Page 126 of Harpy of the Ton
“That I’m not the legitimate daughter of a duke,” she said. “If I were, I wouldn’t have met you—and I cannot bear to imagine life without you.”
“Oh, Bella,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s not you that ask should why you’re deservin’ of me—it’s me who could never come close to deservin’ you.”
She tipped her face up, offering her lips for a kiss, and she caught the expression in his eyes reflected in the moonlight—in them she saw an emotion so powerful, she caught her breath at the intensity of it.
She saw guilt—as if he had sinned so badly that he was merely waiting for the inevitable condemnation to hell.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“You’ve done adamned fine job, Baxter.”
Trelawney unstoppered a decanter, filled two glasses with dark-red liquid, and pushed one across the desk.
“Regarding your disbursement, I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to Mr. Simms to open an account for you.”
“Simms?”
“The banker. He has an office in Midchester, which is your nearest town, yes?”
“It is,” Lawrence said, “but—a banker! They’re not for the likes of me.”
“Surely you didn’t expect me to hand over your fee in a bag of clinking coins,” Trelawney said. “I’ve banked with Simms for years, and he can give you a good rate of return. If your business expands, you’ll need someone to deal with your financial affairs.”
“Mywhat?”
“Money, Mr. Baxter. You’ll need someone to deal with your money.”
“But I’m just a gardener.”
“Not anymore,” Trelawney said. “You’re a businessman who, after our opening next week, will have a reputation for unique garden design.”
Lawrence eyed the contents of his glass.
“The finest port in my cellar,” Trelawney said.
“I wouldn’t know, seein’ as I know nothing about port.”
Trelawney chuckled. “Neither do most of Society, though they’d never admit as much. Take it from me, out of everything I’ve imported, this is the best. Sweet to the taste, without the acridity of the younger vintages, and guaranteed not to give a shocking megrim the next day. Unless you drink it a bottle at a time.” He pushed the glass toward Lawrence. “Go on—I don’t give this to just anyone.”
“Then I’m honored.” Lawrence took a sip, and a rich flavor of sweet berries burst on his tongue.
“It’s good, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you a bottle to take home to your wife.” Trelawney leaned forward. “Assuming sheisyour wife.”
Lawrence’s hand shook, spilling his port.
“I don’t think I heard you properly, Mr. Trelawney.”
“Did you not?” Trelawney leaned back. “I had a meeting with my lawyer yesterday. He shared an interesting tale.”
“Your lawyer?” Lawrence asked. “What’s that to do with me—or my wife?”
“He told me about a junior partner in his firm who’d been relieved of his position. Of course, a lawyer would never break a confidence in relation to his clients, but Stockton’s an honest man, and I believe he had good reason to discuss the matter with me. The partner’s name is Crawford.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
