Page 38 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
“We have questions, Rossingley,” he barked rudely. At a snap of Cobham’s fingers, his man handed over some papers. “Quite a few of them. Sir Richard and I have collated ours. Gartside here”—he cast him a disdainful look—“I daresay may have a few of his own too.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” answered Lando breezily, refraining from reminding the other of his more senior rank. “I’m nothing if not an open book.”
And so it began: a thorough grilling, beginning with the arrival of the pease soup, continuing through the haricot of mutton, and even disturbing Lando’s trifle, which was no trifling matter. Regardless, as the dinner dragged on, one aspect of the scheme became crystal clear. Lord Cobham and Sir Richard had both done their homework, whilst a half-sozzled Gartside clung to their coattails.
Having already reviewed the financial returns on Lando’s existing mill and declared them favourable, Sir Richard homed in on his relationship with the Hamilton plantation and the various options of expanding his enterprise to other plantations should the American harvest fail. Cobham and his man had scrutinised the potential for expansion of the Bridgewater Shipping Canal with a fine toothcomb, demonstrating their depth of knowledge with alarming tenacity.
Gadzooks, Lando thought, wondering whether a second helping of peach trifle might settle his discomforting anxiety. His elongated and slightly unusual breakfast with Kit had imbued him with renewed vigour and appetite. And, despite the precarious nature of their current situation, he’d become terribly conscious of an extraordinary desire tobeam. Never more so than when Kit brazened out an especially knobbly set of questions from Cobham’s man by citing an ancient law, which Lando half suspected he might have conjured from thin air.
Regardless, Kit’s time in the library had not been wasted, nor had Lando’s. Where the younger man stuttered, Lando charmed, and when Lando’s charm failed to pierce through Sir Richard’s blinkered focus, Kit threw around a few complicated excise terms gleaned from God knows where, and all seemed well. And if Sir Richard’s and Cobham’s rows of facts and figures were designed to flummox and fluster and dampen Kit’s forehead in a cold sweat, then Gartside’s hulking presence served to remind them both of their true purpose. He’d been a gluttonish spectator for most of the meal, but as they passed around the brandy, he roused himself to participate.
“All well and good, Rossingley, but a man needs to know exactly how much blunt that peculiar American fellow is putting on the table.”
“Irrelevant, my dear chap,” soothed Lando. “He doesn’t know it, but he could offer me the entire state of South Carolina, and I’d likely refuse. Simply put, on English soil, I want an English business partner. Someone whom one can trust.” He smiled benignly. “Putting aside the slipperiness of foreigners, as Sir Richard’s excellent précis has demonstrated, the American harvest failed in 1805 and only scraped through in 1811. So it would be damned awkward to have Hamilton as a fellow in business and then cease using his plantation, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re being obtuse, Rossingley! Of course you want a damned English partner—and a gentleman—anyone with half a brain would. That was never the question. But how much is he offering?”
“If I may be so bold, my lord,” Kit intervened. “Sir Ambrose wishes to be sure that when he makes his offer, it is a winning one.”
“If he’d bothered to put in a damned bit of effort, he’d have worked out a credible amount for himself,” retorted Cobham.
“I h-have a calc-c-ulated f-f-figure in my h-head,” offered Sir Richard and with uncharacteristic boldness added, “but I’m n-not g-going to share it.”
“Couldn’t bloody tell it to me anyhow with that godawful stutter,” grumbled Gartside, giving Kit one more reason to despise the man.
With a little thrill of excitement, Lando pressed his foot very carefully down on Kit’s under the table. Surely, he must be feeling it too. Gartside’s question revealed everyone’s hand, namely, that Cobham and Sir Richard wanted in. Trusting their judgement, lazy Gartside was also throwing his hat into the ring, though he had no idea how to secure it. Which meant he would have to find an alternative, underhand way of making the deal his. Crossing all his fingers and toes and avoiding Kit’s gaze as Kit returned the steady press of Lando’s foot with one of his own, Lando upped the ante.
“Mr Angel, here, is keen to get this thing wrapped up and return to Manchester. As am I. No doubt, I’m not the only investor with cotton assets ripe for expansion. And, as Mr Angel has outlined to us all, the Bridgewater Canal is ripe for improvement.”
His penetrating gaze travelled around his companions, skewering each of them. Did it linger slightly longer on Gartside?
“I’d like that project to have my name at the top of it,” Lando continued, “next to one of yours. But time is not on our side, gentlemen. Thus, I am requesting all bids in by midday a week today. Then I suggest we meet here again at six to commiserate with the losers and toast my new business partner.”
Chapter Eighteen
“GADZOOKS.” LANDO FLOPPEDinto the carriage seat. “I feel like a hollowed-out rag doll.”
Kit couldn’t have put it better himself. As he collapsed into the seat opposite, they eyed each other for a few moments.
Sighing heavily, Lando shook his head. “Possibly worth it though. Did you see the look Cobham gave to Sir Richard at the end? I do believe we’ve fooled them.”
“I bloody hope so. I don’t think I have the stomach to go through that again. If his man had asked me one more question about the tidal patterns across the Atlantic and how they affected the currents at the estuary, I might have had to slip outside and bash my head against the nearest brick wall.”
Lando chuckled. “You coped admirably.”
“Only because you had my back.”
Lando had been magnificent, in Kit’s opinion. A heady mix of cleverness, confidence, and cunning. If Kit had the strength, he’d haul the earl across the carriage onto his lap and ravish him, gawkers lining the streets of London be damned. Watching him now, as immaculate as ever and with only a flush to his cheeks hinting at the gruelling last few hours, that wordloveraised its meddlesome head again, whispering its madness in his ear.
“Seeing as we are now playing a waiting game, I’m taking the liberty of going away for two nights,” announced Lando, making Kit’s tortured heart sink. “I’m afraid I’m leaving at first light. I must journey down to Eton to visit my boys.”
“I shall miss you,” Kit answered. And blushed. The man was travelling forty miles south, not flying to the moon.
Lando tilted his head to one side. An amused quirk played at his lips. “I shall miss you too, Mr Angel. It seems we have only now become properly acquainted. But Eton is a simple journey from London—it can be done in half a day. I would be foolish not to take advantage whilst I am here.”
“Of course,” agreed Kit, pulling himself together. “And if we’re not mistaken, then Gartside will make his move any day now, especially since you’ve stipulated a deadline. Perhaps he will be more likely to do so without you around.”
“Quite. And if he doesn’t, then I shall regrettably inform the other parties of my acceptance of the American’s astonishingly high offer, and no one shall hear any more about it.”
