One Golden Ring. Cheryl Bolen
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completely at your service.”
A single corner of Warwick’s aristocratic mouth twitched as he somberly eyed Nick. “As you know, defeating Napoleon by any means is my objective in all that I do at the Foreign Office.”
Why in the hell doesn’t the man just get to the point? “As it should be, my lord.”
“We’ve been bloody successful at sea, and our peninsular armies are making great strides in subduing the maniac Corsican, but there’s one more area I wish to dominate.”
He wants to crush the French treasury. Nick smiled. “Now I understand why you’ve come to me.”
“There’s only one man in England with the resources—and the knowledge—to manipulate the markets.”
“What’s needed is not a manipulation of the market but a devaluation of the franc.”
The earl pondered this for a moment, then nodded. “At this point, such a devaluation can only be precipitated by someone possessed of a great fortune.”
Nick laughed. “What you propose is that my brothers and I beggar ourselves in order to crush the French?”
“I’ll admit there is a certain risk,” the earl said, “but the English government is poised to enter into a contract with you. Should you fail—should you lose your vast resources—we would provide handsomely for you for the rest of your life.”
“Then why doesn’t the English government use its resources instead of mine to foil Napoleon?”
“Because the war’s taking everything!”
Nick peered at the earl through narrowed eyes. “And if France wins this war?”
“That is an eventuality I cannot conceive of.”
“You’d make a damned poor businessman, Warwick.” Nick disliked the pompous foreign secretary even more now. It was bad enough that he had humiliated the delicate Lady Fiona, but now he was asking that Nick throw away his family’s fortune on a poorly thought-out scheme that would in no way benefit Nick and his brothers and that the English government was not capable of funding.
There was a tap on his door, and his secretary entered the chamber, closing the door behind him. “A Lady Fiona Hollingsworth to see you, my lord,” the young man said.
Nick and Warwick exchanged icy stares, then Warwick got to his feet. “I was just leaving. Oblige me by not mentioning this matter to anyone.”
Nick nodded.
“And please, Birmingham,” Warwick added, “I beg that you give the matter careful consideration. I shall call on you again next week.”
As Warwick went to leave the office, Lady Fiona swept in. When she met Warwick’s gaze, her face blanched. “Edward!” she said in a shaky voice.
He bowed. “May I hope you’re as well as you look, Lady Fiona?”
Except for her ruffled composure, she did indeed look very well. The tomato color of her well-cut velvet pelisse perfectly matched the hue of her lovely mouth. The lithe, dainty blonde exuded more elegance than any woman Nick had ever seen. Warwick was an utter fool to have cast aside this beauty.
“I’m quite well,” she answered. “And Lady Warwick?”
“She presented me with a son in September.”
“Yes, I know. My felicitations.”
After Warwick left, Nick crossed the room, bowed before Lady Fiona, then took her shaking hand and brushed his lips across it. “Allow me to say what a pleasure it is to see you again, my lady. Won’t you have a seat?”
He pulled up an upholstered chair in front of his desk, and she sank into it.
Nick returned to his desk and faced her, for once not spurring on his visitor to get to the point. “My sympathies on your father’s death last year,” he offered. “I suppose Randolph is the new Lord Agar?”
Her pale blue eyes were utterly woeful when she looked up at him. “He is.”
“I would be most happy to assist you, my lady, in communicating with your brother. My courier service is second to none.”
“I do need your assistance, Mr. Birmingham, but not for that.” She began to fumble in her reticule, then she removed a single piece of parchment and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, his glance leaping to the masculine scribble on the page.
“A ransom demand I received yesterday. It was wrapped around my brother’s signet ring—which I know he would never willingly part with. Randolph has apparently been abducted by Spanish bandits.”
Nick took the letter and read.
We have in our custody the son of the wealthy English Lord Agar. If you wish to see Señor Randolph again, you must pay us twenty-five thousand pounds. We will give you a week to secure the funds, then we will be communicating with you once more. If you fail to comply, Señor Randolph will be killed.
“Your brother was in Spain?” Nick asked.
She nodded.
“Why did you not take this letter to Warwick?”
“If you must know,” she said proudly, “I’m out of charity with his lordship.”
“So you expect a stranger to give you the twenty-five thousand pounds?” At the wounded look on her delicate face, he wished he could retract his insensitive words. Lady Fiona was under a great deal of strain. She was extremely close to her brother and quite naturally worried about him. “I’m sorry for being so brutally blunt, my lady. I’m flattered that you’ve come to me, but you must realize this is an exorbitant amount of money.” He stopped short of reminding her that the Agar fortune had gone the way of powdered wigs. It was Nick’s business to know everyone’s financial business. The late Lord Agar had lost vast sums in African mines, and that loss was followed with a huge blow on the market. The man had been forced to sell all his ancillary properties and much of his renowned library and art collection just to meet present pecuniary demands.
“To me, yes, it’s a great deal of money,” she said. “To most people, it’s a great deal of money, but not to you, Mr. Birmingham.”
“If it’s a loan you seek, you need to see my brother Adam. He’s the banker of the family.”
“I don’t wish to speak with your brother,” she said, her blue eyes glittering defiantly, her spine ramrod straight. “It’s you I wish to deal with.”
“Why am I to be so singularly honored, my lady?”
“Because you’re not a complete stranger.”
“You think one brief meeting gives you access to my money?” Damn, but he was behaving abominably to the poor lady! “Forgive me for my shockingly bad manners.”
Two perfect, little white teeth nipped at her lip as she watched him. God, but she was exquisite!
But of course he wouldn’t give her the money. “I must tell you, my lady, that in order to obtain a loan, one must secure it by pledging property or belongings of equal or greater value than the amount borrowed. What do you propose to use as collateral?”
She did not answer for a moment. Her hands folded and unfolded nervously as she stared at him. Then she finally cleared her throat, stared at his neck, and said, “I mean to offer myself as your bride, Mr. Birmingham.”
Chapter 2
Never in his two and thirty years had Nick been more stunned. Never before had he dared even to entertain the unvoiced thought of marrying a woman of Lady Fiona’s pedigree. As he sat there staring at her porcelain perfect face, at the wisps of silvery blond hair that escaped her Grecian coif, a feeling of profound elation swept over