Enjoying her spirit more than he should, he said easily, “Before we get to that, introductions are necessary, don’t you think? I am Conrad Godwin.”
She canted her head. “The name sounds familiar.”
“I am an industrialist, and my projects have done passably well. Perhaps you’ve read about me in the papers.”
After a moment, her gaze turned speculative. “I have read about you. You’re that Godwin.”
Used to having his accomplishments recognized, he bestowed a genial smile upon her. “Indeed, I am?—”
“The one who tore down three blocks of tenements in London to build factories and left hundreds without a roof over their heads.”
He stopped smiling. “Those buildings were fit to be condemned?—”
“The one who bought those mills in Manchester and closed them down, costing dozens of workers their livelihoods. Your actions caused riots.”
“The workers caused the riots,” he said, annoyed. “I simply took over businesses that were not performing and made them profitable.”
“By shutting them down.”
“By establishing lucrative enterprises in their place.”
“Rather cold-blooded and mercenary reasoning, don’t you think?”
“I think,” he said through his teeth, “that a lady like yourself would not understand a man’s business.”
She crossed her arms over her bosom. Thanks to her clinging tunic, he could see her tits were perfection. Unfortunately, he couldn’t claim the same about her attitude.
“That solicitor who came. Mr. Marvell,” she said. “Does he work for you?”
She wasn’t stupid, he’d give her that.
He saw no reason to lie. “He does.”
“Well, Miss Caldecott already refused your offer.”
He cocked his brow. “How is that any business of yours, Miss…?”
“I am Miss Caldecott’s friend, and I know how much the spa means to her and to this village.” She gave him a look that would have put Joan of Arc to shame. “I will not stand by and watch some unfeeling financier destroy it for the sake of profit.”
When she lifted her chin, he didn’t know if he wanted to shake her or swive her. Who was this woman? Someone who had a reputation to protect, he guessed. Then again, so did he. The last thing he wanted was to compromise some milk-fed miss and find himself caught in the Parson’s mousetrap. He needed every ounce of his focus on one thing: achieving his vengeance.
Inhaling, he took a step back. “Don’t you have a chaperone?”
“I didn’t need one until you interrupted my private swim,” she said loftily.
“What about that day at the stream?”
He had her there, and she knew it. The roses in her cheeks acknowledged his point.
Nonetheless, she didn’t back down. “If you would kindly turn around, I shall restore myself to rights.”
“By restore yourself to rights, do you mean you’ll put on your drawers?”
Her eyes flashed. “Must you be so crude?”
He didn’t know why he was enjoying needling her. If he were wise, he would let her get dressed and find the spinster. Then he would buy the spa and get out of this bothersome place. Yet he found this woman irrationally intriguing. She had spirit and fire…and, if the abandoned drawers by the pool’s edge were any indication, an enticing streak of impropriety.
Beneath his frock coat, he was getting hard.
