He tilted his head. “She is right that you won’t catch a man that way.”
“Why do I have to have one at all?” Bryony asked. “Why can’t I just be independent? I want to decide things forme, Bryony Grenville. Not from the shadows. Not under a pseudonym. Asmyself.”
Heath’s gaze filled with sympathy. “If it were up to me…”
Bryony had hoped to remain a spinster of independent means to avoid losing possession of her hard-won assets. Unfortunately, her parents had grander plans.
“I know,” she said dejectedly. “Father has put Mother in charge of finding me a husband. She won’t rest until I’m under someone’s thumb.”
“But until then…” He swung himself upright on the settee. “Perhaps I come bearing good news. I’m to report that Max has doubled his offer.”
“Doubled?” That changed everything. Bryony hugged herself as she considered this new development.
Max was Maxwell Gideon, owner of the most infamous gambling den in all of London. Not only was his gaming hell named the Cloven Hoof, the scandal columns intimated the owner might be the devil himself. He was rumored to be tall, dark, and sinfully handsome. Rumor had it, the man had the power to steal souls and grant miracles.
Of course, few if any of the gossipy matrons had ever laid eyes on him.
He had no Almack’s voucher. No membership to high-in-the-instep gentlemen’s clubs like White’s or Brooks’s or even the slightly less distinguished Boodle’s. Had never received an invitation to any Society ball or soirée or dinner party, or if so, had certainly never accepted it.
The “offer” Heath referred to was an increasingly desperate attempt to buy out Bryony’s portion of his vice establishment.
Not that he had any idea a woman was involved.
No one ever did.
Long before she was out of the schoolroom, Bryony would sneak into her father’s office whenever he was from home, and pore over his financial journals and the business reports he would receive on his investments.
With no one to guide her, at first it had been confusing. Quickly, however, she began to recognize patterns of risk and reward, of volatile markets and conservative investments, of all the untapped potential of the opportunities Father didnottake.
She hadn’t been able to resist trying her hand.
Heath had helped her pawn several possessions of value to create that first nest egg. Bejeweled tiaras she’d received as gifts, sumptuous gowns she’d grown out of, the monthly pin money she’d been saving for most of her life. The sum wasn’t as much as she would have liked, but a few high-risk, high-reward, short-term ventures later, it had begun to look mighty respectable.
She hadn’t been in a position to fund fleets of cargo ships or open textile factories, but when the opportunity arose to cover the initial costs for a fledgling gambling hell in exchange for ten percent of the monthly income until it repaid the original debt at a twenty percent profit, with a one percent stake for the first five years—well, she’d have been foolish not to take it.
In fact, she was still baffled at having been given the chance at all. So many other investors could have easily taken her place, yet had overlooked the opportunity completely.
Featherwits, all of them.
The original contract had stated that if Maxwell Gideon did not settle the debt in full within five years, Bryony would receive fifty percent of the monthly profits instead of twenty. He had repaid the money within two years.
His only mistake was underestimating Bryony.
Gideon had been focusing so hard on the goal of escaping a five-year contract as quickly as possible that he had failed to appreciate the value of the money his club was generating.
As the club did better and better, Bryony’s one percent stake became more and more lucrative. Yet time was against her. Only a few months remained on the contract and there was no reason for him to sign another. So she had used her earnings—and a pseudonym—to purchase the land and property that housed the Cloven Hoof. A brilliant maneuver.
Before, the club’s rent had been going to a third party.
Now, the money went directly to Bryony.
The moment Maxwell Gideon had realized his new landlord was none other than the silent investor he’d believed himself almost rid of, he had immediately offered to buy the deed from her at a rate ten percent higher than what Bryony had paid to procure it. Then twenty. Then thirty.
Now he haddoubledthe offer?
This was indeed an interesting turn of events.
“Well?” Heath asked with a droll lift of his brows. “Has that clever brain of yours calculated a decision?”
