He’d done that for the meeting where he’d laid out Buchanan & Son’s offer. Meticulous preparation always helped. Always swayed the disputes in his favor. Always.
Until he’d forced his way into her life and met someone who would not be moved by the strength of his arguments or offer. Someone who stood firm for her dreams in the face of his greed and ambition.
So, what could he say?
He’d spent the whole of the night walking the docks, pacing, and searching for the words, the reasons, to convince her of his absolutely mad idea. But there were no reports for him, no sheets of paper with carefully prepared information that would make her believe him.
And all that he could think about, all he could rely on were the memories they had made. As her butler opened the door to allow him entrance, he only hoped it would be enough.
“My lord, come in please,” she said, greeting him in the same voice filled with grace and calm she used to greet any visitor. Only when she held out her hand to him and he felt the slight tremble when he took hold of it did he have any hope. In spite of the need in him to touch her, he bowed over her hand as he’d seen others do and stepped back.
“My lady, thank you for seeing me.” She nodded over his shoulder, and he heard the door close.
“Would you prefer to sit here or in the more comfortable chairs there?”
They could go on like this for hours and it would get him nowhere. So, he did something he’d sworn never to do.
“Bloody hell, Clare, I cannot keep this up.” She startled at his words and possibly at the way he yelled them. “I have never done this before—I swore I would not.”
“Do what?” she asked. She did sit down then, at her desk, and he gained some comfort when her fingers slid along the edge of the wooden surface. She was nervous, too.
“Explain myself.” He let out a breath, needing to look away from her and yet unable to. “Until I met you, I never even considered it.”
Clare looked at him and nodded.
“I spent the first fifteen or sixteen years of my life in the stews of Glasgow,” he began. “I have no idea of when I was born or who my parents were. By the time I was aware of myself, I worked for the worst of the worst, but he kept me fed mostly and out of the rain.” He gazed off, staring out the window as memories he’d held back flowed freely. “I did what he told me to do, when he told me to. You didn’t refuse Albert Sanders’ orders and live to tell.”
“Why do I think you did refuse?” she asked quietly.
He smiled and met her eyes. “Because that part of me hasn’t changed at all.” He nodded. “Aye, when I was about fifteen or so, he drew a line in the muck and I would not cross it.”
“A child?” So she had heard his words.
“Aye. A man had crossed Sanders and the only thing he had left in the world was a wee lass. He told me to—” Her indrawn breath stopped him. Pain filled her lovely green eyes. “I... avoided carrying out his orders the first time and there was hell to pay.” The beating rendered him useless for more than a week. Once he’d recoveredenoughto do the deed, Sanders returned. “He gave me a second chance to make it right.” The soft hitching breaths told him without looking that she was crying. “When I did not, he had his strongman finish me.”
“Oh dear God!” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand.
“Dinna greet, Clare. Dinna greet for me,” he whispered, hearing the accent of his youth sneak into his words. That second beating was the worst of it, for he’d taken control of his life and his fate that day.
“I had a friend or two tucked here and there who helped me, saved my life, after Sanders left me bleeding in the gutter.”
“And you survived.”
He held out his hands and shrugged. “Better than ever.”
“How?” At least she’d stopped crying. He could deal with her anger but not those tears.
“Doing whatever I needed to do, Clare. Do not make a hero of me, for these hands are marked with the blood of those who stood against me.” He knew that would destroy any chance of him in her eyes, so he walked to the window and tugged the drapery aside.
“Is that when you learned to sail?”
“Sail? Aye. And I was sent to the western islands and worked in a kelp factory processing seaweed when the wars stopped its production on the continent. Worked my way up in old Buchanan’s business until I took it over, making my first fortune on that.”
“First fortune?”
“Kelp processing led to a bigger fleet. A shipyard to build our own then we began in the shipping business. From there, canals and factories. More ships. Using my ships and companies to supply the war efforts for the king.” It felt strange and exhilarating to explain half of his life in such a concise way to someone. He’d never laid out the connections before and he could sense her curiosity and almost hear the questions stacking themselves in a pile in her thoughts.
“The canals that won you your title?” she asked.
