Waltz With a Stranger by Pamela Sherwood Page B

you inherited the bulk of his estate, did you not?”
    “I did,” James replied guardedly. “Except where noted in his will.” Although, if truth be told, Gerald’s will was a sketchy document at best. Like countless young men, he’d never considered the possibility that he might die prematurely and without heirs of his own body.
    “Including his shares in Mercer Shipping?”
    “I would assume so.” James kept his tone neutral. “Only our family solicitors know the whole of Gerald’s assets.”
    “I see.” Mercer cleared his throat. “Well, I would very much like to buy back your cousin’s shares, and I’m prepared to negotiate a fair price for them. Starting at—” He paused and then named an amount that made James blink.
    Control must be the crux of the matter, he realized, after the first shock had worn off. Having endured Gerald’s interference in his business, Mercer clearly did not wish to tolerate anyone else’s; James could scarcely blame the man for that. But he was in no position to grant Mercer’s request. “I fear I cannot make a decision of this nature without first consulting my solicitors. Given the extent of Gerald’s debts, they may advise against such a course at present.”
    Something inimical flickered in Mercer’s eyes; for a moment, James thought he was about to protest, then, abruptly, he capitulated. “Very well. I understand your concerns, my lord. But if you should decide to part with those shares, would you be so good as to contact me?” He took out a silver card case and handed James one of the cards. “This is my direction in London.”
    “Thank you. I will bear your offer in mind,” James assured him, setting the card down on his desk. Somewhat to his relief, he heard the mantel clock chime the hour. Eleven o’clock—he was expected at the Newbolds’ this morning. He rose to his feet, a signal for his visitor to do likewise. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I have an appointment I must keep. Good day to you.”
    Perceptive enough not to overstay his welcome, Mercer tendered his own farewells and departed. James waited five minutes, then asked for the carriage to be brought around.
    ***
    As the carriage headed toward Grosvenor Square, James mulled over his conversation with Mercer. Missing shipments, goods vanishing without a trace…the whole thing disturbed him more than he cared to admit. For all their mutual animosity, he did not like to think Gerald might have been a thief as well as a bully and a lout.
    And yet…he could not dismiss the possibility that his cousin might have done something underhanded, especially if he’d needed the money badly enough. Mercer had not been exactly forthcoming about the nature of the goods his ships transported, but if they were sufficiently rare and costly, might Gerald have sold them secretly and pocketed the profits for himself? Or planned to do so, before he met his death on the cliffs?
    Unease prickled at the back of his neck, but he could not have said whether he was more troubled by Gerald’s possible theft or the all-too-real glimmer of hostility he had sensed beneath Mercer’s polished veneer. The man was determined to regain those shares, and left to his own devices, James might have obliged him. But something seemed…off, somehow.
    He’d talk to his solicitors at the earliest opportunity, he decided. And if they thought he should sell the shares back to Mercer—well, he would do so. Mr. Newbold had already advanced him a considerable portion of Amy’s dowry to make repairs to the estate where she would one day be mistress, but James was reluctant to spend any of it on settling Gerald’s personal debts.
    Arriving at 17 Grosvenor Square, he was shown into the sitting room, furnished in Heppelwhite and decorated in soft blue. The family would be informed of his arrival, he was told. Idly studying the rather uninspired landscape painting over the mantel, he heard rippling notes of piano music coming from the