Chapter Eight

Daniel’s gut tightened as he watched Miss St. Peters depart, leaving him alone with her father, who looked none too pleased to have found them together.

“Is my daughter making a cake of herself again?”

There was no way to hide his startlement, so he didn’t even try. “I beg your pardon?”

St. Peters’s mouth was a grim line. “Oh, come now. It can be no surprise to you that I’m aware my daughter has set her cap for you. Or that you have an interest in her. And now I find the pair of you out here having a tête-à-tête.”

Daniel’s mouth opened; however, nothing came out of it but a small, strangled sound of air escaping as he searched in vain for an appropriate response.

A rough bark of laughter burst from the man before him, shattering the silence. A fellow guest standing nearby flinched and turned on them with a face that could’ve soured milk, put her nose in the air, and all but dragged her companion from the statuary. St. Peters merely chuckled again. “Or maybe it is a surprise, at that,” he muttered, eyeing him. “I thought you more intelligent, lad. Especially when it comes to women.”

Speech at last found its way to Daniel’s tongue. “I assure you, I have no designs on your daughter,” he gabbled in a hoarse whisper, genuinely horrified. He felt the blood leave his face in a rush as the other man lifted one brow, and he rushed on to amend, “Please don’t misunderstand me—Miss St. Peters is everything a gentleman could hope for in a prospective companion, but I have no intention of marrying any time soon, and even if I did, she’s not the sort of bride I would choose. Our temperaments are ill-suited for anything beyond friendship. Of the most platonic kind,” he added for good measure. Sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades, a slow, warm trickle that left behind dampness and intense discomfort.

The skepticism slowly faded from St. Peters’s eyes, but his mouth firmed, nonetheless. “Yes, well. Be that as it may, whether by accident or design, my girl has taken quite a liking to you, and I doubt she wishes only for your friendship.”

And what Princess wants, Princess gets. Daniel’s panic escalated. This has to be nipped, and quickly. “Even if I felt differently, I would never presume to put myself forward as a candidate for her affections,” he said bluntly, earning a confused frown. “It would be unconscionable, given my personal circumstance.”

“Oh?” asked the other man, his frown deepening. “And what circumstance would that be?”

Devlin is going to kill me. “Though I’ve recently found my way back into their good graces, my family and I have long been at odds. When I was younger, my late father cut me off and banished me after I refused to bow to his wishes concerning my career as a gentleman. My older brother pardoned the offense shortly after he inherited, which is why I was at Winterbourne over Christmas.”

St. Peters stared at him, his face inscrutable, for a long time before answering. “I knew of the estrangement. I was, however, unaware that you’d been disinherited. I thought it simply a matter of pride that you took no allowance from the estate.”

So, he’s got an informant at Dev’s bank. Understandable, if a bit unnerving. Of course St. Peters would want to know everything possible about the man in whom his daughter had expressed marital interest. “Though it was indeed not my decision, I feel neither loss nor regret over it. Even if David were to attempt to reverse our father’s action, I would not accept it.” He allowed himself a bitter smile at having repeated his twin’s sentiments verbatim. “So you see, my family has forgiven my youthful transgression, but the fact remains that the incident resulted in irrevocable damage to my reputation.” Devlin’s little problem with Miss St. Peters was either solved or compounded pending her father’s next words.

A pensive look settled over St. Peter’s features, and when he at last replied, his words held the weight of careful forethought. “Winterbourne’s support would make things easier for you, but it’s hardly necessary. You’ve already proven self-sufficient and industrious—a success by any measure. A self-made man is a man I can appreciate.”

Damn. “I, ah…”

Another bark of laughter. “Calm yourself, lad. I won’t force you down the aisle—unless you do something foolish, of course. Even then, I’m more likely to shoot you than let you marry my Livy.” His merry eyes hardened. “She’s my only child and all I have left of her mother, God rest her soul. I would see her happily settled, not bound to a man who does not return her affections.”

“I understand perfectly,” Daniel at once affirmed.

“I hope you do,” the other said pointedly. “I don’t doubt that you are well aware of the consequences for causing her injury.”

“I am,” he assured the man, ignoring the uncomfortable prickle of sweat erupting across his skin. “Your daughter happened to witness my distress over a family matter and kindly offered to help me mend my continued estrangement from my sister. Diana was not as forgiving of my errors as the rest of my siblings. They are of an age, your daughter and my sister.”

Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes, and his demeanor relaxed fully. “I see. Well. Just be careful. I fear she’ll think you interested in more than her advice. In fact, I know she will.” Sighing, he pulled at his chin, his look turning thoughtful—and sly. “You know…this may be the perfect opportunity for you to show her you are not the sort of man she wants for a husband.”

My thinking precisely! “Oh, indeed?” he said, affecting innocent curiosity.

“Indeed,” replied St. Peters flatly, leveling Daniel with a penetrating gaze that said he saw through the pitiful attempt at subterfuge.

Daniel gave up the pretense. “I confess the same thought had occurred to me.”

“I thought so,” chuckled St. Peters, mirth returning to his eyes. “With that in mind, I’m hereby granting permission to call on her socially without first having to put up the pretense of needing to see me.”

Perfect. He’d been wondering how to get around that without it appearing as if he was trying to surreptitiously pay her court. “Thank you,” he said soberly. He debated only for a moment before broaching another subject that was, though St. Peters couldn’t know it, intimately related to the matter at hand. He’d learned of it from Dev and had kept the knowledge in his pocket. Now was the perfect time to use it.

He met St. Peters’s gaze squarely. “I know you told your daughter we had business to discuss only to ensure our privacy for this conversation, but I do have news. I understand Lovelace is planning to open another club just west of us.”

“Oh, indeed?” St. Peters frowned. “Do you think he’s attempting to compete?”

“It’s a good deal closer to our established territory than any other available location he might have considered.” He waited while his brother’s partner chewed on that for a moment before continuing. “He’s either making a play for a piece of our business…or he has something else in mind.”

The canny man eyed him. “I take it you have an opinion regarding what that something might be?”

Daniel clenched and unclenched his jaw the way he’d seen Dev do whenever contemplating something unpleasant. “Well, if he’s not attempting to compete—which I’m sure he understands would be most unwise—then perhaps he believes there’s some other benefit to being in close proximity.”

A wary expression entered St. Peters’s eyes as he caught on. “Olivia.”

Holding his gaze, Daniel gave him a grim smile. “It makes sense, does it not? Should he succeed in winning her heart, he would enter into a virtually unbreakable partnership—one that would greatly increase his wealth and, eventually, more than double his reach.”

St. Peters’s face darkened, and for a moment Daniel wondered if he’d made a grave miscalculation revealing this information in a public setting.

But when he spoke, the other man’s voice came out a barely audible growl. “Olivia knows nothing of it, but I’ve ensured the man that marries her will never lay a finger on the empire I’ve built.” His eyes burned with determination. “Should I die before she has a son upon whom I can bequeath it all, my will stipulates that everything, with the exception of the land—which, incidentally, I’ve entailed—is to be sold under pre-arranged agreements laid down in writing with the Crown’s approval. Olivia will receive all proceeds with protections in place for her and her children. Her husband won’t be able to touch so much as a shilling.”

Daniel was nothing less than impressed by his foresight. “Given the way the laws of inheritance are written, I imagine that was difficult to accomplish.”

“The Regent himself signed the writ.” A smug, almost vicious look entered the other man’s eyes. “I may not be of noble birth, but by George, I’ve amassed enough sway to achieve my ends.”

Careful, now. “Good.” He ignored St. Peters’s startled look. “But how can you be certain she won’t become subject to her husband’s, ah, persuasion?”

Now St. Peters’s visage became contemplative. “Olivia will marry before I die—of that I have no doubt. But her choice must receive my blessing, which may only be secured by her most transparent happiness and his witnessed agreement in writing to the terms I’ve just revealed to you.” He paused, eyes narrowing an increment as he observed Daniel’s reaction. Whatever he saw, he must have approved of it. “He’ll have her dowry, of course, which is quite generous, and a reasonable allowance, but nothing extraordinary.”

Daniel nodded but cast him a dubious look. “If wisely managed, even a few thousand can change a man’s fortunes.” He knew this because Dev had done exactly that. “Many men would be willing to marry her for her dowry alone, I’m sure, and hope to change your mind on the rest later.”

“Oh, beyond doubt,” conceded St. Peters. “Which is why I plan to make clear to any man who asks for her hand that the decision is irrevocable. I’ve worked hard to build a legacy,” said St. Peters softly. “Olivia’s children will, hopefully, be at least somewhat under my influence as they grow. Should I live long enough to see them come of age, one will become my heir. I’ve vowed to gift it to the most deserving of her offspring.”

Now that was unexpected. “Not her firstborn son?”

St. Peters offered him a faint, bitter smile. “We’ve never had the chance to speak of it before, but you ought to know the man with whom you’re partnered. I am the third son of a successful merchant who left it all to his firstborn, a wastrel who frittered it away and left our mother and sisters to suffer privation while I and our younger brother were sent off to the navy.”

As a younger son, Daniel could well understand the other man’s evident frustration and resentment. He himself had been blessed to be called to serve the Lord and had suffered little other ambition, but Dev had expressed such feelings more than once growing up. He, like countless other “spares,” had often wondered why order of birth counted for so much more than intelligence or talent.

“My younger brother died of a fever at sea,” St. Peters went on. “A year later, my mother wrote to tell me my eldest sibling had gambled away our family’s fortune and hanged himself. Her jointure was not enough to support her and my sisters, and the pittance I earned in His Majesty’s navy was too little help, so I deserted and joined a company of pirates for the promise of gold. It was a promise kept, though I’ve no doubt it came at great cost to my immortal soul. Ah, well. What’s done is done. With my portion of the takings, I was able to give my family a proper home and feed them, and that is what mattered.”

Again, though he couldn’t approve of the piracy, Daniel was impressed. Rather than run off and take care of only himself, St. Peters had done what was necessary to see to the needs of his loved ones. Such a man would die to protect those he loves.

Drawing a deep breath, St. Peters shook off his melancholy. “Eventually, I earned my own ship, and when the opportunity presented itself, I and my fellow captains became privateers. My willing service to the Crown expunged any crimes for which I might have stood accused, and my mother died blissfully ignorant of my sins. My sisters made good marriages, both of them. Neither knows the truth of whence came my wealth, or if they do, they don’t acknowledge or speak of it.”

“Your daughter knows,” he replied softly, drawing on the knowledge Dev had provided. “She did not say much other than that you’d sailed under the black flag before earning the Crown’s pardon.”

St. Peters favored him with a grim smile. “I told her as soon as she was old enough to leave the nursery, as I did not wish her to learn of it from anyone else. Society can be cruel, and my past transgressions require her to have a thick skin to survive in its treacherous waters.”

A genuine liking for the man blossomed in Daniel’s heart. “She’s quite proud of you, actually. Of all that you’ve accomplished.”

“Damned right, she is,” affirmed the other man, jutting out his chin. “I may have trod the primrose path, but I found my way into Society’s good graces. Or bought my way in, I should say.”

“Indeed. Money can buy almost anything, including entrée,” Daniel said with a chuckle. “My rise to fortune was never so harrowing, or valorous, as yours, and I doubt any children of mine would be very proud of their father’s past. I have no saving grace to mitigate my sins.”

But the other man just smiled fondly. “Money has a way of making people forget one’s sins—if one has enough of it. We neither of us can afford to allow anyone to jeopardize our prospects.” He paused, and his gaze became shrewd. “As such, I would not be averse to testing your theory about Lovelace. If his interest in Olivia is motivated by genuine sentiment, he’ll have my blessing. If not, I would know sooner rather than later.”

The look on St. Peters’s face told Daniel all he needed to know about what would happen should the answer be not to his liking. “How do you propose putting him to trial?” he managed, sounding a lot calmer than he felt.

“Like me, Olivia has always been a bit…rebellious,” said her father. “But of late she’s become all but unmanageable, pitting her will against mine and seeking to thwart my chaperonage at every turn. She thinks me unaware that she lured Lovelace to her side to make you jealous,” he said with a smirk.

Again, unease settled in the pit of Daniel’s stomach even as he nodded like he’d known it, too, when the truth was he’d thought it merely an unfortunate coincidence. “Women often employ such tactics.”

St. Peters favored him with a humorless smile. “Indeed. And I, thinking it a grand idea for other reasons, turned it against her by encouraging him myself. An act I shall deeply regret if your suspicion about him bears fruit.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he rocked up onto the balls of his feet and bounced a little as a pensive look crossed his face. “This all came about because I sought to restrain her. So…I was thinking that perhaps I might allow her to think she’s won a bit of slack in the line, so to speak. Specifically where you are concerned.”

Daniel could see at once where this was going, and while it went hand-in-glove with his own plan, it still nearly made him break another sweat. “You mean to use me as a decoy and thus draw him out.”

The other man nodded. “An angry man often makes mistakes and unintentionally reveals himself. And, knowing your true purpose, having you keep an eye on Olivia when I cannot will provide additional security for her and relief for me from her endless machinations to get at you. Let her think she’s won the prize…” He shot him a meaningful look.

“And then ensure she becomes disenchanted with it,” Daniel finished for him, adding, “quickly.”

The other man’s smile broadened into a wily pirate’s grin. “Two ships sunk with a single shot, as it were. You would be doing me an enormous favor.” His gaze hardened. “As long as we understand each other.”

Again, nerves threatened to unseat his composure and give him away for a fraud. “I cannot promise she won’t become upset at some point before the end of it,” he said warily.

A snort erupted from St. Peters, and his good humor returned. “She’s been nothing but upset over your lack of interest for months, lad. I’ve had a bloody time of it trying to make her see sense, to no avail.” Sadness clouded his eyes. “I hate to see her disappointed…”

Daniel squirmed inside as a father’s pleading eyes were raised to meet his own.

“But it must be done,” the man continued with conviction. “For her own good. And since I cannot seem to get through to her, I must leave it to you. All I ask is that you reject her gently. As gently as possible. She’s a stubborn creature—comes by it honestly,” he added ruefully, “but she’s also exceedingly sentimental.”

Knowing there was really no other choice, Daniel nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

And he meant it.

…

Olivia stewed while the music droned on, the minutes stretched, and still neither her father nor Devlin reappeared.

Did he ask me to speak privately only to provoke a reaction from Papa? She didn’t want to believe it. He’d seemed so sincere.

A clergyman. It was so difficult to even imagine him spending years, years studying to that end only to turn away at the very last and throw away his future and his family’s love. Again, the question begged: what could have caused him to do such a thing?

Another thought occurred. Mama had always said that a boy raised up in the church might stray from the straight and narrow path but that, just like her papa, he always found his way back, and that the wool of the black sheep was just as warm—once one shaped it with purpose, of course.

She’d thought to reform Devlin herself. Now it appeared that work was already being accomplished via some other agency. She was honest enough to admit a bit of disappointment over the fact that his urgent prayers on Sunday hadn’t been inspired by guilt over having lustful thoughts about her, but at least he didn’t appear to be having them about anyone else.

A slow smile curved her lips. No matter how much he prayed, no matter how pious he became, he was still the man who’d looked at her with fire in his eyes.

Really, she ought to feel terribly ashamed for contemplating leading him astray when he was trying to reform. But she simply couldn’t find it in herself to feel anything but determination. Desperate times require desperate measures.

At last, Devlin and her father reentered the room. Instead of splitting apart and going to opposite corners, however, to her surprise they both came over to join her. Bracketed by Papa on one side and Devlin on the other, she found herself in a state of uneasy confusion.

Both men’s faces were impassive. Neither looked at her, but rather paid rapt attention to the entertainment, which was currently warbling an aria in Italian.

Being ignored was intensely annoying.

Then her father’s hand came to rest over her own and gave it a little reassuring pat that could only mean one thing.

It was all she could do not to leap out of her seat and crow in triumph. After all these months of seemingly futile efforts, she’d won!

No! With a silent bellow of admonition, the logical part of her clamped down on her giddy joy. You’ve not won until he’s standing before the altar putting his ring on your finger! She couldn’t afford complacency. The opportunity had been granted. Now she had to make the most of it and ensure victory.

Which meant the plotting and machinations couldn’t stop. No, indeed. They couldn’t even pause. The focus simply had to shift a bit. She’d won his attention. Now she had to hold it.

And she was surrounded by the enemy. Every unwed woman from Covent Garden to those right here in this room was out for blood—and his was the rarest, most sought-after kind: blue. Regardless of his reputation, she had no illusions that they wouldn’t employ every single one of their weapons to attain the favor of a duke’s son. If she wanted this man, and she did, she’d have to maintain the good breeding and restraint of a true lady while at the same time being more alluring than the light-skirted sirens treading the boards at his own club.

It was a fine line to walk.

Risking a glance at her quarry, to her surprise she found him staring at her. The blue of his eyes deepened even as they widened with what looked like guilt just before he looked to the front of the room again.

No, not guilt. Guilt wouldn’t cause a flush to appear high on his cheek or just above his cravat. She really ought to politely look away and allow him a moment but found herself unable to tear her eyes off the rosy stain as it slowly spread upward, tinting the tender flesh beneath his ear with scarlet heat. His throat bobbed in an audible swallow, and his gaze flicked to meet hers only to immediately flee again and be shuttered as he closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath in a vain attempt to regain composure.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she kept it at bay by sheer force of will—and the need to solidify the victory. She’d won this skirmish, but for the sake of his male pride, he absolutely could not know it or suspect that what was to come next was deliberate on her part.

Focusing on the demonstrations of skill at the harp, pianoforte, and other instruments at the front of the room, she proceeded to ignore him. Or at least appear to ignore him. In reality, she took every opportunity to entice him, using every wile in her armament.

An elegant turn of the head to display her long, graceful neck.

Slow, deep breaths to make her jeweled pendant glitter in the candlelight and draw the eye to her décolletage.

A soft gasp of appreciation at a particularly lovely refrain to make him wonder how she would sound in the throes of passion—accompanied, of course, by the lightest of “unconsciously given” clutches at his sleeve as she was “lost” to the beauty of a dramatic orchestral crescendo.

Each time she employed a new tactic, there was corresponding movement beside her. The minute shift of a leg, the adjustment of a cravat, a subtle squirm. There were sounds, too. A tiny hitch in the breath, a discreet clearing of the throat.

It was a point of pride that she refrained from looking at him even once. By the time the musical entertainments ended and the audience was released to mingle, she could tell he was in a state of physical discomfort.

A well-bred lady would take pity and find some excuse to turn away for a moment, allowing a gentleman in such a state to make certain adjustments for his comfort. She was not that lady. Instead, giving in to her mischievous inclination, she pretended to be utterly oblivious, forcing him to stand awkwardly and offer his arm, as her father had already offered his to the unaccompanied matron on his other side.

If her escort’s step was a bit ginger as they set off for the refreshments table, well, c’est la vie. All was fair in love and war, after all.

Angie was, thankfully, occupied with seducing Torrington, giving Olivia plenty of time to chat with her companion unhindered.

“I’ve been thinking about your sister,” she began after quenching her thirst with a sip of punch. “You should write to her, beginning with an apology.”

“She’ll only send it back unopened.”

“Then send her another, and keep sending them until they stop coming back. Once that happens, you can begin sending her other things besides apologies. Tell her of your life—the parts of it that are appropriate to share, of course—and then about your hopes and dreams, and be sure to always include her in those expressions.”

“It won’t work,” he replied with a rueful smile. “Once she understands I mean not to stop, she’ll simply start tossing them into the fire.”

She laid a hand on his sleeve and gave it a maternal pat. “She won’t. I promise you. Better yet, I guarantee she’ll write back.”

“And if she does not?”

“She will,” she said with confidence.

“I’m glad one of us is certain.” He side-eyed her. “When you said ‘the parts appropriate to share,’ what did you mean, exactly?”

Meeting his gaze unflinchingly, she answered, “Though my father has tried his best, I’m not as sheltered as you imagine, Lord Devlin. Since learning my letters, I’ve read almost every piece of paper that has crossed his desk. I know what sort of businesses you and he partner in, and I’m not speaking of the gentleman’s clubs. You also own several gaming hells and small theaters that offer bawdy—or perhaps I should be more elegant and call them ‘risqué’—entertainments to their clientele.”

Shock registered on his features, and she allowed a small, satisfied smirk to cross her lips. It was time to take a calculated risk. Standing as tall as possible, she lifted her chin in defiance. “I am every bit the lady my mother was, but I’m also my father’s daughter. And I’m unashamed of my heritage. Through his own cleverness, Papa attained wealth and made a good life for himself, just as you have done. Your family may find your entrepreneurship distasteful. I don’t.”

A telltale flash of admiration flickered in his eyes an instant before he bowed his head and said, “You don’t, but my sister does. I might as well be the devil incarnate for both abandoning her and adopting a lifestyle to which she cannot be exposed even if she should somehow find it in her heart to forgive my first transgression. She expected me to become a priest like Daniel. Instead, I—”

“I know how to solve that problem,” she calmly cut in, waiting while his eyes widened with surprise. “Your wealth is considered ill-gotten, tainted. So is Papa’s—but not all of it. In addition to…questionable sources of income, he owns several legitimate businesses to which his wealth may be attributed, albeit dubiously. If you were to invest in some ‘above board’ endeavors, your sister could always claim those to be the source of your income. No one would dare mention the others in her presence. It would allow her to at least speak of you in polite company without shame.”

His tone was annoyingly patronizing as he countered with, “The whole of the Upper Crust already knows what I do. Many of them frequent my establishments, and my knowledge of their proclivities does nothing to still the hypocrites’ tongues.”

Pressing her lips together in a manner guaranteed to show off the dimple in her right cheek, she lifted one shoulder in an insouciant shrug. “Hire managers to run those industries and put a solicitor between you—visibly distance yourself from them. It’s a matter of perception. You are the son of a duke. As such, your activities will be the subject of talk. So give them something less scandalous to discuss by offering a plausible, palatable explanation for your gains.”

She fixed him with a hard stare. “Remember: for men, money will always outweigh morality. But that is not so for a gently raised lady like your sister. For her sake, you must follow Papa’s example and—even if it is only on the surface—at least maintain the appearance of respectability.”

A stunned expression painted itself across his face. His voice, when he at last spoke, sounded rather strangled. “‘For men, money will always outweigh morality’? Does your father know you’ve developed such a jaded view?”

“Oh, come now,” she said, unable to prevent a laugh from escaping. “You know it’s true. As for my view, watching Papa work around Society’s so-called ‘principles’ to achieve his ends has been quite educational,” she continued, countering his increasingly incredulous expression with a sly smile. “Do you really think I stood at my father’s side for all these years and learned nothing?”

He swallowed, and his mouth opened, but nothing came out, causing her to laugh again, delighted.

Her mirth was short-lived, however, as she went on to explain. “After Mama died, he could hardly stand to let me out of his sight. He kept me with him through property inspections, hiring interviews, meetings, and contract negotiations. I was given a doll or a book and told to be silent, of course, which I was. When I grew out of pinafores, I simply pretended to read and watched him work. People grew accustomed to my presence, and after a while, it was as if I was not even there. But I was always listening, always paying attention.”

Silence reigned for a beat, and then: “Does he know?”

Her smile turned wry. “The moment he realized his unwitting tutelage had taken root, there was a great deal of swearing,” she said, smiling fondly at the memory. “Mostly because I informed him he was being cozened by a business associate. The blackguard had subtly altered a contract I’d just so happened to read in its original form. I was eleven. After that, seeing as the damage was already done, Papa decided to make my education deliberate.”

Inside, her heart began to pound as she contemplated how much to reveal. In for a penny… “I’ve done my best to help him. I listen and observe during meetings, taking note of anything suspicious. I assist him in managing the accounts, drawing up contracts, and I review every document prior to him signing it. In fact, it was I who reviewed the contract for your partnership. Our solicitor’s signature and seal may grace the page, but it was my pen that made the amendments to which you agreed.”

The flabbergasted look on his face was well worth the confession, even if it did get out and expose her for a bluestocking. Again, she laughed softly. “I know it’s considered ‘unwomanly’ for a lady to know such things,” she went on, “but I seem to have inherited his head for business. If it were acceptable for a woman to make investments on her own, I would. And they would be equally as profitable as his,” she insisted. “I learned from him, after all.”

She’d revealed the truth of herself. Now all she could do was wait to see his reaction.