“My lady, you might remember the offer we received for the land near the dry docks?” At her nod, Andrew continued, “Since you were adamant about the property and your intentions for it, we drew up a response.”
“And?”
“Two more offers were received.”
“Two? So, the first offer has stirred more interest then?”
The properties involved would be the cornerstone of Jonathan’s, and her, plans to enlarge the school and orphanage to accommodate so many more desperate children. And, truly, no amount of money would change her mind on that. Too many dreams were tied to those particular blocks of land, their location and the buildings that would be renovated to house children in need.
“Actually, my lady, the two additional offers were from the same company.” Well then, that was unusual.
“Is there some misunderstanding then, Andrew?” She blinked against the tears that inexplicably threatened. “What is their interest? What company is doing this?”
A loud knock at the front door prevented the solicitor from explaining and the second banging on the door, a louder and somehow angrier sound, made her gasp and rise to stand. Such an intrusion made no sense. She had the support of the surrounding community in her presence and her work. And in return she helped the businesses and tradesmen and women in Leith. Though this neighborhood was not the best, it was filled with hardworking people who valued family and honor and loyalty.
Another loud knock on the door shook her from her thoughts and spurred both Andrew and Duncan into action. Both men left the chamber and headed for the voices in the foyer beyond. Clare recognized her footman’s, but not the deeper one, the one that conveyed anger and impatience and privilege and expectation. A shiver rushed through her, from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet, and she stepped away from the desk intent on discovering the reason for this interruption.
It was not fear that filled her body and soul at the sound and tenor of that voice. Nay, the fear did not begin until the door opened so quickly that it bounced loudly off the wall behind it. A man entered before anyone could stop him.A man enteredwas such a tepid term for the person who invaded her office and his manner of doing so.
Tall, he stood taller than anyone there, even when he removed his top hat and tossed it to the footman trailing his every step. William backed from the chamber after her slight nod.
The man crossed the expanse of the chamber in but three strides. His black greatcoat floated around him and when he turned, seeking something or someone, she imagined him as some dark angel seeking his enemy. He noticed her, standing at the edge of the desk and strode over to her. His hard breaths stole the air from the room and his intensity chased all thoughts of resistance from her mind.
“Well?” he said, glancing at her with little interest. “Seek out your master and bring him here now.”
He was a man used to giving orders and being obeyed. When she did not run, he stepped closer forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Her stomach tensed when she did.
His fierce dark blue eyes, his short hair worn back, his heavy, expensive coat, his lacquered walking stick and all his clothes—from shoes to neckcloth—were relentlessly black. And everything he wore or carried was extremely expensive in cut and quality. Clare’s breath caught in her throat at the strength in his expression.
“I said go and bring your master back. I will not be kept waiting.”
So shocked by his arrival, his appearance, his behavior and his orders, Clare could not move or react. But both Duncan and Andrew did, rushing to her side and trying to form a barrier. In spite of their intent and efforts, nothing moved the man away from her.
“Mr. Buchanan, I must insist you—” Andrew sputtered out the words.
“Sir.” The man corrected him without breaking his gaze from hers.
“Sir Iain, you must step—” Duncan was no longer calm. His voice shook with anger, the first time she’d ever heard such a thing. It was in her defense and yet it shocked her.
“I know the owner of the properties I want to purchase works here on Mondays, gentlemen. I wish to speak to him about the terms of my offer.” Clare noticed for the first time that he’d never raised his voice, even while giving orders.
“Sir Iain, if you wish to schedule an appointment, I can arrange one,” Duncan offered.
“I am here. The owner is here. Somewhere. There is no need for another delay. You.” He nodded once more at her. “Seek out your master and tell him I am here.” He tapped his walking stick on the polished wooden floor of her study as if it would hurry her along. The sharp sound echoed through the astonished silence.
It was clear she could avoid this no longer. This man, this Sir Iain Buchanan, would accept no excuses or be put off in his intentions. She’d not kept her ownership a secret, but it had not been bandied about by her solicitors in their efficient handling of the matters after Jonathan’s death. Indeed, Jonathan’s will had been filed and was on record with her listed as his heir. The ruse of using her initials would discourage only the least of any attempts to discover the truth.
C. N. Logan could be anyone and she suspected most would think it was Jonathan’s brother or other male relative and not his wife. All his business interests, all the properties he’d accumulated during his short but very successful career were now hers—wholly and completely and undisputedly hers.
This intruder could be forgiven, she supposed, for mistaking her for a housemaid, what with her apron and plain day dress. With her ever-unruly hair falling about her face. And especially with his misinterpretation of her reaction to his presence and orders. Gathering her wits, she stood up straight, clasped her hands before her and nodded at Duncan without moving her eyes from this Sir Iain’s gaze.
“Sir Iain, may I present Lady Clare Napier Logan.”
The man did startle then. Just for a moment, and it was so slight she would have missed it if not for her intent stare. Good. She’d surprised him as much as he’d done her and from that little tell in his gaze, she knew for certain that did not happen often to this man. Not to this force of nature used to making his own path.
Sir Iain did step back then, only a few paces, but he put enough space between them that he had room to execute a bow to her. It was a pretty one at that.
“My lady,” he said, as he rose. “I apologize for mistaking you for a servant.” His gaze, imperious on arrival, now filled with surprise and then something that looked like... appreciation took its place there. “I beg your pardon.”
