She narrowed her eyes but saw him no better for it. She’d pay the entirety of the sum to read his expression. “Did you intimidate Mrs. Waywroth in some manner?”
He flattened his hand against the wall next to her head and leaned near. “Define intimidate.”
“To frighten or scare in any manner.”
The air pressed close. If she breathed too deeply, she’d brush against him. “Do I seem like a man who could intimidate, Seraphina?”
She swiped her tongue across her lips as she tried to see past the shadows and memories. He was different now. Not the boy she’d once known. Despite that, she couldn’t help but wonder at his true motivations. Why pay for years of schooling for a girl he’d known for a matter of months? He’d taken her from the gutters and designed his own lady. But why?
For the price he’d paid, there was no telling what repayment he expected.
“If it served your purposes, I think intimidation is well within your purview.”
His head lowered farther, until her world narrowed to the wash of his breath across her jawbone. “And your precious Mrs. Waywroth? Do you think I said frightening things to her?”
“I don’t think you had to.” She refused to show her fear by running away, but her shoulders pressed more firmly against the wall. Anything to sublimate the urge she had to touch him. The wallpaper was cold against the nape of her neck, bared by the meticulously intricate hairstyle Victoria’s maid had created. “I imagine it was an endowment. For the library, perhaps?”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your ability to look within people.” The darkness prevented her from seeing his hand move, but she certainly felt it. A whisper of motion along the outside of her arm. The shock of touch.
“And you? Am I supposed to be able to look within you?”
The barest hint of a chuckle colored his rich voice. “I certainly hope not.”
“I think you want to live an honest life, Fletcher Thomas. It’s why you’re here tonight.”
He pushed away suddenly. The swirl of air left in his wake sent gooseflesh chasing across her bare shoulders. “You think so, do you? How do you know I’m not simply here to intimidate you instead?”
“It wouldn’t make sense. Dragging me into this hidey-hole was unexpected. No way to plan for it.” A stray beam of light sliced across his cravat and the emerald stickpin holding it in place. “You’re here to woo the earl. I’m sorry to say I don’t believe it’s going well.”
“What a feisty little kitten you’ve become. All big eyes and fluffy fur and sneaky, spiky claws.”
Satisfaction loosened her twisted nerves. She’d regained an even playing field, if not the upper hand. “Then let me continue. You wish to participate in this railroad consortium. Lord Linsley is willing to indulge you to an extent, likely because of his wife. She enjoys dabbling with the lower ranks, pretending she lives on the edge. But really, you’re too much of an unknown. He won’t allow you more than the taste of a possibility.”
“He’d do well to have my backing,” Fletcher growled. “The consortium is teetering for lack of solid investment. His man of business has built a house of cards. One wrong flick and I could send it tumbling down around him.”
“But you won’t.” Her mind clicked, shuffling through the possibilities like a wind-up automaton. “Do you intend to destroy every possible opportunity I have for gainful occupation?”
The sudden change of topic didn’t seem to confuse him in the least. “It certainly crossed my mind.” His voice had returned to the silky purr he’d used while leaning over her ear. With a rustle of linen and wool, he shifted and crossed his arms.
“Until I agree to take your money.”
“If that’s what’s required. I’ve made it my mission to ensure you’re a lady. You will not work. It would be much simpler if you agreed now to take it.”
His father had been the same sort of ruthless man, the type who would push and hurt and crush others within his grasp until he got what he wanted. If Fletcher possessed even a quarter that determination, he would succeed in his aims, but not before forcing them into a battle that would eventually gain society’s attention.
Thus she could anticipate nothing but idleness, with no funds to support herself unless she agreed. He’d yank the pins out from under her life, just like his cruel father had manipulated everyone around him. That had been Mama’s reason for leaving Mac Thomas’s employ, and the exact same reason she’d tried to return. When she couldn’t hold the pieces of their lives together on her own, she succumbed to his control.
They’d both died.
“I’ll agree,” she blurted out.
Fletcher pushed off the wall, and his triumph was a palpable taste in the air.
She held up a hand. “On one condition.”
Fletcher had expected she’d fold eventually. Most people did, no matter their protests. Where the money came from mattered less than keeping Sera’s hands pure and white. They all had a price.
But a small measure of surprise at her quick capitulation swirled through him.
No matter. He hated to see investments go bad, and that’s exactly what she was. After the expensive school and dresses he’d financed, he refused to watch from afar as she put herself to work as some teaching drudge. He had bigger plans for their future.
By the time she affected his entrée into good society as his wife, the taint of his early money would be long gone.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Really, it’s more of a bargain than a condition.”
Settling back on his heels, he leaned more firmly against the wall. This could take a while. “Whatever you’d like to term it doesn’t matter much to me.”
“I will help enable you to take part in this railroad consortium. In return, I’ll permit you to settle on me whatever amount you wish.”
The laugh that rolled through his chest was more surprise than real humor. “You’ll enable me, will you? How exactly do you intend to manage that?”
“Your household is a disaster. I shall devote myself to its management as a sort of adjunct housekeeper. A tutor in the ways of propriety since you are imperceptibly better.”
“You’ve become a cheeky wench, haven’t you?”
He could hardly discern the shake of her head through the shadows. “No, in all honesty I’m not. There’s something about your high-handed manner that demands my response.” A faint thread of wonder wove through her voice.
He wished he could take her by the hand and lead her out of their darkened corner. He would’ve loved to see her face as she’d said that. But doing so would expose her to censure he wasn’t willing to see inflicted. For she was right: he was barely better than a disaster.
He’d employed tutors and advisors who were supposed to turn him into a gentleman, but their lessons had only gone so far. Part of the gutters too long, he couldn’t excise all of himself. The crass instinct to acquire, grasp and
win
would never go away.
That his household had devolved into a disaster was undeniable as well. Waywroth Academy excelled at teaching English women home management too. He could only be served by her wish to straighten his place. Maybe then he could get a hot meal without having to go out to the local taproom.
He’d have nothing to lose by allowing her little games. Maybe then she’d learn he wasn’t a house cat to be tamed. A good lesson for his future wife to learn.
“Far be it from me to deny an English miss when she has improvement on the mind.”
Light spilled through the tiny alcove when she curled a hand around the edge of the curtain. “I’m glad you’re so agreeable. It’s more than I expected. However, I must now return to my party. They’ll likely wonder where I’ve got off to.”
He bent into a hint of a bow since the small space didn’t afford room to do any more. Even that brought her into too-near proximity. The low scoop of her gown displayed precisely the correct amount of décolletage for a woman of her age and status. But the exactness made it no less enticing. Flowery warmth emanated from the expanse, rousing his heady response.
“Please don’t allow me to keep you any longer than necessary.” If he couldn’t keep a hint of sarcasm from his voice, so much the better.
The chastising glance she dropped over her shoulder as she walked away said she’d noticed.
He waited only half a moment before following her down the hallway to ensure she returned safely to her box. These sorts often forgot that unpleasantness could attack where it wished. The second act must have begun because not a single toff lingered in the hallway.
No one seemed to notice when he entered through the back of Lord Linsley’s box, either. He was a ghost in these surroundings.
No, that wasn’t quite right. Lady Linsley certainly noticed. She peeked over her fan at him, her eyes bright with curiosity.
No matter that the earl looked about as bored as a lecher in Sunday services. Still vital enough to go riding every morning, he also fenced in the afternoon—at the club where Fletcher had arranged a meeting. The dark gray hair meticulously combed into place hadn’t been nearly as neat when he and Fletcher crossed swords. His fine suit carefully balanced sartorial elegance with staid propriety.
Spend enough money at the tailors and the look wasn’t hard to achieve. After all, Fletcher had managed.
Even that extravagance couldn’t scrape off the muck of the gutter.
He slipped into his seat at the edge of the box.
The lights of the house had been turned low, but enough of a yellow flicker remained to make out Seraphina. She’d returned to her place, cosseted between the two women who had chattered at her earlier. The one to her left was the Duke of Faircroft’s daughter and her entrée into such refined society. Fletcher had been told by a too-interested Lady Linsley that Sera’s box belonged to the duke himself. To her right was the Honorable Charlotte Vale, daughter of a baron.
He was glad for Seraphina. But more than glad, he was proud of his accomplishment. Such success had been his goal all along, to ensure she fared better than her initial circumstances would have provided.
While he hadn’t intended to introduce Seraphina into his sphere just yet, he would not falter. If anything, he could look upon present circumstances as a blessing. So, she no longer wanted charity. All well and good. He understood that reluctance more than he’d ever admit to Sera. Neither would he admit how useful her eye for elegance and propriety suited his aims toward advancement.
But he didn’t intend to be a quick study. Months might be required to see him molded into a perfect gentleman. Perhaps as long as two years. He would use that time to cultivate her good graces. Then when the moment came to propose, he’d not need to batter past her defenses. Ripe and ready for plucking, she would be eager to take his arm and be his partner through life.
His angel in the flesh.
Chapter Five
The next day Fletcher wasn’t feeling so sanguine, though it had little to nothing to do with Seraphina. He slammed through the front door of his house, not even waiting for his useless excuse of a butler.
Standing in the middle of the entryway, he bellowed for his second-in-command. “Rick! Get your arse down here this instant.”
Rick Raverst leaned out over the balcony of the first-floor landing. “I ain’t your child to be whinging at.” His head disappeared but his answering yell continued. “I’m twice your damn age.”
“Then how about you act like it? You know where I’ve been?”
Rick made his way leisurely down the stairs, doing up the buttons on his waistcoat as he went. Though he really was twice Fletcher’s age, no one would have guessed by looking. He had two inches on Fletcher, and his dark brown hair was untouched by even a hint of white. A few crinkled laugh lines spread out from his dark, wide eyes. For having spent half his life working as second-in-command for Fletcher’s father and then continuing with Fletcher, he showed few signs of dissipation. The only hint was a slight reddening around his straight nose. The man certainly did like his brandy.
Rick hooked an arm around the newel post and somehow managed to lean while standing upright. “Obviously you haven’t been out having at some cunny or you’d be in a much better mood.”
“I’ve been at Mrs. Kordan’s.” His teeth felt like they were about to wear to nubs from grinding them so damn hard.
Rick’s eyebrows went up. “That’s just not right, then. Mrs. Kordan’s been running some prime quim lately. Did you break your dick having at it?”
As he’d explained to Rick many times, Fletcher didn’t believe in trying out the merchandise. Too many tastes of free quim led to hazy boundaries between an owner and the proprietress. Not to mention Mrs. Kordan had seen him when he wore britches and wiped slobber off his chin. “So you’ve been there lately?”
Rick walked over to the gilt-edged mirror on the wall and ran his fingers through his hair. He had always been a little vain because he said it was what drew women. He’d first come to the attention of Fletcher’s father on the heels of a shooting in Dover, caught screwing someone’s wife. The husband had shot the woman then tried to turn his gun on Rick. Though the authorities absolved him of any guilt in shooting the man to protect his life, Rick had elected to leave the county. Fletcher’s pa had hired Rick within two weeks of him landing in London, and he’d proved his worth ever since.