A Touch of Silver Page 3

  Gerald doubted that. He was facing a formidable woman in Mrs. Cathcart. But it wasn’t his virtue he feared for, or hers for that matter. True, she was attractive, but she was also a married woman, and he never trespassed in that country. Besides, he was not accustomed to falling on women the minute the door was closed.

  He took a moment to straighten his coat and twitch his neckcloth into place before ushering her into his study. The blasted woman had set him completely on edge. Her sheer presence had felled him.

  His study lay at the back of the hall behind the front parlor. The shelves were lined with books from the previous earl that he had not yet got around to disposing of—sermons and texts, not Gerald’s kind of reading at all. The desk surface was covered with letters, notes and pieces of pasteboard—those infernal invitations. As fast as he cleared them up, new ones appeared to take their places. And Watson had just delivered a new stack of them.

  Light streamed into the room from the garden, highlighting the other occupant where she stood, her ungloved hands folded neatly before her. She looked clean, pure, untainted by the complications affecting his life. He liked that, like a breath of fresh air blasting through the house, reminding him of what he’d left behind, and wished he had not.

  He contemplated her, fascinated. Mrs. Cathcart was a woman with spirit, unlike the society beauties who maddened him by their lack of honest responses and their constant flirting. He enjoyed flirting, or had before he’d inherited the title. That seemed like a lifetime ago, although it had been but months. A woman dressed as she was should be deferential, surely. He was glad she was not.

  She lifted her head and met his eyes. Gerald caught his breath, ensnared. Her lips were plump, inviting his kiss and, for the space of a mere second, he considered closing the distance between them and discovering what they tasted like. Except her uncompromising clothing and her air of confidence did not indicate a woman who would welcome his advances. Neither would he offer them. A damned shame, though.

  She seemed equally taken, staring at him, her eyes rounding, and her mouth dropping open, but that brief exchange disappeared as she shifted her attention to the study, and the piles of dusty books and folders.

  “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your name, or how you heard of my house.”

  That set her devil free again. She shot a disdainful glance at the invitations, her eyes sparkling. “You told your lawyer to answer me in the way he did, is that not true? Why in God’s name would you do that?”

  She took a few agitated steps away from him, turned around and strode back. Her heavy shoes clunked on the floorboards until she hit the soft carpet in front of his desk. She glared at him. “Well, my lord? I don’t ask you for compensation or an answer, but a courteous response would help.”

  He stood in the middle of his mundane study, his world transformed by the dynamic presence of the woman before him. He stared.

  “Do you have an answer, sir?” She glared at him. “Or even an apology? Is a City woman necessarily a whore, as your employee appears to assume? Or do you know better?”

  Her very presence sent him into a spin. He’d better say something before she took him for a complete fool.

  Chapter Three

  Annie had not expected to meet a man as vibrant as his lordship.

  His personality filled this room, invaded her senses. She had expected a man as stoic and pompous as his predecessor was reckoned to be. Although they had lived a few streets apart, they inhabited very different worlds, and their paths had not crossed until today. Perhaps coming here in such a temper had been a mistake. She hadn’t given herself time to cool down.

  When she thought of the Earl of Carbrooke, her expectations had been the stuffy man who Matilda read to her about from the pages of the gossip sheets, but on the way here she’d recalled the latest news. The old earl and his two sons had died in a shocking accident when their carriage had overturned on a country road. All three had died, the earl and one of the men from broken necks, the other man from cuts sustained from the shattered window panes. She had assumed that the new earl, although owning a house in her part of the world, was just as stuffy. She’d had no idea he’d actually lived there until recently, although Matilda might well have told her.

  She must try to pay more attention. The doings of society had little impact on the wire business, since her customers were all in the City. But with her new concern, she would have to make herself aware of the world outside the Square Mile, and look for customers in the general public, so she’d done her best to appear interested. Matilda devoured them avidly, but Annie thought they were as dry as dust. Then again, she’d never met one before. This man was anything but dry. His broad shoulders and those sharp, dark eyes did not speak of a pompous, stuffy person. Not at all.

  The earl didn’t answer her at first, but stuck his hands in his breeches’ pockets and turned towards the window, staring out into the garden beyond. A singularly lovely garden, she had to admit, but she had no time for such fripperies in her life. She’d turned her garden into a workshop. Clay furnaces took the place of shrubs and rose bushes.

  She should have known better than to come to this place. She should have sent a sweet, regretful letter with a sting in the tail, and kept the original as proof of his lordship’s man of business’ perfidy. Now, his sisters were no doubt laughing over the contents of the letter in the breakfast parlor, and she was alone in a room with a man she had not expected to meet.

  Turning, she made for the door. “This is a complete waste of my time,” she muttered, adding, “thank you for your time, and please thank your sisters for the tea.”

  “Wait.”

  Such was the command in the word that she paused, her fingers resting on the door handle.

  “Please accept my humble apologies for the inconvenience we have put you to, and the insult to your person,” he said then. “Please, Mrs. Cathcart, come back and sit down.”

  She turned, but did not walk back to him. “I should not have come, but this was the only way I could think of to express my anger at Smith’s response. I will leave you.” Her hand tightened on the latch. She should go now, and kick the dust of this place off her heels. He’d apologized and she was done here.

  But he actually sounded hurt, as if she’d insulted him, instead of the other way about. “Give me a chance to explain. Smith sent that letter without my permission. I assure you, ma’am, he will not be in my employ for much longer. Such an insult does not deserve a reward.”

  Perhaps she should give him a chance to explain. Besides, the knowledge that he had been living there intrigued her.

  Carbrooke stood behind his desk facing her. “Please come and sit so we may discuss this matter like civilized human beings.”

  Unlike female members of high society, Annie was used to dealing with men on an equal basis. Matilda gave her countenance, but City women didn’t go around with a retinue of attendants to protect them from the hoi polloi and potential abductors. After all, there was little chance they would get abducted, like the recent rash of forced marriages that had caused a change in the law. Who would want her?

  So she went to the chair set in front of the desk and sat on it, carefully arranging her skirts to give herself time to cope with her proximity to his lordship. “You say you used to live in that house,” she ventured, “but now that you’ve inherited your title and all the property that goes with it, I doubt you’ll need an unremarkable house on Bunhill Row anymore.”

  Despite the rows of books of sermons lining the walls, she doubted this one had ever read a sermon in his life. Not this tall man nearer her own age with laughing brown eyes. Was he laughing at her?

  He might be the most handsome man she’d ever seen, but he was still the Earl of Carbrooke. And he owned something she wanted. Keeping her mind on the matter at hand was proving difficult.

  He didn’t go to the chair. To Annie’s discomfiture, he came around the large, scarred desk, leaned against it, and folded his arms. “You’ll have to tell me what this is about,” he said. “I cannot recall seeing anything concerning Bunhill Row before. I would have remembered. Why do you want my house?”

  She might as well make her proposal clear, although she doubted he’d consider her as a tenant now. Her unseemly temper had ensured that. “I wished to inquire about leasing your property because I require larger premises in which to display and manufacture my goods. I have six men working for me full-time and I live above the shop with my aunt-in-law and two small sons. We are running out of space.”

  Putting up her chin, she dared him to challenge her. She would still like the option of leasing the house, if only to aid her negotiations with her landlord. She had seen as much as she could from the outside, enough to know it was ideal for her purposes, even though she doubted she could afford it now that she’d seen it properly. It was much larger than she’d at first imagined. “My business is somewhat below your concern. Mr. Smith made that clear in his letter.” Her voice shook but she stood her ground.

  He rocked her. She would not admit it to anyone, but he called to her at a level she didn’t allow. This man was dangerous in a way she didn’t understand.

  “I confess I do not remember you from Shoreditch,” he said. “I would have remembered.”

  She suppressed her snort of derision. Snorting at an earl was probably punishable by hanging. “We hardly move in the same circles. I was equally surprised to discover that you lived in the house, instead of merely owning it.”

  He inclined his head. “My sisters and I preferred to live quietly. As you have learned, my sisters have interests that go beyond mere amusements, and I—I prefer a life without too much formality.”

  “I see. So it was your London home.”

  “It was.”

  And therefore important to him. “So you are unlikely to leave the business entirely to Mr. Smith.” That made sense.

  He smiled, and sent her senses rioting. “We will not speak of Smith further, if you please. As of today, I have no lawyer, or rather, the estate does not.”

  Annie caught her breath. “Just because he wrote me that letter?”

  His mouth took on a grim line. “That is more than enough. Why would I want someone like that representing my interests? I intend to take steps to remove my business this very day.”

  Goodness. She would have felt guilty had not Smith treated her as less than human. “What will you do for a lawyer?”

  He shrugged. “I already have someone who manages my estate which, admittedly, is much more modest than the one I have recently inherited. I’ll see if he wants to take it on. What, precisely, do you want to do to my house?”

  Here, in this room, facing a man wearing a coat that had been tailored for him, the expensive fabric and the shiny gilt—or gold—buttons all new, Annie felt decidedly City. Her gown was the one she wore for work, four years old, made of good but sturdy wool with no embellishments. Her linen cap was plain, made for practicality rather than fashion. Fashionable ladies wore lace and lawn. But they didn’t supervise a workshop for most of the day. If she’d known she was coming here, she’d have found a visiting gown. At least she had her pearls around her neck. Thank heaven Matilda had made her wear them. They might be small by society’s standards, but at least they were real, not fish scale and glass imitations. And she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “I would use part of the house for a shop and the manufacturing of the wire, and the rest for a residence for my aunt and children.”

  He frowned. “Is silver wire such a profitable business, then? Why do people need it?”

  Give her strength.

  This man was privileged and wealthy, whether he was Mr. Dersingham or the Earl of Carbrooke. It was a matter of degree, that was all. She might not know about earls, but she knew her silver. “Everyone who makes silverware needs silver wire. Thick silver wire may be beaten out for rings and jewelry. It can be flattened to use in other forms, napkin rings and suchlike. Manufacturers of fancy silver for the table apply twisted or beaded silver wire to the plain forms to make the decorations. People who make cutlery apply the wire to their knives and forks. That is what I supply, my lord. But I wish to produce other goods, to supply the public directly and not depend on trade for my customers. I will need a shop for that, and my current premises won’t accommodate one.”

  That should take care of the explanation. Her new venture would remain with her. No point telling him about the rolling mill. No point mentioning the house next door, either, or that she planned to use the house as a negotiating tactic with Mr. Stephenson. “I will have my name at the Goldsmith’s Hall as a maker soon. However, I need larger premises to deal with increased demand. My current property is rented and I would far rather have a lease. The house you own is a couple of streets away from where I trade, and it is larger than the one I currently reside in. I understood that the lease was available.”

  “Where is your husband?” he asked harshly. “Is he cowering at home? Does he let you run his affairs?”

  She chose to interpret his impertinent question as one regarding her competence and capability. The interest she saw in his eyes must be entirely her imagination. This man could have women to spare. Why would he want her? “I am a widow, sir. My husband died three years ago.” Leaving her heavily pregnant. He never saw his youngest son.

  The lids drooped over his eyes, concealing his expression. “My sympathies, madam.”

  “Thank you.” She kept her face clear. She would not have him accuse her of being an emotional female, something she’d had thrown at her many times. The attitude prevailed in certain quarters but, thank the Lord, there were others who did not think that way. “I have two young children to provide for.” She bit her lip. She had not meant to appeal to his better nature. Of all things, she despised women who used their femininity to achieve their objectives. Dealing with hard-hearted businessmen every day had hammered that point home to her. They gave no quarter. Most expected none, either, and now she could go toe-to-toe with them. “I am not the only woman who does business in the City on her own account.”

  His expression gave nothing away. “I see.”

  She bridled. “Why does my married status matter to you?”

  He gave a lazy shrug and straightened, bringing himself nearer to where she sat. This close, the stubble on his jaw was more apparent. He became less earl, more man, standing barely six inches away from her. She had to crane her neck to stare up at him.

  “So you would be living in my house, too.”

  “Yes, sir. Does that matter?”

  “Oh, it matters,” he murmured, his voice lower, softer. “That house is a home, and I would like to know that it continues as one.”

  Annie passed her tongue over her suddenly dry lips, deeply aware of his close scrutiny. “Yes, I’d want to live there. That’s why I want a lease rather than paying rent. If I’m to make alterations, I want to ensure I can use them for some time to come. Your house is large enough to house my family and provide business premises. I would need space for workshops and furnaces. They cannot be in the house,” she continued. But while he was asking her the questions she’d expected, his eyes said something else. They spoke of promises, of making more of this encounter than she had reckoned for. And she was letting her imagination run away with her.

  “Of course you cannot have furnaces in the house,” he said smoothly. He lifted his hand, as if to touch her cheek, but held it a few inches away. What was she thinking when the urge to meet it took her? She wanted to close her eyes, lean her cheek into his palm.

  She jerked back. Such impulses were out of bounds. Foolish. Not to be thought of. After Smith’s insulting proposal, she should take more care to observe the proprieties, not less.

  The earl shoved his hands in his pockets and drifted back to the window. Everything in this house was elegant and impossibly expensive except for the scarred oak desk and the worn leather chair behind it. A relic of the past for the man who had unexpectedly inherited an earldom. “We lived in that house for many years,” he said, his voice soft and faraway. “My sisters and I were happy there.”

  “Why do you even want to keep the house?” she asked abruptly. “What does it hold for you now?”

  “Nothing.” His harsh tones did not say “nothing” to her. He pasted that charming smile in place again, but she knew the difference now. This wasn’t a genuine smile. It slipped as he spoke to her. “I inherited the title six months ago. Before then, I was a private gentleman, living quietly with my sisters.”

  Casting her gaze down to her gloved hands, she concentrated on stopping their trembling. “I’d have thought you wanted to leave your past behind you.” If he could be personal, so could she.

  He shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting under the fine fabric of his dark coat. He touched the lace at his wrists. “This magnificence goes with the title.”

  He was far worse when he smiled, the twinkle in his eyes much more intimate than it had any right to be.

  “I am sorry for your loss.”

  He ignored her sympathy, or he did not hear it. “As you can imagine, nobody expected me to inherit, least of all my sisters and me. But the accident put paid to that branch of the family and the executors reluctantly contacted us. Therefore, the house still means something to me. It is my home, not this.” He gestured widely, taking in the house and gardens.

  Annie had visited this house to call a pompous earl to account, and she’d found this—him—instead. A person she had an instant liking for, one she was sorry she had not met when he’d been a neighbor. “I had no idea.”

  “Did you not read about the event in the papers?” he inquired.

  “Yes, but the events happened to people I did not know.” And didn’t affect her plans or her life. Now they did.

  “I regret that I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you and your family when we lived in Shoreditch. I know the area well. Do you recall the coffee house on the corner?” He raised a brow, his mouth tilting in a sardonic smile.