuff. They seldom were. Yet he had little doubt that Lady V would be. She wouldn’t make a fuss. She understood that some things weren’t meant to be.
“I won’t give you another chance to make love to me,” Burgundy said, a hardness to her eyes that he might have never experienced had she approached him before he became aware of Lady V. He wouldn’t have turned Burgundy away. Yet, at this moment, he could work up no enthusiasm at the notion of being with her, and it rather disgusted him to think that before, he would have been content with only the physical.
“My loss,” he said quietly.
She jutted up her chin. “Indeed.” Her movements weren’t particularly graceful as she stormed away. Halfway across the room, she settled into a saunter, and, by the time she reached Rexton, she was all poise and confidence. She certainly wasn’t one to allow the moss to grow beneath her feet.
