Page 15 of The Lost Lord
“Lizzie claims that you decked her after a quarrel last night.” The girl holding Lizzie’s arm spoke, though Richard heard hesitation in her voice.
“The quarrel is truth. Nothing else,” he replied, low and sure.
“How dare you call my lady a liar!” Spencer lunged and this time caught Richard with a glancing blow to the shoulder. Instantly, two other boys were upon them, with Richard trying to defend and attack simultaneously from all fronts. Richard grabbed a shorter lad by the collar and used him as a shield.
“Coward!” The third boy, stout and pimple-faced, shouted.
By now they had attracted an audience. Lizzie whimpered helplessly and cowered into her companion’s body. Richard felt a flash of rage at the way she used people. Everything had to be her way, and she must be the center of attention at all costs. How had he sunk so low as to get involved with such a narcissistic, spoiled brat?
Never again. It stops here. Now.
With a grunt Richard flung the captive boy at Pimples. Both fell to the ground in a squirming heap. Richard brought his hands up to guard his face. Spencer bobbed on the balls of his feet, wary now that he realized his opponent had both skill and strength on his side.
Richard feinted and shot out his fist. The boy’s head snapped back. Blood spurted. Richard didn’t let up. He buried a fist into the lad’s middle. Doubled over, his rear end was an easy target. Richard placed one foot on the boy’s rump and sent him sprawling into the heap of underdeveloped manhood.
Richard advanced on Lizzie. She cringed pitifully. It made Richard feel like a monster. Yet he was not the one who’d used a prospective child as leverage in a scheme to cheat his friend. That was all Lizzie’s calculation.
“Don’t ever lie about me again,” Richard warned softly. “I am not your plaything. I am not your lover. Not your friend. Not your foe. Leave me alone. We are finished.”
He turned his back. Miriam Walsh stood at the edge of the onlookers, observing the scene with gray eyes wide with shock. Richard shook his bruised hand as he walked to her. He gripped her chin gently, firmly. Miriam’s gaze never wavered. She did not flinch as he bent to kiss her. The thrill of kissing Miriam’s fine, sweet lips, mixed with the adrenaline of the fistfight, went clear to his cock. She was beautiful, and Richard wanted her. As a spoil, as a woman, it didn’t matter. At any cost.
“I am returning to the city immediately. I will call upon you when you return,” he said, pulling away.
“Yes. I would like that,” Miriam responded without hesitation.
So much for her supposed brilliance, Richard scoffed mentally. Miriam was too foolish to understand that even if he was through with Lizzie, they were of a kind. He would have her because he could, and because her lips were silk against his, and he liked the way she tasted. Richard trotted up the steps into his cottage. The murmur of whispers rippled like waves after him—every bit a walking scandal as the woman he scorned.
Chapter 8
The day after her return from the beach, Miriam made her way downtown to the modest New York Stock and Exchange Board. The clerk across the counter frowned. His eyebrows resembled two caterpillars wiggling across his face to meet over the bridge of his nose. “You again.”
“So it is,” Miriam replied cheerfully. “I am after all listed on the account.”
She refrained from saying it was her account, even though it was. All the thousands of dollars she had accumulated from her father’s small initial investment several years ago were her own to dispose of as she liked. What Miriam liked to do most was to make her money multiply. The compounding of numbers soothed and thrilled her at the same time. This was independence. It meant she could exercise a degree of choice over her own fate. She couldn’t change the fact of her asthma. Not that she had any intention of leaving her father or Mrs. Kent. But the memory of two brown eyes made her abdomen go warm and soft.
“What you want to trade this time?” snapped the clerk. There was a name plate on the desk which readMr. Featherstone. “I don’t suppose you’ve decided to take my advice and put everything into railroads.”
Not exactly. Miriam had quite enough railroad stock, mostly in England but a portion of it invested in a new project across the river in New Jersey. Much to Mr. Featherstone’s disappointment she continued to sell whenever it rose and purchase declining stocks. The past several years had left many investors reeling as booms and busts rocked the investing world, but Miriam had devised a strategy to manage the shocks. It did not involve accepting advice from arrogant, strange men who thought they knew better than she.
“Mr. Feathers,” she began with all the silliness she could summon. “I hoped you could advise me on whether beef has risen or fallen over the past several weeks?”
“Falling like a rock.” Then, under his breath, “Not that a woman ought to pay attention to such things. And it’s Featherstone.”
“Oh, of course,” Miriam giggled, playing the idiot she quite definitely was not. “I don’t pay any attention to complicated things like buying low and selling high. As a woman I cannot be expected to know the difference between up-and-down. I’m just the messenger.” Miriam shrugged. The clerk’s eyebrows appeared to crawl across his forehead as he wrote out the orders. He passed the papers across the desk for her for final signatures.
“Why on earth are you buying beef? I told you it’s falling like a rock,” he complained with exasperation.
“I was hungry,” Miriam responded with another shrug.
Mr. Featherstone rolled his eyes. This was the most irksome part of her errand. Other clerks lined the rough-built stock exchange, but somehow, she always ended up with this one. Mr. Featherstone. Last time she had been in line to meet with another clerk entirely. Immediately before her turn, the clerk had closed his window and waved her over to her nemesis. Miriam took this as a sign from the fates that she was heaven-sent to torture him with feigned stupidity in addition to the pleasure of watching her account increase.
True, sometimes she had a bad month or even a bad quarter. When that happened, Mr. Featherstone took great pleasure in condemning her losses. Never mind it was her money to lose, and she usually lost less than the men who bet heavily on a single commodity. Nobody believed in her strategy of buying shares across a range of commodities, bonds, and stocks, but Miriam saw the results in the form of numbers she tracked diligently.
“Here you are,” Mr. Featherstone said grudgingly. “Certificate for X shares of beef or however it’s traded [RESEARCH]. Sign at the bottom. I’ll need to reach out to Mr. Walsh to confirm this trade is within his understanding.” – You need to finish this research here or just figure out what to put here permanently because it’s a placeholder still!
Marion glared at the man. “That is unnecessary” – especially as Mr. Walsh, unless he meant her father, did not exist – “He is away for the summer. I am approved to manage all transactions on the account.”
“No one has given you leave to lose a thousand dollars on cattle,” Caterpillar eyebrows informed her.
