her
frightened face he had to fight the temptation to return to the balcony and
throw Francis DuPres off of it. "Quite vulgar of him, actually. He should
have realized a true rake would never stoop to such methods for a kiss,"
he said, trying to make light of the incident. "Charming a lady out of her
favors is a much more satisfying task."
"Nicholas," his mother reproved with a reluctant smile.
"Kate is all right?"
"She's fine." He grinned as he signaled for her shawl and his
greatcoat to be brought to them. "In fact, she did a rather excellent job
of rescuing herself. I felt quite unneeded."
"Oh, yes?" Julia Varon queried, eyeing him closely. He
recognized the look. "Don't get any ideas, Mama.
She's barely out of the schoolroom, for God's sake."
"You're hardly in your dotage, Nicky," his mother replied
with a smile. "She stands up to you; yes?"
"She's hardheaded," he retorted, looking away from the amused
curiosity on her face and hoping she wouldn't set Kate Ralston dangling after
him. He wanted nothing to do with any schoolroom chits or their missish
prattle. In all honesty, though, he couldn't picture Miss Ralston setting her
cap at anyone. And woe to the man who attempted to obtain her favors without
her permission.
To his relief Julia dropped the subject, and he saw her to her coach
with no more than a few commonplace exchanges about the weather and upcoming
social events. When she was gone he signaled for his own coach and headed off
to one of his clubs, though his thoughts turned often enough to an outspoken
schoolroom chit armed with a vase of flowers that he lost a hundred and fifty
pounds at hazard.
The next morning his man of business met him in his study with news
about the status of Crestley Hall. "Well, Gladstone, what have we gotten
ourselves into?" he asked with a smile.
"A great deal of trouble, if you ask me, Your Grace,"
Gladstone returned, fingering his graying moustache.
"Details, please," he returned. "And you remembered my
instructions?"
"Yes, Your Grace, though I have told you that I do not like to work
under these conditions. It is folly for you to invest any of your money in
something that you seem determined to know so little about."
"And?" Nicholas prompted after a moment.
Gladstone shifted some papers about the desk. "The owner's
representative is calling himself Jonathan Smith."
Nicholas smiled at the distaste in Gladstone's
voice. "I told you what kind of purchase this was likely to be."
"Yes, Your Grace. I did not expect the man to be so obvious about
it, however." He paused, and Nicholas could practically see the wheels
turning in the older man's head. ''The story is that a youth has inherited the
property but will not actually come into possession of it for another two
years. This young man does not wish to keep Crestley Hall, but would be willing
to entertain a cash offer for it."
"So the problem is only that the boy is too young to inherit,"
Nicholas commented, disbelieving that to be the difficulty.
Apparently Gladstone did as well. "I doubt it, Your Grace. Mr.
Smith went to great lengths to keep the young man's name from me. It is more
likely being sold out from under the boy."
"So," Nicholas muttered darkly, briefly wondering how the
Baron of Clarey had become involved in these shady dealings and what, exactly,
the attraction of Crestley Hall might be. Gladstone opened his mouth, but Nicholas
raised a hand. "And you are about to tell me that you could easily get to
the bottom of all of this."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Don't," Varon said shortly. He was damned curious himself,
but Neville's instructions had been quite explicit, and he would honor them. To
a point.
"Well, you will be forced to find out eventually," Gladstone
said morosely. ''The boy must sign the deed. If the names are false, the paper
is worthless. At this point I'm not convinced that the document would be legal,
anyway."
Nicholas leaned forward. "You make certain it is legal, Gladstone.
When that deed
frightened face he had to fight the temptation to return to the balcony and
throw Francis DuPres off of it. "Quite vulgar of him, actually. He should
have realized a true rake would never stoop to such methods for a kiss,"
he said, trying to make light of the incident. "Charming a lady out of her
favors is a much more satisfying task."
"Nicholas," his mother reproved with a reluctant smile.
"Kate is all right?"
"She's fine." He grinned as he signaled for her shawl and his
greatcoat to be brought to them. "In fact, she did a rather excellent job
of rescuing herself. I felt quite unneeded."
"Oh, yes?" Julia Varon queried, eyeing him closely. He
recognized the look. "Don't get any ideas, Mama.
She's barely out of the schoolroom, for God's sake."
"You're hardly in your dotage, Nicky," his mother replied
with a smile. "She stands up to you; yes?"
"She's hardheaded," he retorted, looking away from the amused
curiosity on her face and hoping she wouldn't set Kate Ralston dangling after
him. He wanted nothing to do with any schoolroom chits or their missish
prattle. In all honesty, though, he couldn't picture Miss Ralston setting her
cap at anyone. And woe to the man who attempted to obtain her favors without
her permission.
To his relief Julia dropped the subject, and he saw her to her coach
with no more than a few commonplace exchanges about the weather and upcoming
social events. When she was gone he signaled for his own coach and headed off
to one of his clubs, though his thoughts turned often enough to an outspoken
schoolroom chit armed with a vase of flowers that he lost a hundred and fifty
pounds at hazard.
The next morning his man of business met him in his study with news
about the status of Crestley Hall. "Well, Gladstone, what have we gotten
ourselves into?" he asked with a smile.
"A great deal of trouble, if you ask me, Your Grace,"
Gladstone returned, fingering his graying moustache.
"Details, please," he returned. "And you remembered my
instructions?"
"Yes, Your Grace, though I have told you that I do not like to work
under these conditions. It is folly for you to invest any of your money in
something that you seem determined to know so little about."
"And?" Nicholas prompted after a moment.
Gladstone shifted some papers about the desk. "The owner's
representative is calling himself Jonathan Smith."
Nicholas smiled at the distaste in Gladstone's
voice. "I told you what kind of purchase this was likely to be."
"Yes, Your Grace. I did not expect the man to be so obvious about
it, however." He paused, and Nicholas could practically see the wheels
turning in the older man's head. ''The story is that a youth has inherited the
property but will not actually come into possession of it for another two
years. This young man does not wish to keep Crestley Hall, but would be willing
to entertain a cash offer for it."
"So the problem is only that the boy is too young to inherit,"
Nicholas commented, disbelieving that to be the difficulty.
Apparently Gladstone did as well. "I doubt it, Your Grace. Mr.
Smith went to great lengths to keep the young man's name from me. It is more
likely being sold out from under the boy."
"So," Nicholas muttered darkly, briefly wondering how the
Baron of Clarey had become involved in these shady dealings and what, exactly,
the attraction of Crestley Hall might be. Gladstone opened his mouth, but Nicholas
raised a hand. "And you are about to tell me that you could easily get to
the bottom of all of this."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Don't," Varon said shortly. He was damned curious himself,
but Neville's instructions had been quite explicit, and he would honor them. To
a point.
"Well, you will be forced to find out eventually," Gladstone
said morosely. ''The boy must sign the deed. If the names are false, the paper
is worthless. At this point I'm not convinced that the document would be legal,
anyway."
Nicholas leaned forward. "You make certain it is legal, Gladstone.
When that deed
Similar Books
