“No one who sees me ever does,” Mr. Gideon agreed as he settled into the large, imposing chair facing his guest…
Directly facing Bryony’s hiding spot.
Glittering black eyes. Sharp, slashing cheekbones. Full, sensuous lips. Blindingly handsome and breathtakingly dangerous.
A portly man with thinning brown hair minced into the seat opposite.
The folding screen blocked her view. All she could do was listen.
“Tell me everything,” Gideon commanded.
“I find myself balancing on the edge of ruin,” his guest began hesitantly. “Textiles are my family’s livelihood. The building that housed our looms burned down last Thursday, and my wife and daughter barely escaped with their lives.”
Bryony frowned. While she held a great deal of empathy for the man’s plight—indeed, this was precisely the sort of case she favored when determining her own investments—what on earth did this man expect Maxwell Gideon to do about it?
Given his disclosed balances, the Cloven Hoof’s total profit would barely cover the most recent offer Mr. Gideon had made for the property around them. There was nothing extra to donate to needy persons, no matter how noble the request.
“How much do you need, Schneider?” Mr. Gideon asked, his voice detached and dispassionate as if the emotional story he’d just heard was meaningless compared to cold, hard numbers.
“A thousand pounds?” Mr. Schneider replied hesitantly.
Bryony would have laughed, had his situation not been so dire.
She had commissioned an exhaustive investigation prior to agreeing to help fund the Cloven Hoof’s development.
Mr. Gideon did not come from money. That was the entire reason why he’d needed her help in the first place. Five years may have passed in the interim, but Bryony was well-versed in the club’s daily gains and losses. The Cloven Hoof was doing a brisk business, but not so brisk as to cover both the price of the property and a thousand pounds for a patron in need of alms.
“No.” Mr. Gideon’s harsh reply was cold and final. “You would need at least two thousand just to replace the machinery. We need to rebuild stronger and safer. If I choose to invest, I shall require ten percent of profits until you’ve repaid your debt at twenty percent interest.”
She blinked. That was exactly the sort of devil’s bargain she had first proposed tohim. But how could he—
“Done,” Mr. Schneider answered quickly. “Whatever you require will be my privilege to provide, Mr. Gideon. You’ve helped so many of us. Without you, there would be no hope.”
Hedidhave the blunt? That deliciously devious imp! Bryony’s mouth fell open.
Although his pockets had been markedly empty when the club first opened, he must have been using every ha’ penny of profit he earned to invest in gradually increasing schemes in order to raise higher and higher returns.
By doing so under his personal name and after business hours, such private arrangements could theoretically be exempt from inclusion in the otherwise extremely detailed and candid financial reports sent to Bryony on the first of every month.
Not only must he have more than enough resources to purchase the deed from her… she no longer had any idea howmuchmoney was at his disposal, putting her in a very disadvantaged bargaining position indeed.
Moments ago, Bryony would have sworn that no man in England tempted her in the slightest.
Maxwell Gideon was far from naïve. He was resourceful, ruthless, and dangerously clever. A potent cocktail of characteristics that appealed far more than she preferred to admit.
She shivered in pleasure to realize the increased pounding of her heart had more to do with the intelligent, handsome scoundrel on the other side of the folding screen than the threat of discovery.
He was more than her intellectual equal. He was trouble in every possible sense.
She couldn’t wait to find out just how much trouble. Firsthand.
Chapter 2
Maxwell Gideon did not offer an encouraging smile to the nervous patron seated across from him. In part, because Max rarely offered smiles of any variety. More importantly, men like Schneider did not approach Max in his private chamber because they sought charm or politesse.
Men like Schneider were desperate. They sought riches. Or rescue.
Both were within Max’s power to give—or to withhold.
