“We are all adults here,” Dorian replied. “We all know the risks of doing business. I am sure they will move on to other prospects.”
“Marquess Salem and Viscount Portsmouth have bid, a hundred thousand and three hundred separately,” Harcourt said.
“I will give you five hundred,” Dorian put in easily.
The cup in Harcourt’s hand rattled in the saucer as he set it down. “Half a million...”
“I can go to six hundred if needs be,” Dorian added as he took his seat. He dropped a splash of bourbon in his cup.
Leaning forward, Harcourt clasped his hands on the table. “Your Grace, if I may ask, why is this business so important to you? You are offering me a fortune that I would take three lifetimes to use. Why such a proposal?”
Dorian hesitated for a moment as he was cautious in admitting secrets close to his heart. “For the last decade or so, I have been rebuilding my Dukedom brick by brick. It has been tedious. But this business is one that I am sure will bolster my ducal reputation to its height.
“If there is one thing I know, my partners will neglect the business, sell their shares, and eventually gut it,” he said. “I want it to flourish, to make sure the horses are at the Royal Ascot and Newmarket. I’ll ensure the horses are replenished with superior stock as the years go by. I will not let it die, Harcourt.”
“I… see,” Harcourt nodded soberly and finished his coffee. “Well, I cannot give you a definitive answer presently, Your Grace. There are a few details I must sort out, and only then can I say ye or nay.”
Standing, Dorian extended his hand. “Nevertheless, thank you for seeing me.”
Nodding, Harcourt accepted the gesture. “The pleasure is mine.”
As Harcourt left, Dorian abandoned his coffee and took a congratulatory mouthful of brandy. Finally, something good was coming his way.
“Sir,” Weston came in soon after, adjusting his spectacles while holding a book in hand. “According to your schedule, you are overdue to have dinner with your wife. It is almost eleven.”
Dorian muttered a curse while pressing the cold glass to his temple. “Send for my carriage, old boy.”
CHAPTER 18
Glumly, Ellie blew out the candles surrounding the dinner she’d hoped Dorian would attend. With the clock striking half-past eleven, it was clear he had no intention of making right on his promise to share meals with her.
Having little appetite herself, she instructed the staff to take back the food, then went to her rooms, taking the glass of wine—her third, possibly fourth—with her.
While passing the mirror, she sighed in defeat. “Why did I wear the nightgown Victoria sent me? He probably wouldn’t have cared if I pranced through the room naked.”
Setting the glass on the end table, she stripped the wrapper away and placed it over the back of a chair. She peeled the bedsheets back before slipping under them. Dimming the lamp on her bedside, she pulled the pins from her hair and reached for the wine.
What was I trying to do… seduce him?
The fine muslin of her nightgown couldn’t hide a thing even if it was folded twice. She took a large sip of her wine, feeling pleasantly warm and languid.
A breeze shivered against her cheek, and she looked to the window—only to find her vision start to dance… wait, how many cups had she had? Frowning, she realized she felt ever so slightly tipsy.
She finished the glass and put it on the table, before allowing her eyes to land on the door between her rooms and Dorian’s.
Where is he?
Something tempted her to get out and barge across the small corridor, bang on his door, and demand an explanation. As she stepped down from the bed, however, her world wobbled, and she gently retreated to the solid, stationary mass of her mattress.
“Another time,” she mumbled to herself. Rubbing a hand down her bodice, she wondered aloud, “What was I thinking? Pah.”
Seduce a seducer… and for what?
She felt like a ninny. What about a marriage of convenience led to seduction—and her ultimate ruination? If she were to marry after this union dissolved, she needed to have her purity maintained.
The last thing she could remember was Victoria’s question… Was she happy?
“This doesn’t feel like it…” she whispered to herself before she dozed off.
