Page 22

“I don’t have to know Lord Michael personally to understand what sort of man he is. We’re just another feather in his cap.”

Michael conceded this with a nod. “Yes, but might he actually do well by those feathers? How much have you looked into his business practices?”

She could feel her face warming again, blast it.

Not at all, was the honest answer. Oh, she’d poked around enough to know he was immensely wealthy, with seemingly endless connections, an ancient family name and a man of considerable mercantile influence—but she had been so preoccupied repairing Walter’s misdeeds, dodging Lord Michael’s trouble, and readying the ships for the upcoming auction that even the smallest additional burden had felt like one task too many.

She supposed she might have allocated the job to Harry, but he was already arriving early and departing late each day, simply to maintain his present workload. She didn’t want to further encumber him. It wasn’t his job to play Bow Street runner, and she was enormously busy. That’s why they’d hired Michael in the first place… so she didn’t have to squeeze yet another task into her already overcrowded days.

But this was her yard.

She should know everything about the swine hell bent upon taking it, shouldn’t she?

Her da would have known.

Clearly, Michael did as well.

Gwen’s head jerked up as she felt Michael’s hand cover hers over the surface of the desk. He didn’t say anything, simply maintained that silent, bracing contact until she felt her shoulders begin to loosen, her ever-present tension easing—just enough.

She let out a shaky breath, and he slid his hand away.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a note of understanding, of care. “I actually know quite a bit about the man and the manner he maintains his businesses. I think even you will find him without fault in that arena. While he may not personally set a place at his table, he is generous with his workers.”

Gwen felt her head shake as the familiar sensation of being plunged into too-deep waters washed over her. “It was my understanding that Lord Michael maintains ownership only long enough to ensure the businesses are profitable before resale.”

Michael made a sound of agreement. “For the most part, that’s true, but there are three he’s maintained ownership over for years. While you may gain some ground, insisting that he doesn’t know all the men under his employ, which would be accurate, he does appear careful in his appointment of managers and those men are intimately familiar with the families who rely upon them. In my research, I came across instances where Lord Michael secured decent, affordable housing for his men, provided cash advances to long-serving workers who’d found themselves in dire straits, offered apprenticeships for the unfortunates at the local workhouses, and bestowed monetary bonuses for exceptional service.”

Gwen shot him a peevish look. “I hope he has enough beeswax on hand to polish that halo.”

Michael’s face remained serious, his expression inscrutable. “He’s no angel. Everything he does is guided by the certainty of his own eventual gain. He cares little for them personally, yet he possesses the foresight to know that healthy, grateful employees yield better returns. Their comfort is a convenient consequence of his own ceaseless ambitions, but the outcome serves everyone, regardless of his motives.”

“You certainly seem to know quite a bit about the man.”

“Is that not what you pay me for?”

Their gazes clashed and held until she blew out a breath. “So what you’re saying is that, under his ownership, my men would be in capable hands—that the loss would be…” She looked away, reluctant to let him see what the next words cost her. “Mine alone.”

“If you consider a different sort of life, one where you walk away flush with cash and free of responsibility, a loss… then, yes.”

He fell silent, and for one horrible moment she could feel the relief of that life like the press of cool hands against sunburned skin. She cut her eyes to him then, anger flashing hot through her blood at the cruelty of his suggestion, at how casually he dangled that hollow contentment before her—as though he thought she might actually reach for it.

His voice, low and compelling, trickled through the seething silence. “Even in our short acquaintance, I’ve seen that losing the yard would be a profound change for you—perhaps even devastating, for a time, but it’s not the only life that could make you happy. Merely the only one you’ve ever allowed yourself to consider. And perhaps that’s for the best.” He shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. God knows you’re brilliant at running the yard, and it will doubtless flourish in your care. But being exceptional at something doesn’t obligate you to devote your life to it. And I’m not certain you’ve given even a full five minutes’ consideration to what makes you happy.” His mouth twisted into a brief, apologetic half smile. “I know none of this is what you want to hear, and maybe I’ve crossed some lines that I shouldn’t, but… I like you, Gwen.” His gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers curled loosely on the desk. “Perhaps if I liked you a little less, it might be easier to keep my feelings neatly behind the lines… to simply do what I’ve come here to do.”

He folded his hands. “Nothing has gone as I thought it would, so why should this be any different?” He lifted his eyes to hers then, jaw squared as he stared across the desk. “Just… think about it, yes? Don’t sack me for my impertinence—and… think about what you want. Unless sacking me is what you want, then perhaps wait a few days and give me time to find my way back into your good graces.”

She picked up her teacup, then set it down immediately again. “Don’t be a twmffat, Michael. I’m not going to sack you. I rather enjoy working with you; anyone would.”

One half of his mouth ticked up at the edge, the expression unpractised, a little messy. Gwen thought she might like his smile best this way, as if it surprised him as much as it did her.

“Just promise me this,” Gwen said. “If, in the end, Lord Michael sweeps in and crushes us both beneath his boot, you’ll demur when he offers you a position managing my yard. I might well and truly hate you if you accepted.”

Despite her obvious humour, his expression changed. “I doubt it would come to that,” he said, running his palm over his jaw and mouth as if to wipe the remnants of that infectious smile away. “He’d likely be persuaded to retain you as its manager.”

Gwen scoffed. “Lord Michael’s got a flock of female managers, has he?”

“No. But I think you offer a host of compelling reasons why he should begin his flock with you.”

“That’s all well and good, but what precisely would be left for me to manage once he was done? Nothing that bears any resemblance to Llanelli. No doubt he’d have an ironworks bolted to the yard, and the docks refitted for conversion of sail into steam before the month was up. He’d ruin everything. The craftsmanship we’ve guarded for generations and the trust we’ve cultivated. The town would be choked with smoke and strangers, industry thrust upon us and christened as progress.” Her shoulders slumped as she fought to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. “Mark my words, I’ll have no trouble at all convincing the merchants and workers they’re better off as we are, even if that means investing a bit of their hard earned coin to keep us that way. They’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Lord Michael never gets his hands on our yard.”