Page 54 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
TOMMY SQUIRE, PLAYINGthe role of Mr Arthur Hamilton, was undeniably handsome too. Artfully so. Like Kit, he wore his hair longer than the current fashion, but where Kit was also unfashionably broad and solid, Squire was slight and agile. And where Kit lacked guile, Squire was fox-minded; his calculating gaze travelled around each member of their small party, only softening when it fell on Lando. Kit fervently wished this would be his last ever encounter with the man.
“Lord Rossingley,” Mr Hamilton drawled in that accent, which Kit now knew to be fake but, for the life of him, couldn’t fault. Impeccably attired, the man occupied an armchair near the fire, looking for all the world like a seasoned member of the club. As his shrewd eyes raked over Lando, obviously approving of the view, Kit clenched his jaw. “My offer for your tailor to accompany me back to South Carolina still stands.” He sighed—that was fake too. “Though, I suspect his skilfulness is greatly flattered by your fine figure.”
“I think that’s quite enough of the pleasantries.” Lord Cobham’s bark precisely mirrored Kit’s thoughts. With a bandy strut, he took up a wide-legged stance in front of the great hearth, mopping his brow. “Let’s get this thing done, shall we?” He glared at Mr Hamilton. “With less of the theatrics.”
Theatrics? The man had no idea how closely he skirted the truth.
Other than greeting his cousin warmly, Sir Richard had said nothing, too busy quietly observing the others. An impatient Gartside paced the room. He’d barely acknowledged Kit, though he’d shot him one or two furtive glances, which Kit had returned as calmly as a fellow could whilst simultaneously trying to stop his heart from beating out of his chest. He noted Gartside perspired, too, even though the room was cool.
Only Lando, effortlessly drawing everyone’s attention, seemed totally at ease. Quite still, he had arranged himself in a highbacked chair of claret-coloured silk. One slim leg was drawn back and the other stretched out; his hands rested easily in his lap. His refined features were inscrutable, reminding Kit of the dispassionate, frigid nobleman he’d first encountered that wet and windy evening at Rossingley. It seemed an awfully long time ago now. Since, Kit had learned to recognise the pose and the hauteur for the facade they were. He blew out a breath. Ye gods, Kit hoped his lover knew what the blazes he was doing. If this was to be one of his last few nights as a free man, he had no desire to spend it in this company.
With a light clearing of his throat, Lando spoke, reaching directly to the heart of the matter. “All of you have made your interest known regarding my proposal to construct four new mills on my land, in addition to expansion of the shipping routes. I thank you.”
His silvery gaze turned to Kit. “And I also extend my gratitude to Mr Angel for most thoroughly fulfilling all I have asked of him.” His lips twitched faintly; if Kit hadn’t been sensitive to his lover’s every move, he might have missed it. “Without his company, these last few weeks would have been much less…satisfactory.”
Kit gave a modest nod in Lando’s general direction, praying his cheeks didn’t appear as heated as they felt.
“I’ll begin with you, Mr Hamilton,” Lando continued smoothly. His expression softened to one of sympathy. “As fervently as I wish our arrangement regarding the export of your raw cotton to continue unabated for as long as the hot South Carolina sun continues to shine on your crops, alas, you have been comfortably outbid in your efforts to establish your enterprise on English soil. As we both suspected would happen.”
Not only was Mr Hamilton’s accent authentic, at least to Kit’s untutored ear, his disappointed pout was a highly credible performance too. Slapping his thighandclicking his fingers might have been a step too far, but for all Kit (and the other assembled gentlemen knew), perhaps Americans employed a host of bizarre rituals to cope with disappointment. As if reading his mind, Hamilton slapped his other thigh.
“Well darn,” he replied, elongating the vowels. “But I thank you for your consideration, Lord Rossingley. And never you mind. I’ll sail on home, count my blessings, and still be a winner. As we like to say back in America, you’re only a loser if you don’t enter the race.”
Kit suppressed a wince. If Americans truly spewed uplifting homilies like that in response to defeat, he sincerely hoped he never had cause to visit the place.
“That’s very…gracious of you,” said Lando thinly. The lack of empathy from the other three gentlemen in the room was deafening. “Regardless, your family will continue to profit from my business association with one of these gentlemen gathered here with us. So may I trespass further on your valuable time by inviting you to stay a while?”
Hamilton rubbed his hands together. “Why, thank you kindly, Lord Rossingley. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Lando’s attention switched back to the others. Steepling his fingers under his chin, he regarded them contemplatively. Like the charged seconds before a thunderstorm, anticipation hung in the air. Twice, Gartside tugged at his cravat, his eyes darting towards Kit, and twice, Kit managed a polite smile in return. He felt a tad hot under the collar himself, though he’d die before showing it. Refreshments were unforthcoming; he’d have killed for a jug of ale.
“You all delivered your bids into the hand of my butler earlier this week.” Lando adjusted his cuffs, the only outward sign of the strain he must surely be feeling. “I am most grateful for your promptness. Mr Angel and I have had time to discuss them at length. You have all been most generous.” He gave a cryptic smile. “Clearly, I approached the right fellows to assist me in my venture.”
Gartside rocked on his heels, unable to keep still. If Lando didn’t declare him the winner soon, Kit wagered the baronet would combust.
“Lord Cobham, Sir Richard.” Lando’s voice was solemn. “You delivered almost identical bids. I salute your diligence and sharp minds. The opportunity to work with either of you would be most humbling. And profitable. Alas, you were both handsomely outbid by Sir Ambrose here, who not only surpassed my expectations by offering a substantial source of funds for expansion but also brought to the table his own brand of wisdom and perspective.”
How Lando managed to say the last few lines with a perfectly straight face was anyone’s guess. At that moment, no one paused to ponder it because two of the gentlemen regarded each other with identical expressions of disbelief. One fake American gentleman endeavoured to hide his enjoyment of the whole charade behind his hand while Lando’s glittery gaze had trapped Kit’s, the two of them silently sharing all the words they couldn’t speak in the company of the others. Gartside, of course, being the poor winner Kit anticipated, clapped his hands with delight, revelling in the sweet taste of victory. He might as well have shaken a triumphant fist under the noses of the other two, such was his elation, an ugly mix of glee and condescension. Enjoy this moment, Kit thought, for it shall not last long.
A disgruntled Lord Cobham had seen enough. “I shall be getting along, Rossingley,” he announced briskly, throwing Gartside a curt glance. “Let thisgentlemanhave his day.”
Gracefully rising from his seat, Lando proffered a hand. “Then I’ll wish you a pleasant evening Cobham. Let’s ring for someone to show you out. And once again”—he treated the portly baron to his most ingratiating of smiles—“I am eternally grateful for your time and your patience. No doubt, there will be other ventures we can explore together.”
He wheeled the lord in the direction of the doorway, to where a waiting footman proffered his hat and coat, and in a whirlwind of activity, Cobham was gone.
“The old man’s a buffoon,” chortled Gartside, all traces of his prior anxiety vanished. “Good riddance, I say. The man lost his wits years ago. Even had the nerve to accuse me of compromising his damned youngest daughter at Vauxhall. Bloody cheek. If it wasn’t for his father and mine being old chums, I’d have called him out years ago.”
“As to the unsavoury matter of his daughter, I cannot comment,” answered Lando coolly. “Though I have heard conflicting accounts. Regardless, I happen to hold his intellect in high regard.”
“Hear, hear,” said Sir Richard, earning himself a spiteful glare from Gartside. With a nod to Kit, he made a move to leave. Lando stayed him with a hand on his sleeve.
“I wonder, Sir Richard, if I could trouble you to remain behind a little longer. A family matter.”
“Of course.”
Strolling to a long window providing excellent views of the lush parkland opposite, Lando looked for all the world like a man with his affairs about to be wrapped up.
“Age and infirmity will come to us all one day,” he observed. “God willing.”
