A Question of Impropriety by Michelle Styles Page B

liquid in the crystal glass and gazed at the darkening landscape through the study’swindow. All the land the eye could see—his, and unencumbered by a mortgage or debt. He had kept his promise, the one he had made on that winds wept field and on the dock as he’d waved off Bagshott’s ship. He had turned his fortune around. He had not sunk into the mire like his brother, and neither had he needed to run to the Continent. And he had achieved it in his own way. And yet, the victory seemed hollow in some fashion. He pushed the thought aside. It was a victory, and that was all that mattered.
    All things considered, today had gone well. He had enjoyed crossing swords with Diana Clare, far more than he ought to have.
    She might not have conventional beauty, but it was her prickly exterior that intrigued him. Why was she so set against him? What had he ever done to her?
    â€˜Simon Clare to see you.’ The butler had barely uttered the words when the tall man brushed past him. The cut of the coat might be better and the boots shinier, but Brett felt he would recognise the intensity of Clare’s eyes anywhere—and the feebleness of his manners.
    Brett pursed his lips. The days when all he’d had was his name and a good eye for the horses were long gone. He refused to be intimidated by a man wearing the latest of every thing and boasting about it. Clare always assumed that having money meant you could forgo the niceties of polite society.
    â€˜Ah, Clare,’ he said, reaching for the decanter. ‘It has been a long time.’
    â€˜I have come to discuss your latest demand.’ Clare ignored the decanter and waved a piece of paper. ‘I assume it is why you called at my house yesterday.’
    â€˜To see if things could be settled satisfactorily without calling in the lawyers.’ Brett paused. How to say it? Hownot to antagonise Clare? ‘Between land owners. Disputes have a terrible way of getting out of hand.’
    â€˜You mean amongst the aristocracy.’ Clare snorted. ‘Don’t worry. I know where I fit in. And I can guess what flim-flam Biddlestone said, but I have no intention of selling that piece of land. I might have use for it sometime in the future.’
    â€˜Doubtful.’ Brett swirled the brandy. Clare was the same jumped-up arriviste with his eye on the main chance that he’d been at Cambridge, lacking in bottom. Dog in the manger. The land was lying derelict. ‘You have not used that wagon-way since you built the new staith. You have no use for it. I have offered a fair price in the circumstances.’
    â€˜You know all about coal mines as well as horses now, do you? Once I have a travelling engine up and running, that old wagon-way could be highly desirable.’
    â€˜I can tell when a man seeks to take advantage. Travelling engines are notoriously un re liable.’ Brett regarded Clare. At university, Clare had gone on and on about this investment and that investment, always seeking to further his own ends. ‘I want the land for the view over the Tyne. Not that you would understand that. The pursuit of pleasure is nothing compared to the pursuit of wealth. Wasn’t that what you pro claimed on the stair case? That first day at Cambridge?’
    Clare made a disgusted noise. ‘You have a better memory than I. Is this derisory sum your final offer?’
    â€˜It is a fair sum. Consider it. That is all I ask.’ Brett reached for the brandy again, preparing to pour Clare a glass. He and Clare were neighbours after all. They would have to put Cambridge behind them. ‘I enjoyed speaking with your sister when we met at your house.’
    â€˜And spoke to her again on the High Street.’ Clare crossed his arms and glowered. ‘What sort of game are you playing at, Coltonby?’
    â€˜We were introduced in London. I had no idea at the time she was your sister. She is somehow much