“And yours was?”
Hart tapped the surface of the desk with his forefinger.
“I believe I’ve found a solution to everyone’s benefit.”
“Are you going to fund me?”
The banker let out a cold laugh. “I’m not foolish enough to throwing money at a bad investment either. But my proposal should protect you from bankruptcy, even if it’s unlikely to restore your business interests in London in the near future. Though it does require your cooperation.”
“What must I do?” Fraser asked.
“Retrench. Abandon your business expansion in London and concentrate on servicing your debts where you are best placed to do so. In Scotland.”
“Abandon London?”
“You must have considered it.”
Hart was right. It was the first idea which had come to Fraser’s mind. To return to his homeland and concentrate on his own people, where he could not be plagued by…
By what? A little hellion? A wee terrier?
“Yes, I’ve considered it,” Fraser said. “Once I’ve vacated my lodgings, there’s nowhere for me to go, and I have no wish to waste funds on new lodgings.”
“Indeed.”
“But what does this have to do with the trustees?” Fraser asked.
A flicker of emotion crossed the banker’s expression. “As you know, the Molineux estate is losing money at an alarming rate. I’ve been able to secure an arrangement that will best serve you and it.” He blinked, and his expression took on a predatory air. “And myself, of course.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Fraser said.
Hart raised an eyebrow and set his mouth into a firm line.
“What have you arranged on my behalf?” Fraser asked.
“On my behalf, actually. The trustees, though not disposed to sell the estate, have agreed to rent it.”
“Clayton House is uninhabitable,” Fraser said. “And it’s mine outright. The trustees have no right to touch it.”
“I didn’t mean your townhouse,” Hart said. “I was referring to Molineux Manor.”
“The country estate?”
“It belongs to the trust,” Hart said. “And you’re not occupying it. A tenancy seems the ideal solution. It will prevent the trustees from hounding you for funds you don’t have and ensure the property is maintained.”
“Who on earth would want to live in that damned mausoleum?”
Hart interlocked his fingers and laced his hands on the desk. “I was able to secure excellent terms.”
“You?”
A cold smile crept across the banker’s mouth.
“Did the trustees see you coming?” Fraser asked.
“They know a good offer when they see one,” Hart said. “They’ve even agreed to release a small percentage of the rental income to you. Not enough to prevent your creditors seizing Clayton House, but it will assist you in restoring your fortunes.”
Was this what Hart had planned all along?
Fraser shook his head and sighed. “I always thought it was lawyers who benefited from the misery of others,” he said bitterly.
“Bankers are capable of that also,” Hart said. “I’m not a charity.”
“At least on that, we are agreed,” Fraser said. “Did you have this in mind from the outset when I first asked you for a loan?
Hart’s smile slipped. “I may drive a hard bargain, Molineux, but I’m a fair man. Honor does not always walk hand-in-hand with charity.”
“Well, if you wish to live in that godforsaken place, I wish you joy of it,” Fraser said. “Though I cannot understand why. Unless there’s a woman involved.”
For a moment, Hart’s composure slipped, and he looked away. The urge to discompose this arrogant man was too much to resist.
“I hear the debutante of the season is Lady Atalanta Grey,” Fraser said. “Perhaps you’re feathering a nest to bag that particular bird. Or the Honorable Elizabeth Alderley, perhaps? The other day, Mrs. Pelham remarked on having seen you riding with her in Hyde Park last week.”
Hart’s eyebrow twitched.
“My reasons don’t concern you.”
“In matters of the heart…” Fraser began, but Hart interrupted him.
“I have no heart where women are concerned. Except for my sisters, of course.”
Fraser flinched, expecting to be called out. Had Delilah told her brother what had happened?
Hart remained silent and picked up a pencil, which he proceeded to tap on the desk.
“Elizabeth Alderley is the perfect match for you,” Fraser said. “Heartless, sour-faced, and haughty. And those are her most endearing attributes, by all accounts.”
Hart’s eyebrows creased into a frown.
“Her father’s just as bad,” Fraser continued. “Viscount Alderley snubbed me for being a Scotsman. I can’t see him taking kindly to the prospect of a commoner as a son-in-law, no matter how wealthy he is.”
The pencil snapped.
“Alderley will learn the error of his ways,” Hart said quietly. “We go back a long way, and he’ll bend to my will, you can be sure of that. And when his daughter is mine, I will teach him a valuable lesson or two.”
Fraser lifted his hand. “I have no wish to know,” he said. “You’re at liberty to do what you want with Molineux Manor. Have your lawyer draw up the necessary papers, and I’ll sign anything you need, especially if it means I can leave London as soon as possible.”
He rose to his feet, took Hart’s hand in a firm grip, then exited the office.
As he stepped out onto the pavement, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun penetrate his face.
The image of Miss Hart swam across his vision—the passion in her eyes when he’d first seen her, and the look of horror on her face when he’d introduced himself as Duke Molineux. That passion had softened when she’d spoken of the plight of the women of the world and the forgotten classes. But it had intensified when he’d shown her the pleasures their bodies could enjoy. His blood warmed at the memory of her face, flushed with need for him, lips parted in surprise and wonder when he’d buried himself inside her as if he belonged there.
But passion was a weakness. Perhaps that was why Fraser had failed, where impassive creatures such as Dexter Hart thrived in a world where there was no place for hearts and souls.
But Miss Hart’s passion would forever place her in his esteem. No matter what she’d done, he couldn’t feel anything but high regard for her. The poems she’d written after they returned from Scotland had spoken to him on a visceral level, such that he couldn’t bring himself to give them back. He’d read them each night since the day they’d made love. They rivaled Burns in their beauty and surpassed the bland verses she had penned at first. Such talent needed to be nurtured and rewarded.
But Delilah Hart’s passion was not for him. She had betrayed his trust, and he had no wish to experience such betrayal again. Better for them both if they never met again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lilah stirred her tea and dropped a lump of sugar into the brown liquid, watching it dissolve. Lately, her constitution had been unsettled, and she’d struggled to finish her meals. Dexter hadn’t noticed, but he seemed preoccupied with renting an estate in the country, though he refused to discuss the details. Sir Thomas had remarked on Lilah’s constitution when he’d dined with them, but she had told him to keep his nose out of her business. Sir Thomas had laughed it off and defended her when Thea admonished her incivility.