Temptation Has Green Eyes. Lynne Connolly
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would be considered bad breeding, nothing more.
Children of Max’s station were bred to expect people to stare at them and single them out. They should not avoid that task. Otherwise it could be regarded as bad manners. Would Sophia make a good marchioness? The reticence didn’t indicate that.
Before they reached their destination, Max recommenced discussing the problem with Russell. They were moving too fast and with too much purpose for anyone to catch more than a few words in passing, so they were as private here as at the discreet corner table at Lloyd’s. “Do you intend Sophia to continue the business after she marries, or will you expect her to withdraw from commercial life?”
Russell laughed as he dodged a dark pool of something unpleasantly liquid. Since it hadn’t rained for a day or so, it was unlikely to be water. “I’d consider any man who chose not to consult her an idiot. She knows the various enterprises as well as I do. It’s sheer madness to ignore expertise in whatever guise it appears, male or female.”
Relief flooded him. She was an intelligent woman, then. “Why the hurry to hand over your business? You, sir, are in your prime.” He assumed Russell to be around fifty. His vigor and mental acuity pointed to a lack of extreme age.
Russell raised a brow. “Thank you for that. It’s time I took life at a more leisurely pace.”
Did he have a health problem? The lines of his face and the gnarled hands were probably from Russell’s early years on board ship, where he made his first fortune. But perhaps the lines were deeper, the eyes a little less clear.
“My daughter is twenty-four. She needs a husband, one who will care for her and ensure she comes to no harm. And you are the best candidate. My lord,” he added as if an afterthought.
In fact, Max’s colleague was reminding him of his exalted title and station. True, he could enhance Russell’s business merely by being a peer of the realm.
He could finally restore the house. His parents had spent all their money and lavished their love on the house in the country. Devereaux House had been a large establishment, suitable for a marquess’s main residence, and his parents had enlarged it still further. Now it was packed with treasures, beautified, and redesigned.
His land steward had loftily informed Max that the house contained as many rooms as there were days in the year. The news appalled Max. How could anyone live in a monstrosity that size? Now the place belonged to him, or more precisely, had devolved to him with the entail on the land. He couldn’t sell it. He never went there.
After his father’s death, Max had closed and shuttered the place, retaining a skeleton staff to keep the house clear of the pests that might damage the treasures. Even that had cost him more than he could afford.
His mother had adored her husband, and therefore she adored the house, too. Not that she lived there. That was a constant needle in Max’s side. His mother should have her house back.
With Russell’s fortune, starting with the no doubt generous settlement that would come with Sophia, he could do it. Restore the parts that had suffered during his time as owner and give it back to her.
And he wanted to give his sister something more than she had now. Poppy deserved better. Because she was a single female, she had to live with her mother, which meant sharing the peripatetic life the dowager Lady Devereaux led these days.
Poppy should have a proper London season with the clothes to match. But when a lace petticoat cost more than a ship’s captain could earn in half a year, that was difficult. Had been difficult.
Now Max could afford it, but he still needed a chaperone for Poppy. Somebody like—a wife.
He kept coming back to the inevitable topic. The walk only served to firm his resolve, which Russell probably knew since he kept quiet for most of it. A good businessman knew when to keep his tongue between his teeth.
They halted outside the office. Did he go in or not? Would he accept this agreement?
He had no choice.
Russell had dropped his daughter on Max like a woodcutter felling an oak tree.
“In principle, I agree to both your propositions,” he said as calmly as he could. “Shall we?” Courteously he let the older man enter the building first and followed up the narrow stairway leading to the busy solicitor’s office, the clerk with half a dozen quills stuck in his hair waving them on with only a small bow of acknowledgement.
All through the discussion of the various documents that put the agreement in place, Max’s mind kept drifting elsewhere. Every time he hit upon an objection to the marriage, a reasonable solution popped into his mind.
Now he’d regained his fortune, women would start chasing him. He’d seen it happen to other men. Now his turn had arrived. Some mysterious scent, like trailing a corpse for the hounds affected men of title, wealth, and enough youth not to repel. No, forget the last one, Max had seen eighty-year-old dukes fall for the wiles of a twenty-year-old woman.
Hell and damnation, he’d never had this difficulty making up his mind.
Yes, damn it, he’d do it. He nodded when Mr. Fisk hesitated. “Go on. I daresay the marriage settlement is here?”
His own man of business shot him a startled look. Max gave him a beatific smile in return. The original contract agreed upon, they settled to discussing the marriage contract and its ramifications.
So Sophia was four-and-twenty? He had thought her younger. That changed his perspective on his colleague’s proposal because he’d never been in favor of marrying chits straight out of the schoolroom. He’d never had the luxury of a childhood or the customary Grand Tour that young men of his status generally undertook before settling into what passed for ordinary life. Max had little in common with the brats he’d been introduced to and found more conducive conversation with older women, who’d seen a little more and expected a lot less.
He had to force himself to concentrate on the signing. He never signed a contract without reading it through just before he signed, in case the other party had tried to slip something in, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He always noticed.
Today he could have been signing his soul away to the devil. He tried, but couldn’t concentrate.
He hovered his pen over the other contract, the one binding him for life to a woman he hardly knew. And had a brainwave. “I cannot sign this without the other party present.”
“Of course,” Russell said smoothly. “But we can have it ready for Sophia to sign. You can sign your part now.”
Max tested the proposal, considered the aspects of tying himself to someone for life. If the personal association didn’t work, they would always have the business one.
When Max made a decision, he didn’t delay. He preferred to see the matter through swiftly and efficiently. As far as he was concerned, the matter was set aside to be filed with a blue ribbon, his office code for “Done.”
He signed the document in the requisite places with a few sure slashes of the pen. Then, with a smile, he returned them to their men of business to arrange the copies and the filing.
He’d leave telling his mother until tomorrow.
Chapter 2
Sophia was sick of fielding questions about the young men she might consider marrying. Her father, his good mood flowing over to the dinner they held that night, kept the gentlemen in the dining room longer than usual, and Sophia, perforce, had to entertain the ladies in the drawing-room.
One lady suggested that John Hayes would be growing impatient.
He could get as impatient as he liked, but he wasn’t coming anywhere near her again. She forced a smile and gave a non-committal, “Really?” with a touch of aspersion.
She’d trusted a man who had traduced and despised her. He’d only wanted her for her money, nothing else, but she’d believed