Page 18 of Her Ruse with the Wicked Duke
They traveled back to Grafton Mansion, and Rowan made his way to his study to evaluate the deal he had made with Alice’s brother.
The rumors were true about Richard Snow’s incessant need to flaunt the wealth he refused to spend, though Rowan did not understand the purpose of that in his presence, considering that he was significantly wealthier than the Baron. In addition, his life of luxury was earned as opposed to being stowed away like some secret treasure.
He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it over the back of his chair, slumping into the comfort of the worn leather seat.
The Baron has not come to a conclusive deal with me, which is upsetting. But the good news is that he knows what he is talking about. I am glad I was able to see Miss Snow today…
Rowan ran his fingers through his hair, sighing and letting his mind wander back to Alice. He knew something was off with her today, even behind her polite smile, but he could not put a finger on it. Her attire was unmistakably plain, as if she had been caught in the middle of housework when he arrived.
Why would she waste her time with such things? Unless something else was going on? She did mention something about her brother’s behavior the night I met her, though. I wonder if that was the subject of the rumors she was attempting to dispel.
He poured himself a drink, thinking about the possibilities of what went on behind closed doors when a footman knocked quietly on his door to bring him to dinner.
He made his way downstairs and had a quiet dinner, sitting at the large, empty table. It was like this, most nights in London. After traveling to the Americas and throughout Europe, he found that London was a fog of boredom most hours of the day, and its sole entertainment seemed to be the events of the ton, and drinking, which was the last thing he found joy in.
“I am going to need that newly tailored blue suit prepared for the garden party,” he said into the echoey silence of the dining hall.
“Of course, Your Grace. I will send someone right away,” his butler replied, bowing his head and exiting.
The ton would be awaiting my arrival, and Miss Snow is my key to them.
ChapterSeven
“Bloody hell,” Rowan muttered, running a hand through his hair.
He wanted to look nice tonight, as it would be the first time he would seriously be speaking to possible investors since last week’s interaction with the ladies of the ton. His dark hair was a mess this afternoon and would not be tamed. He groaned as he looked at his reflection, the new suit tailored to perfection somehow looking shabby. The blue fabric was still stiff, but it was comfortable.
This will have to do. It is not getting any better right now.
“Maxwell, will you indulge me in a rehearsal once more?”
He turned around, feeling anxious. He had not felt this nervous since the first time he told a girl she was beautiful. And the men of the ton would be much less forgiving.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Maxwell smiled. “Imagine I am your audience.”
“All right.” Rowan stood up from the stool near the mirror, pacing. “‘Gentlemen, it is such a pleasure to meet with you. Can I interest you in a conversation about investing across the sea?’ No, that is not it…”
“I think that was good, though it was quite forward. Perhaps lead with something more open-ended, Your Grace.” Maxwell had a positive look on his face, but Rowan had known him long enough to know that he was cringing inwardly.
I do not blame him. This feels so demeaning for me to do. I need to perfect this, or else I will make a fool of myself and may as well sell the ships in the harbor there and then.
“All right… How about this? ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. It is a beautiful day. Not quite like in the Americas…’ And then I will amuse them with some story about bison, or some other mind-bending creature I can think of. I am sure they have never even heard of bison.” Rowan rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.
“I think that was as good as it is going to get, Your Grace,” his aide stated bluntly. “I suggest the story about the pronghorns. The one about the invasion of our camp when we traveled West.”
“That would be intriguing to the old men who cannot be bothered to leave their sitting rooms to hunt or fight anymore,” Rowan scoffed.
As he began to delve into his speech once more, he heard a frantic knock on the door before it burst open, and his two close friends entered the room, surprising him.
“Rowan! You have not changed a bit.” Cain Ryder grinned at him. “Though you do look older.”
“Much older.” Xander Yarros chuckled quietly.
The tall man with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes walked over to Rowan, and they gave each other hard slaps on the back in an endearing hug.
“Yarros, my friend! I heard that you have not filled the halls of that lavish home with one of your famous dinners this Season.” Rowan grinned.
“You know people do not visit the monster on the hill,” Xander joked.
