“What?” Hunt asked.
“That the teachers would allow the chit to come alone—even with a chaperone. I’d think that Miss Primm would, at the very least, notify Meadowbrook.” His cousin shook his head. “By the way, I’m putting together another shipment—and this time, we’re moving more than just the ale. I can get you in on the opportunity as an alternative in the event Meadowbrook’s chit slips through your fingers. You do have revenue from Longbow’s sale….”
“And that has been set aside for maintenance on Cliffhouse and the girls and my mother.” Hunt had decided this months ago.
If he, God forbid, failed to come up with payment, he had no doubt the Duke of Malum would make good on his threats. But if that happened Hunt would accept the consequences knowing he’d provided for his family.
“Besides, one investment isn’t going to cover it.”
“You know I’ve some funds tucked away,” Edgeworth said.
“Everything I can spare is yours,” Damien added.
“It won’t come to that.” Hunt refused to put others in the poor house due to his father’s willful wrongs. “Stop worrying. Miss Meadowbrook is going to come around.” He was ninety-nine percent certain of her. Likely, Edgeworth was correct. She simply required wooing—wooing he was happy to take on.
Because, as he’d told her before taking his leave, he had found himself anticipating knowing her better.
In the end, she’d not regret it. Conviction gripped him. She’d never regret becoming his wife, his countess because Hunt wasn’t at all like his father. He’d be a good husband. And if his instincts were correct, that wouldn’t be a hardship.
For either of them.
And damnit, the next time he kissed her, she’d not turn away from him.
“That’s all well and good.” Damien’s cultured voice interrupted his thoughts. “But isn’t there some other heiress you could put in the running? Hell, I’d suggest Julia if she was a few years older.” Damien’s only sister was barely five and ten. Such an alliance was tantamount to incest. “Time isn’t exactly on your side, cousin.”
The deadline loomed less than five weeks away. Hunt had, in fact, vaguely considered a few other marriageable chits suggested by his mother.
And then, upon meeting Allison Meadowbrook in the flesh, he’d dismissed them all. Not only could her dowry remedy all his problems, but he, damn his eyes…
He liked her.
Edgeworth ran a hand through his dark hair, dropped his foot onto the floor, and leaned forward. “I know you aren’t the sort, but if push comes to shove, you could always compromise her.” He raised his brows, prepared to defend his suggestion.
Of course, as a man known to be merciless toward his enemies, Edgeworth would make such a suggestion.
“Rather reeks of desperation, doesn’t it?” Hunt’s gaze dropped to the piece of paper that listed the amount Malum had demanded—an amount never far from Hunt’s mind—and swallowed hard.
“If it does, it’s because you are. One does what one must,” Damien said matter-of-factly. “You may not have a choice. Not if she persists in refusing you. There’s a first time for everything.” He chuckled at his own joke.
Hunt shifted in his seat again, uncomfortable in an altogether different way. Would it be so horrible of him to compromise her? It wasn’t as though she was repelled by him. If her headmistress and teacher hadn’t been lurking outside the parlor, he had no doubt she would have allowed him a few liberties.
Liberties that would have assured him of her hand.
He recalled the feel of her skin against his lips, the lingering taste of vanilla and cinnamon.
And the desire and confusion he’d seen in her midnight blue eyes.
“That won’t be necessary,” he muttered. He refused to resort to something so despicable.
“I hope not, Hunt,” Damien said.
“Don’t discount it altogether.” Edgeworth shuffled a deck of cards over the low table in front of him. “Nonetheless, I’m at your service if you require assistance with the chit’s chaperone.”
“As am I,” Damien added.
Hunt nodded, imagining romantic strolls around the estate—along the cliffs, through the gallery. “I just may take you up on that.”
Hardwood Cliffhouse
