Instead, she stood and leaned forward, steadying herself with her fingertips balanced on the marble surface of the desk. "I'm honored by your visit, Your Grace. Is there something I can do for you?"
He stared up for a moment, apparently mesmerized by the signature scar that slashed across her face like a comet, and then leapt to his feet. After an awkward moment of silence, he launched into a withering speech, all the while pacing around her office, trying to avoid glancing at either the lewd chess set or her face.
"Mrs. Goodrum, I realize you are a very successful, um, woman of business, but I must insist you immediately cease supporting my brother's insane involvement in the business of publishing, erm, unsuitable books."
"I'm sorry Your Grace, but I prefer my actual title of Captain. I am not now, nor have I ever been a 'Mrs.'" She continued, barely missing a beat. "Are you referring to Mr. Whitcombe's incredibly profitable production of erotic literature?" She gave him a knowing smile and slid around the side of the desk so that he was forced to look into her eyes. She moved close, and their eyes collided squarely since she was nearly as tall as the duke. El estimated he must be an inch or so in excess of six feet tall.
The boy she remembered hadn't seemed that tall, but instead all gangly arms and legs coupled with a tendency to turn bright red in the face whenever she'd caught him sneaking looks at her.
"He's my heir." Percy stood his ground. "He'll succeed me as the Duke of Chelmsford one day, and dukes do not engage in commerce, especially commerce of a lewd nature."
She swept a slow, deliberate look from his carefully controlled dark blond hair to the tops of his highly polished boots and back again to his deep blue eyes sparking unspoken anger and disdain.
"I'm confused," she finally said. "As important and wealthy as you are, Your Grace, why haven't you convinced the parents of some vapid diamond of the Season to sell you their daughter as a brood mare? And then you wouldn't have to force your brother to succeed you to the title."
His eyes narrowed and for a moment, El saw the old Percy she'd known, easily angered at a slight to his dignity...or the abuse of a helpless child.
"Madame, you know nothing about me."
"Oh, pardon my ignorance. You're of the opposite persuasion then?"
The look on his face turned dark and dangerous in a heartbeat, but he refused to take the bait she'd thrown out.
"You know, there are more important things in life than carnal delights."
"Name one." El held the silence between them after her brittle challenge a tad too long.
After commencing to pace again, he whirled suddenly and raised an elegant eyebrow toward her, signaling an end to the discussion of a topic which he obviously did not wish to explore. And the beginning of a negotiation. "How much? How much money will it take for you to leave my family in peace?"
He didn't wait for an answer but instead foolishly forged on. "You have no idea the lives this sordid business will sully." He had the good grace to look into her eyes for a split second, and when he did, El sensed a confused flicker of recognition.
He whipped his head toward the window overlooking the park below before snapping back to the business at hand, his indignant raised eyebrow intact. He'd apparently tamped down any memories she might have ignited and forged on. "I...I have a family now to protect. My brother is marrying, and my niece...I'm trying to shepherd her through a successful season so that she can find a husband after all the skullduggery she's endured this year."
"Yes," El swiftly interjected. "I must congratulate you on making sure your niece is a dab shot with firearms. I hate boring seasons where no villains get their just dues."
Her final jab seemed to deflate the man. He sank onto one of her lavishly upholstered chairs with the wood trim boasting naked, naughty cherubs and leaned back, his long legs out in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles.
El slowly licked her lips as if she were a sleek cat contemplating a dish of fresh cream by the fireplace with an obedient mouse awaiting her ravishment nearby.
* * *
Percy blewout a long breath and steepled his hands with the tips of his fingers against his chin. This interview was not going the way he'd anticipated.
And there was something almost supernatural about the woman across from him. He wasn't sure, but in the unlikely event she invited him to dinner, he'd have to wonder whether she was going to feed him or eat him. There was something though...he couldn't quite shake the feeling or pull up the memories from the depths of his memories.
There was definitely an echo of the past, or a hint of familiarity, in the mysterious woman in front of him. Perhaps it was one of the gossip sheets his niece Alice insisted on littering about the sitting rooms at the family townhouse on Berkley Square. All right, so he did occasionally happen to pick one up, just so he could sit on his favorite chair, and perhaps he'd gleaned something from a headline or two about the infamous Goodrum's House of Pleasure.
But never in his wildest nightmares would he have suspected the woman in front of him was not only the proprietor of London's most notorious pleasure destination, but also his brother's business partner in the worst possible venture in which a peer of the realm could dabble.
Finally, he spoke. "Name your price." His voice boomed confidently into the silence between them. He quirked an eyebrow (again) and gifted her with a slight smile.
El thumped wearily back onto her chair behind her desk and leaned forward, giving him a steely glare he was certain terrified lesser men than the Duke of Chelmsford. "You should leave now with your pride still intact, Your Grace. You cannot possibly afford me."
He was so stunned, he'd barely remember later the details of how he'd stormed out of her office into the outer waiting room only to see Horace Greer, one of Prinny's minions from the Home Office, awaiting an audience with the she-cat he'd left simmering with anger at her desk.
Back in his carriage, rolling toward the Lincoln's Inn office of Aikers, his solicitor and all-around man of business, he went over and over the few words they'd exchanged and wondered how in the hell one of the reputedly richest and most savvy peers in London had managed to bollocks up a meeting with a mere woman. He also worried what in the name of Zeus Lord Greer was up to consorting with the impossible termagant.
Apparently, not only was his brother in league with a business partner who owned a house of pleasure, but she most certainly had a finger in the spy game as well if she was meeting with Greer.
