“Are you all right?” he asked huskily.
“Quite.” Her smile was bashful. “But you’ve made a mess of me.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
As he ran a finger across her slippery thigh, primal satisfaction filled him. Instead of wiping his seed away, he rubbed it deeper into her skin. Feeling her shiver, he smiled.
“It’s only fair,” he said. “For from the moment we met, you’ve made a mess of me.”
After seeing Gigi back to her brother’s manor, Conrad told his driver to head home. In the darkest hour before dawn, he experienced a heady rush: everything was once again going his way. Gigi had forgiven him, and they’d shared a sizzling night of pleasure. She was going to be his…even if she hadn’t fully admitted the fact to herself. Before they parted, she’d asked him to delay making their courtship public.
“Just until after Miss Letty’s opening gala,” she’d promised. “After Xenia saw us the last time, my brothers refused to let me return to the spa. I managed to change their minds, and I don’t want to jeopardize that before the opening. Will you wait until the spa is launched before making your suit known to my family? By then, my papa will be back, and you can speak to him directly.”
He’d agreed to her reasonable request and made one in return. While he would refrain from making his courtship public, he wanted to continue their private rendezvous.
“I want that too,” she’d whispered.
She’d blushed, looking so shy and sweet that he’d burned to kiss her again. Knowing that he was tempting fate, he’d refrained and instead watched, heart pounding, as she nimbly ascended the tree to her bedchamber.
Yes, things were going as planned?—
“Oy! You’re driving too fast,” his driver yelled. “Get out of the way, you bounder?—”
Shoving aside the curtain, Conrad looked out the window and saw a dark shape approaching. A black carriage led by four black horses. Hooves thundered, and it picked up speed on the narrow road, coming straight at his carriage.
“What’s going on, Ainsley?” Conrad demanded.
“Bastard’s not slowing. Hold on, sir,” Ainsley shouted.
Conrad grabbed onto the carriage strap an instant before the impact. Terrified neighing filled his ears. The world rocked wildly and overturned, and he tumbled into darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
“Bloody bumpkins,” Redgrave muttered. “Can’t drive worth a damn.”
It was the following afternoon. Conrad was meeting with Marvell and Redgrave, the head manager at Godwin & Co., in his study at Honeystone Hall. Given the cut on Conrad’s cheek, the two had naturally asked what happened.
“Ainsley took a knocking,” Conrad said. “Luckily, he is fine. If it weren’t for his expert handling of the reins, the results could have been far worse.”
Redgrave cocked his head. “Did you see the other driver?”
Auburn-haired and beefy, with some of his muscle gone to fat, Redgrave was Conrad’s former prizefighting coach. Since Redgrave had proven a dependable ally to have in one’s corner, Conrad had kept the other on when he’d founded Godwin & Co. Redgrave assisted Conrad in making important decisions and kept the other men of business in line. He had the same winning instincts in this role as he’d had in the last.
Conrad shook his head. “It was too dark. All I saw were four horses—black, I think.”
“Did you report the accident to the local constables?” Marvell asked.
“I am not sure it was an accident.”
Redgrave’s bushy brows shot up. “You think this was a deliberate attempt on your life? By whom?”
“I don’t know the answer to either question…yet.” Conrad addressed his solicitor. “What have you discovered about Mrs. Denton?”
After discovering Isobel skulking around in his study, he’d instructed Marvell to look for any financial ties she might have to his competitors. As Marvell withdrew a file from his briefcase, he had the look of a haggard mole. The tip of his pale nose was reddened, and his eyes were watery as he squinted at his notes. Nonetheless, he launched into an efficient summary of the facts he’d unearthed.
“I could not find any monetary transactions involving Mrs. Denton and either Trowbridge or Smedley,” Marvell said. “However, I did find some social connections. Mrs. Denton apparently attended a showing at Her Majesty’s Theatre and was seated in Mr. Trowbridge’s box. It was a large party, and there were no reports of intimacy between the two during or after.”
“A passing acquaintance or something more?” Picking up a pen, Conrad tapped it against his blotter. “Ever since I outbid Trowbridge for those factories, he has been itching for retribution. I would not put it past him to employ a woman to spy on me.”
