“That’s half.”
“You’ll get the rest,” Lucy assured him.
Beck held James’s gaze for an uncomfortably long stare.
James tried not to blink and attempted to decipher the man’s devious thoughts at the same time.
“Four thousand pounds tomorrow, the rest within a week.”
“That’s not—”
“Those are my terms.” He slammed his fist on the marble table the contortionist had vacated to emphasize his words.
“You’ll have it,” Lucy assured him, then shot James a questioning gaze. “We’re going now, Mr. Beck.”
James slid his hand into hers, and they turned their backs on Beck, warily making their way past his bulky guard.
“And Pembroke...”
James hesitated as Lucy glanced back at Beck. They were two steps from the exit, and everything in James told him they should go and not look back.
“I may have been wrong about you,” Beck said in his smoke-scratchy voice.
Lucy gasped. James blinked, because he was certain he’d misheard the man. In the months he’d known Archie Beck, he’d never heard him humble himself or take responsibility for any of his misdeeds.
James half turned to look at the man.
“You’re not unlucky. Not if a woman like that”—he gestured at Lucy with a far too appreciative glint in his eyes—“is willing to walk into a place like this for you.”
“Then you’ll leave us alone and give us a month to repay you in full?” Lucy asked him boldly.
Beck clasped each lapel of his topcoat and surveyed them, his beady gaze bouncing back and forth.
James got so bored with the man’s pomposity, he was tempted to yawn. He was a dramatic devil.
“I’ll agree to those terms, my lady, if”—Beck pointed a bejeweled finger at Lucy, and James wanted to break the digit in two—“I get an invite to your nuptials and an introduction to the Earl of Hallston.”
“You are incorrigible.” James stared out his side of the hansom carriage as it headed back toward Hallston House.
“You’ve said that before.” Lucy knew James was angry with her, and she understood that he’d likely secure promises that she’d never be reckless again. “It turned out well,” she offered with a hopeful lilt.
“Say that when your father sees Archibald Beck show up at our wedding.”
“Our wedding?” Lucy snapped her head his way. “There’s going to be a wedding?”
“Does that prospect still interest you?”
“So you accept my proposal?” she whispered, and her heart flip-flopped in her chest as she waited for his answer.
“I want to marry you if you’ll still have me.”
“Nothing has changed. You know that I will.”
“One thing has changed.” James reached out and offered his hand. She laced her fingers through his immediately. “Mr. Blackwood and I have agreed to a business arrangement. Apparently, I’m going to be shipping his whiskey to America. And we also agreed to terms that will allow your aunt to buy Invermere.”
“That’s wonderful!” Lucy kissed him—a quick, fervent press of her lips. Then kissed him again, more slowly, more thoroughly.
“Tomorrow,” he said between kisses, “I’ll come and speak to your father.”
