He looked up at her, caught at once by the care, the deep concern in those amber eyes. “Eloise—”
“Who?”
“I will.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, and her next word came out on a hushed breath. “What?”
He sat a little straighter and crossed his arms. “No one knows this, except for Nora, but I bought into Bill’s business ventures three years ago. I already own half of everything, under a corporate name. People thought I spent my money gambling, when actually I have been investing in the gambling businesses. In his last will, Bill made me sole heir to his corporation. Nora inherits the house, an annual allowance, and there are provisions for his girls. I inherit the rest.”
Eloise looked up at the ceiling. “So all this?”
“And two other gambling hells, another brothel, four pubs, two warehouses, and a dozen or so shops in Bloomsbury.”
Eloise seemed to take all this in for several minutes, hugging her knees tighter. “Does your family know?” she asked softly. “They knew about Robbie Green.”
“Yes. But it was understood that if anyone ever suspected that Robbie Green was actually Robert Ashton, I would have to leave it behind.” Robert tossed the handkerchief halfway across the room. “But as soon as the scandal sheets get wind of who Bill’s heir is, that quiet plan will be blown to flinders. The Duke of Kennet’s second son is about to be the scandal of the year. I get to break that news today as well.”
One hand covered her mouth. “Oh, dear god. Lydia.”
Disgust shuddered through him. “I’m not looking forward to tellingthatduke the news either.”
“What are you going to do?”
He looked at the back of his hands, realizing his own knuckles were still raw and bruised from his blows to Morgan’s face. “I do not know. Does anyone ever pull back from having all of Polite Society know you own the businesses that control half the aristocracy’s gambling debts? Brothels?”
“What if they insist you sell everything?”
He shrugged. “I expect they will do just that. I just don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can do that to Bill—Bill’s family. I promised him I would take care of them.”
“How can I help?”
He looked up at her. The expression on her face was serious and sincere. “Eloise—”
“Let me look at the books.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m good with numbers. I know how to read ledgers and balance sheets. Maybe I can offer a new perspective, suggestions you haven’t—”
“I cannot ask that of you. It would involve you in all of this. You would be ruined.”
She leaned back, looking down her nose at him. “Ruined.” A slow smile crossed her face. “My dear sir, may I point out that I am currently sitting in the bed of a known doxy, deep in the heart of her brothel, wearing her chemise, half naked with a man who is about to strum me. A brothel I came to dressed as a man, so that I might search amongst gamblers and brawlers and even more lightskirts in search of my missing brother. And you think examining a few ledgers would ruin me?”
Robert stared her, his brain spinning to catch up to her words. He let them wander through twice, making sure he heard all of them correctly. He swallowed hard, his hands clenching and unclenching, reluctant to accept them—but desperately wanting to.
“You think”—he cleared his throat—“that I am about to—?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you want to. And because I want you to.” She stretched her legs out and leaned forward, taking one of his hands in both of hers, urging his fist to open. He loosened his hand and watched as she entwined her fingers with his, rubbing them up and down. Her voice remained low, sultry, and completely mesmerizing. “I have watched you for weeks. You are a man of many colors, many personae, this way with Lydia, that way with her parents. Another way with Rose Timmons, yet another with the ladies at each ball. Dandy. Buffoon. Courtier. Manager. Yet when you stepped into Adrienne’s shop and saw me, realized who I was, those all fell away. I knew I saw the true man for the first time. I saw you.
“Also when you took my hands in your drawing room, using them to lure truth out of me. And in the office.” She raised a hand to his cheek. “If you did not care, if you did not want me to see, you would not have let me. Look at me.”
He did, and saw the clarity in her amber eyes, the affection, the tenderness. His chest tightened and a warmth spread through him, expanding into a burning desire.
“Robert, I am thirty years old. I know what I want. I know I will never marry, but I am not an innocent or a wide-eyed debutante. I am also not inexperienced, although”—her words faltered for the first time—“it has been a very long time.”
