“Never heard of an earl who’s a shipping magnate before.”
“I never intended tobean earl, and quite honestly my business has faltered.” The memory of what he’d once been, and might never be again, was hitting hard of late.
Until meeting Lucy, the business had been his first waking thought and the last consideration before he closed his eyes. She was, without a doubt, a much more pleasant preoccupation. But without his business and his wealth, he fell far short of being a worthy suitor.
“So Invermere could prove to be your salvation.” Blackwood settled back, stretched his arm along the back of the settee, and sighed. “I cannae but wonder what Cass will make of that.”
“I would prefer to sell to her ladyship, of course. If she wishes to buy Invermere.” James had hoped to save the discussion of the sale for Lady Cassandra’s arrival, but he was curious to discover what Blackwood knew of her finances.
“You’ve no idea what sort of lady ye’re dealing with, do ye?” Blackwood shot him a searching look, eyes narrowed. Then he stood and approached a corner of the room. With his back to James, he shuffled objects around, then emerged with a canvas he propped on top of a table, letting it lean against the wall nearby.
“You’ll meet her soon.”
“Lady Cassandra, I presume.” The woman in the painting stared out at him confidently, the same sort of boldness he’d come to love in Lucy’s gaze. And she hadn’t been precious with her self-portrait. Her hair hung haphazardly, as if she’d captured her waves in pins and the wind had blown half of them free. Lines bracketed her mouth and the edges of her bright green eyes.
“A formidable woman, I promise ye, but not a wealthy one.” Blackwood kept his gaze fixed on the lady in the portrait and offered her a gentle smile. “Stubborn, and that’s the worst of it.”
James swallowed a gulp of coffee as Blackwood returned to his spot on the settee. None of this was going to be easy. He’d known that much before he arrived, but he could have never guessed how quickly it would seem impossible.
“I could buy the place from ye twice over before the day is done.”
“Can you?” James sat forward in his chair. “I’ll agree to that, Blackwood.”
The older man let out a laugh that cracked across the room like a shot. “Aye, and she’d have my head for it, man. Or at the very least, never forgive me, and I cannae bear to lose her.”
“But you’ll let her lose her home instead?”
“I did mention she was stubborn, did I no’?” Blackwood’s lips tugged up in a sympathetic smile. “Heed me, Rossbury, that wee niece of hers is much like Cass. I wager you’ll understand the extent of a lady’s stubbornness soon enough.”
James focused again on his coffee, determined to avoid the topic of Lucy for fear of giving too much away. Who knew what Blackwood would report to Lady Cassandra when she arrived. Though for all he’d heard of the lady, he suspected she was as intelligent and perceptive as her niece.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
James stood and turned at the sound of Lucy’svoice, and the usual sense of pleasure he felt at seeing her came with new feelings. Hunger and a fierce impulse to protect her.
Even while she shifted her gaze between them warily as if meddling men was the last thing she welcomed. How much of their conversation had she overheard?
“Perhaps we should allow Aunt Cassandra to have some say in her own affairs.”
Apparently, she’d heard enough to be piqued on her aunt’s behalf, and that James understood.
“Good morning, lass.” When James stood, Blackwood had followed suit, though with the snap and pop of joints and a tired groan. “Trust that I will bow to Cassandra’s will in all things, lass. His lordship and I were simply having a kindly chat.” He swung his arm in James’s direction. “Though I have yet to ask him how ye came to be in the same bedchamber last evening.”
“Blackwood—” The protectiveness James felt for Lucy turned to something raw, and Blackwood immediately seemed less endearing.
“It’s all right.” Lucy’s calm rebuff stalled him.
Years of etiquette lessons and learning the rules of ladylike propriety meant Lucy knew how she should react to Mr. Blackwood’s provocative statement. And beyond what she knew, her response was usually visceral when she did something wrong. Her skin would give her away first, turningfrom pink to strawberry red. Then her pulse would jump in her throat or blood would rush like crashing waves in her ears.
Today, she was thrilled to find old habits and silly rules could be overcome.
Upon her first glimpse of James, she’d struggled not to drop her gaze to his lips or go to him, touch him, greet him as she truly wished to.
But she couldn’t manufacture an ounce of the anger and concern she saw in his eyes. She felt no shame for what she’d done, what they’d done. And absolutely no regret. Only frustration that they’d been interrupted by the man who was apparently her aunt’s lover.
That man watched her now with a kindly expression. No judgment. Just a look of amusement, as if his words had been a tease rather than a condemnation.
“Since you were attempting to climb the walls of Invermere to get into my aunt’s bedchamber, Mr. Blackwood, I trust you understand and would not dare question me about anything so delicate.”
