Page 29 of Crying Wolfe
Theydidn’t matter. She knew so many of them wished to be attached to her husband’s fortune. And now she realized just how fervently many of them would wish to share his bed, as well.
As she approached Eli from behind, several of the men redirected their appreciative gazes down toward her rather than on the debate her husband was immersed in.
His broad back was tense, his voice guttural and gravely as he gestured to the scowling, portly man across from him. “The salient point here is that tungsten is the strongest ofanynatural metal, and is used to alloy steel to make it stronger. American architects and construction giants are ravenous for it as they race to build structures as tall as the Tower of Babel itself. More stories than you can possibly imagine. You’ve no idea what a treasure that cache in Devon truly is, Mr. Crompton, but I’m telling you now—”
“That’sLordCrompton to you, young man.” The Baron shook his jowls in outrage.
“Maybe to your nationals, but I claim no man as lord.” Eli stated this without gravitas or ire, but simple fact. “Regardless, what I was saying—”
“The cheek of this upstart colonial!” Lord Crompton’s pate, visible beneath his dearth of sparse silver hair, darkened from red to purple. “Howdareyou presume to tell me what to accept into my own refineries. You’ve not an ounce of legal bearing and certainly no breeding or family connections to speak of. Were I a younger man, I’d teach you some bloody respect. I’ve been in this business for five and twenty years! You were scarcely out of the nursery.”
“I was picking iron out of stone with my own bare hands by then.” Dark color also climbed from beneath her husband’s collar, belying his controlled intonation. “And I invite you all to tell me who has more credibility, a man who has amassed the holdings and fortune I have in the course of a single decade, or a man who’s been in the trade twice as long, and is barely solvent enough to keep his machinery in working order or his employees paid decent wages. I don’t give a dusty fuck if you’re an aristocrat, an autocrat, or a bureaucrat, if you want my respect you have to earn it first.”
Even Rosaline joined in the gasp at Eli’s frank and grievous assessment.
He didn’t know. He didn’t realize that he’d levered what was possibly the two most heinous insults at the man in the space of a handful of sentences. One didn’t mention personal finances in public and onecertainlydidn’t make light of another man’s title.
Ever.
Crompton looked as if his head might pop like a grape beneath the pressure of his fury. When he spoke, droplets of froth and spittle spewed from his lips. “Irrespective of what you Americans have in undeserved resources, you’ve yet to learn that dignity and nobility cannot be bought. And neither can my refineries! I’ll consign them to hell before I see them sullied by your tungsten, you insufferable—”
Rosaline stepped around her husband, inserting herself into the circle of perhaps a dozen men before she could think better of it. She hated the attention of so many, and yet she felt as if it were this, or a real-life gunfight in the streets at high noon. Er, in this case, half past five.
That, or the Baron would suffer an apoplexy on her wedding day.
“Lord Crompton,” she greeted with a demure curtsy. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your attendance here. I have made the acquaintance of your handsome, spirited grandson who is playing with a litter of kittens in the parlor. How proud you must be of him.”
“Miss Rosaline,” he sputtered, blinking a few times before returning to glare above her crown where Eli was, no doubt, returning the expression in kind. “I’ve come because your late father was a friend and equal in businessanddignity, but I’m uncertain whether to express my felicitations or my condolences on this occasion.”
Gulping down her nerves, she reached back for Eli’s arm without looking, relieved when he stepped abreast of her to give it.
The muscle beneath his fine suit may as well have been crafted from the alloy they’d just been discussing, hard and unyielding as it was beneath her fingers.
There was violence in this man. Primal and predatory, it shimmered in the air around him, so foreign in such refined environs.
“You’ll have to excuse my husband, Lord Crompton,” she said in a remarkably clear voice for how deeply she trembled. “He’s never been informed that our titles are very much like that of elected officials in his own country, a designation of rank, respect, and propriety. Much like my new delineation as Mrs. Wolfe rather than Miss Rosaline.”
It took two very obvious swallows fraught with an expectant silence from all the men for the Baron to contain himself enough to reply. “You’ll forgive my breach of manners, Mrs. Wolfe, and I will consider the same courtesy for your husband.”
“Nothing to forgive, my lord.” She pasted on her most winsome smile, regardless of the waves of malevolence rolling from her husband’s incomprehensively large shoulders. “Likewise, my darling husband doesn’t realize how progressive men like you and my father were in an ancient society such as ours. When it became evident that landowners were losing fortunes, you turned to trade to keep up with the times, despite the naysayers amongst your peers.”
The Baron’s features relaxed as more people began to pause and take notice of the conversation. “Your husband does not possess your depth of perspective, my lady, he is too busy chasing fabled treasures and buying up land and resources that he should have no claim to.”
Stepping forward before her husband could reply, she placed a placating hand on one of the arms Lord Crompton had crossed over his chest. “I read something recently that stuck with me. Let me see, how does it go? ‘A man who has a hundred thousand pounds cannot understand a man who has twenty. Just as a man who has twenty years cannot understand a man who has one hundred.’ I should like to venture that a man who has no king cannot understand a one who has been blessed with royal favor. And a man who was born into the privilege and nobility of Her Majesty’s court cannot understand one who is ungoverned by the same…constructs. And so, in my opinion, true treasure is perspective, is it not?”
“You are wise beyond your years, my girl.” Crompton patted her hand.
“It’s my experience, my lord, that perspective is gained through civil discourse, and I realize you’ve not been the recipient of civility today, but perhaps you and Mr. Wolfe might meet at a more appropriate time? Then you may discuss how wealthy building an empire of steel and—tungsten, was it?—might make you both if you could set cultural differences aside.”
A few of the men muttered their assent, and she could feel others holding their collective breaths as their eyes affixed to the man at her side.
His ribs expanded, pressing into her arm as he took a deep breath, and Rosaline finally ventured a look up at him.
Stone-faced and enigmatic as ever, he made the crowd wait until his lungs had slowly emptied to say, “I would welcome such a discussion…Lord Crompton.”
The acquiescence didn’t go unnoticed, and many of those gathered visibly relaxed.
For his part, Crompton stepped forward and took her hand, bowing over it. “You are certainly one of his more valuable acquisitions, Mrs. Wolfe. I hope he recognizes that.”
