“And what if the profits are higher than forecasted?” Fraser challenged.
“Most businessmen overestimate their abilities,” Hart said. He closed his eyes, then opened them and rose to his feet. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I shall not be offering you finance. I wish you well in finding another backer.”
“Hart, old boy, you’ll not reconsider?” Pelham asked.
Hart frowned. “If I’m able to find a client willing to provide the funds, I can broker a deal,” he said. “For a fee, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Fraser echoed. Hart glanced at the clock. “Forgive me, I have another appointment,” he said.
Fraser reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a flask, and set it on the desk.
Hart made no move to pick it up. “What is that?”
“It’s a sample of my whisky,” Fraser said. “Only three years old, but I believe it’s of sufficient smoothness to be comparable to the liquor I intend to sell once the distillery is running at full capacity.”
“Three years,” Hart said. “I take it that means it was brewed outwith the law?”
“Before the Excise Act came into force, yes,” Fraser replied. “Therefore, not only is it a symbol of goodwill, it’s also a mark of my trust.”
“What do you intend me to do with it?”
“I’d prefer you to drink it,” Fraser said. “I won’t take offense if you give it to your cook for use in a syllabub. Though, grant me leave to feel somewhat peeved if you gave it to your butler to clean your brass with.”
Hart uncorked the flask and sniffed the contents. “Not altogether unpleasant,” he said. It smells too good to be used on my brass.” He smiled. “Perhaps I’ll reserve it for the silverware.”
He held his hand out. Fraser took it, and for a moment, the two men stared at each other as Hart increased the pressure. Then he released Fraser’s hand and called for the footman who ushered them out of the building.
As they stepped out onto the Strand, Fraser let out a curse.
“Damn the man!”
Pelham laughed. “He likes you, Molineux.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because you’re still standing. Come on, I think we deserve a drink.”
Halfway down the street, Fraser turned to look at the building they’d just exited, and he discerned the silhouette of a man in the window of the office.
If that was how Dexter Hart treated the people he liked, then God help his enemies.
Chapter Six
Lilah tossed a piece of bread into the water. A line of birds veered toward her in the manner of a marching army—one large, white general leading the patrol, followed by four soldiers.
A terrier appeared and yapped at the birds. The adult swan hissed and reared out of the water, flapping its wings.
A voice called out, and the dog scampered toward a rotund lady dressed in dark purple silk, and Lilah recognized Lady de Bron.
She had, since Lilah’s arrival in London, taken delight in snubbing her entire family. Now that Lilah was embarking on her first Season, she’d given her the cut direct at three parties. To women like Lady de Bron, birth was everything, no matter how wealthy Dexter might be.
But from what Dexter had said only last week, Lord de Bron was in financial straits, with multiple creditors foreclosing. The man had come to Dex cap in hand, begging for a loan, at which point, her brother had said he’d taken as much delight in evicting the lord from his offices as the lady had taken in insulting Lilah.
Dex may be stern and unforgiving, but at times he proved he wasn’t a complete arse. His desire for retribution for wrongdoing toward all members of his family, at least, meant that the ton’s bullies were reluctant to insult him publicly.
Lilah smiled to herself. Dex was right in his view of the world. The aristocracy was losing its grip on power, and in the not too distant future, a new age would dawn—an age of commerce and industry where a man’s ability to earn a living for himself and foster occupations among the working class would garner greater respect than his ability to recite his ancestral line back more than ten generations.
Which was why Dex and Sir Thomas were friends. Sir Thomas was the first member of society to publicly welcome an acquaintance with Lilah and her family. And he shared her views on the need for the system of the aristocracy to be replaced by a world based on merit.
Dexter would welcome Sir Thomas as a brother-in-law. And he was the least repugnant of all the young men she’d been obliged to spend time with at all these tedious parties and soirees Dex had taken her to.
He’d be a safe husband. Safe and respectable.
But was a life worth living if there were no risks to be taken? Passion could only be achieved through risk and adventure, and Sir Thomas would never ignite the kind of passion that shatters hearts and moves the heavens. Not like…
As she watched the swans disappear along the Serpentine, the skin on the back of her neck prickled with anticipation, and the scent of wood and spices filled the air.
“They’re not unlike the eagles at home,” a deep voice spoke from behind. Ignoring the thrill which rippled across her skin, she turned around.
He towered over her, framed by the light of the setting sun, and for a moment, his hair formed a golden halo around his face.
He gestured toward the retreating swans. “Beautiful creatures, but their beauty hides such savagery.”
“Swans are nothing like eagles, Your Grace,” Lilah said. “An eagle hunts its prey. The swan was protecting herself and her young from a terrier.”
“And, as we both know, the terrier can be a feisty wee soul, who strikes fear into the heart of even the strongest opponent…” he smiled, his eyes glittering with amusement, “…even if she’s a head smaller than the man she spars with.”
She opened her mouth to reply, and he raised a hand.
“Shall we declare a truce, Miss Hart?” he asked. “I’ve no wish to fight you, stimulating though that may be. I am in need of friends.”
“A duke should have no trouble in securing friendship here,” she said.
“That rather depends on how discerning he is in his choice of friends,” he replied. “Perhaps you adopt a similar level of discernment, lass, for you seem to be alone this morning.”
“I’m here with my family,” she said.
“Then why can’t I see them?”
“Sometimes, I’m in need of solitude. I often find the company of others a little overwhelming.”
“Then, I shall take my leave.”
“No!” she cried. He raised his eyebrows, and she swallowed her embarrassment. “At least, don’t go on my account,” she said. “I was about to leave. I’ve been standing here too long, and it’s getting cold.”
He held out his arm. “I would be honored to accompany you until you rejoin your family. And you have my word that I will take no offense if you find my company overly oppressive or overly stimulating.”
Unable to fight the compulsion to touch him again, she took his arm.
“That’s better,” he said. “Tell me, Miss Hart, what’s a young woman such as yourself doing in a public place unchaperoned?”